Chapter Text
Order Heartlands, Aethein Province
They came suddenly one day. Just another mercenary band hired to bolster the reclamation force. The Maccabian Janissaries they called themselves. The Emperor's Fury they called their company.
Self proclaimed servants of a foreign, all powerful, immortal deity who radiated gold and righteous fury. They were armed with foreign weapons and foreign clothing, eerie masks of steel in the likeness of their supposed saint. If it wasn't obvious from his words they were bloody foreigners and ones not to be trusted in his humble opinion.
Personally, Filbert was rather skeptical of them, especially of this strange god they worship. Nobody ever heard of this funny sounding "God"-Emperor before, much less his majesty's dauntless Imperial Guard.
Still, these Maccabians had a reputation that Filbert's lord saw fitting enough to dip into his treasury to employ.
Not that it would do much in his humble opinion.
The motley "crusade" force being mustered seemed impressive sure. A full five companies of men-at-arms tasked with invading and retaking Goderey's Landing, an ancient seaport once owned by the Order.
They were supported by numerous additional companies of mercenaries and the noble Household's own knights to break the yoke of monsterkind and free it's citizens.
At least, that's what the nobles had claimed this "holy venture" was for.
To Filbert however, this was just another foolhardy quest for glory. Like the rest of his peers, the man-at-arms sat patiently as a noble tried giving one of their typical high and mighty talks.
"Goderey's Landing was an once ancient coastal stronghold under the glorious reign of the Order. In the Bygone Ages, a great hero by the name of Goderey had fought a battle at the site of the city, breaking the backs of the ancient monsters that had once roamed these lands." boasted the noble, waving his arms to for emphasis.
"However his great victory had resulted in his death and upon falling in battle, the survivors of his army founded the city in his honor-"
Filbert has heard the stories before. High tales told by high lords to one another and enthralled crowds. Even now he could see his fellows with eyes full of wonder, their hearts being filled with courage and minds with the glories of the old ages.
They were all the same really. A great hero from the Old Age, fighting heroically against the monster horde and founding great cities with steel and fire.
"And yet, how would they do in times like these?" Filbert thought. Goderey was a noble hero.
Would he have simply slaughtered the monsters today? They were harmless weren't they? Nothing like the cruel, bloodthirsty monsters of the olden days. Times were different, but everyone acts like the monsters were still the same beasts as before!
And personally, angering Poseidon by invading a city supposedly under her personal protection seemed foolhardy to Filbert.
He was no wide eyed green recruit anymore. He's been in a few crusades, and each time the "noble" warriors of the Order have time and time again been soundly defeated. Why would this one be any different?
Perhaps Filbert should just give up. He felt hollow. His family had died of plague the weeks earlier, and without them around he felt little self preservation or faith. The Chief God has truly abandoned them.
They were struck with a plague that had no remedy, that wasted no time wasting their body away until they were naught but bones. His family had died a wretched death, and he longed to join them.
He despised the Chief God and her servants. Bad enough they asked so much from humanity and gave so little in return, but the Order was hopelessly inept and corrupt.
Even before their untimely deaths, his family was living a hard life that was barely kept afloat by his service.
With them dead, only his duty to his liege remained and though he loathed the nobility, Filbert was a man of honor. He would not abandon his post so lightly.
However there are days where he aches for his fallen family and truth be told.
He's hoping this crusade will be his last. Perhaps he'll find his end here, or maybe a harlot that'll make him forget.
Filbert doesn't know anymore. He does know this though. Goderey's Landing was not going to be "liberated".
L̵i̶t̷t̶l̴e̶ ̵d̵i̴d̷ ̵h̷e̸ ̶k̶n̵o̵w̷ ̴t̵h̷a̸t̸ ̴t̵h̴o̷s̴e̴ ̴w̷o̵r̷d̸s̵ ̸w̴o̴u̷l̵d̵ ̸b̵e̶ ̸m̷o̸r̷e̸ ̸d̸a̵m̴n̴i̵n̷g̶ ̶t̴h̵e̶n̷ ̶h̴e̷ ̵t̶h̷o̷u̸g̵h̵t̶.̴
And yet here he was on this foolhardy quest. Before he knew it, the nobleman's long winded speech, the pompous prat really loved to hear his voice, had ended and they were off.
They were already beset by numerous problems. The skies were dark and stormy, showering the lands with a thunderous downpour.
Their baggage train was bogged down, and despite the protests of many, they were left behind.
Now they marched without an immediate supply line, and struggled to march still with the mud sticking to their feet and slowing them down.
Like wolves to sheep, they were immediately accosted by monsters. Packs of werewolves, bands of orcs, throngs of amazons, flocks of harpies. All manner of monsters had attacked them while they were vulnerable.
And each and every single one had been slaughtered to a beast by the Maccabians.
While their flanks were being threatened and under risk of being kidnapped, the faceless Maccabians rained death and fury upon them. The amazons had been cut down in a volley of crimson, as red as the blood that was spilt, their bodies broken and utterly destroyed.
The thanks of the men they saved died on their lips as they saw the slaughter, and only more so when they mercilessly executed whatever survivor remained. There was no mercy, no respite, no quarter.
Any wounded they shot, any that ran they shot, any that so much as twitched even as they laid bleeding from monstrous wounds they shot deader than dead.
Where was the honor in killing a surrendering monster? One so wide eyed with fear and trembling like a newborn?
It mattered not to these Maccabians.
Whatever and whoever attacked them died without so much as a whimper or a scream.
Flocks of harpies shrieked as they were blown out of the sky. It was irrelevant that they had a man in their grasp, and it was only through the circumstances of their situation that the stolen men's comrades and superiors did not brawl with the Maccabians then and there.
It was only more of a reminder to fight back. If a harpy somehow caught you, best hope it did not fly too high before it is shot out of the sky, and you with it.
Most terrifying however was their pyromancers, for it seems even their fire was more dangerous. More damning, hungry.
It mattered not that it was raining, for when their flames had washed over the bands of orcs and packs of werewolves, it ignited on their bodies and stayed stubbornly burning despite their panicking.
It was a truly nauseating experience, one that left their comrades horrified beyond a shadow of a doubt. To be burned alive and left to die an agonizing death was one that many saw cruel.
Flesh cooked and melted, their bodies consumed in flames. They flailed in agony and to his disgust, the Maccabians did not put the monsters out of their misery.
The bastards must have took a perverse satisfaction in their grisly kills, as they simply marched forward, idly watching the condemned scream their last before their bodies gave out.
It seems cruelty was just a virtue these Maccabians exemplified, and Filbert stared at his "allies" in disgust.
Nobody wanted to be near the Maccabians afterwards. None except for the nobles themselves, who were shaken but eager to use them in battle properly, and those who had a penchant for shedding blood regardless of where it came from.
Honorless cutthroats and shameless murderers in his opinion.
Soon the host arrived remarkably intact in front of the once venerable coastal city with out their wagon train. The city knew they were coming, and as such their walls were lined with defenders and the gates were closed. It seems this would be a siege.
A pity, Filbert had hoped for a quick battle, and an even quicker end. Not a long siege.
The Maccabians seemed to agree, as they formed blocks and advanced despite the protests of their employers.
Their angered shouts and bafflement was soon replaced with deathly awe as the Maccabians weathered the metaphorical and literal storm. They were blasted with magic, pelted with arrows, and struck with what few siege weapons the defenders had.
Filbert watched as they walked through the arrows like they were rain, and endured blasts of magic bolts with startling grit.
And before the disbelieving eyes of those gathered, the Maccabians counterattacked, easily battering down the heavy gates of Goderey's Landing with a mighty explosion!
They lined up into blocks and they patiently waited as one of their own, a burly giant, shot a strange musket that spat fire and brimstone, ones that easily shattered the thick gates and sent them crashing down. A mighty explosion vaporized a good part of the battlements, and what parts were not blasted were instead mercilessly gunned down with crimson bolts or doused with the outsider's terrifying flames.
As the ramparts began burning and crumbling, the Maccabian advanced into the city and the rest of their motley crusade rushed forward. The nobles organized them into neat blocks and had them march methodically into battle.
There was little need.
It was simply a slaughter. An extermination almost.
Perhaps they had a different idea of reclamation. Or perhaps they simply did not care, but what they saw they razed. Whom they saw trying to surrender they simply executed. Whoever fought back would simply and efficiently be cut down where they stood before they could even react.
There was no glory to be found here. No great songs of gallant battles nor noble duels. No stories of stalwart crusaders coming to free the downtrodden and abused.
No. None of that. They slaughtered everyone and everything indiscriminately. Human or monster it mattered not. If they were not one of them they died.
And as Filbert watched with disbelieving eyes, he came to a startling realization. These creatures weren't monsters. Not truly. He saw families torn asunder. Ripped apart and crushed under the weight of their "holy" crusade.
These people were just that. People trying to live their lives and here they were. Razing their homes to the ground and slaughtering them all.
And why? For liberation from monsters?
No they were already free. It was them that were the monsters.
They were the true demons and it showed today.
Filbert could no longer hold in his lunch as he threw up, eyes wide in disgust as he saw the slaughter. The Maccabians torched the city to its very foundations.
The order of the crusade rapidly broke down as it became less of a reclamation and more of a razing, and it was only amplified by the sheer chaos of it. The mercenaries used this as a chance to fill their coffers more and some used this to fulfill their abhorrent desires. Ever since the gods stopped answering their prayers and their servants became more and more scarce, it was like the world began going mad.
Some men turned to their greed, consumed by their most base instincts.
The simple man-at-arms couldn't help but gaze around the city in horror. The night sky was as bright as day from all the flames. His company clumsily followed after their commander, the shaken knight stuttering as he ordered for them to form ranks. They clashed with terrified but enraged and manic defenders, simple citizenry desperate to save their families or the few remaining soldiers left alive.
The militia and the defenders fought as one who have been marked for death would.
They fought like demons possessed and Filbert barely survived being crushed by an ogre's giant warhammer when the beast was perforated by a dozen magic bolts from the Maccabians.
She splattered horrifically and her blood was steaming hot upon his skin when it landed. And still the night raged on, with fires growing into giant infernos that began consuming entire districts.
They fought again and again, one bloody engagement after the other as they fought to grind their enemies into dust underneath their heel. They never broke, the fervent militia and city watch snarling like the monsters from the Old Age proper. Filbert should have felt like a gallant hero of the old as his sword found the throat of a monster.
As she choked on her own blood and fell to the ground with tears in her eyes, the man-at-arms could only see the horrified eyes of his beautiful wife, looking at him with fear as she wasted away. He blinked and it was replaced with the glossy eyed corpse of the monster he had just slain.
The rushing water at their feet swiftly became red with blood and one could scarcely walk a few feet before stumbling upon a carpet of bodies. They were not heroic liberators, but crusading madmen that had came to their homes and butchered their people in the span of one night.
He watched as children were abducted by the Maccabians, the cold steely faces of their masks expressionless as they took the children and separated them from their crying parents. They had stopped executing the people they caught, a small mercy.
The reason was quite ample, as the nobles began furiously arguing with the commander of the Maccabians. The man-at-arms never felt so glad for the authority of the highborn then tonight. He wasn't sure if he could stomach anymore wanton slaughter of the innocent and that was the only thing he saw. Instead the Maccabians began dragging the screaming captives away, though they handed off some to their employers. Usually high ranking officials, officers, and nobility.
Whatever statues of Poseidon they saw they toppled. They took to the destruction of such places of worship with great relish. Not even the angry rebukes and horrified shrieks of the nobles could stop that.
He saw their zealous anger as they ransacked the temple and slaughtered its priestesses. The pathetic monsters didn't even have a chance to beg as the Maccabians hosed them with their profaned magic.
A furious kraken rose from the seaport, her fury palpable as she slammed her appendages at the outsiders. They ducked and took cover but a few were slammed full force and sent flying through the air. There were no half measures this time, no holding back their monstrous strength. The monster was out to kill now and she showcased this by grabbing one of them and flinging them like ragdolls away.
Their counterattack was just as savage and the monster shrieked in anger and pain as her flesh was obliterated by lasbolts. Man and monster fought bitterly, with the outsiders maddenly rushing forward with demented, roaring swords in hand and bastard prayers on their lips. Filbert didn't stick around to see how that fight would go, fleeing as far as he could.
He could feel his mind beginning to shut down, a desperate attempt at trying to salvage his honor and sanity as he stared at his bloodied hands. As Filbert began gazing around himself in disgust, lost in the destruction, the skies began to howl.
A harsh downpour that spat lightning and roared thunder. This was undoubtedly Poseidon's fury and the man waited to feel the wrath of the gods when nothing happened.
"The gods are gone..." he thought.
It was strange. He should be glad their crusade wasn't being utterly crushed like he had thought.
But this?
The razing of the city they were supposed to reclaim? This was worse. Much worse.
There was a loud Whooosh and he heard the roaring of a dragon. Except it was simply more of the Maccabian's bastard weapons. He watched in numb shock as he saw one of the faceless men drown an entire street in flames. It roared with the fury of a dragon and it burnt just as horribly, and Filbert watched in disgust at what it did to the people.
Not even the stones themselves were spared.
"What a waste." he thought, "This is madness! Utter madness..."
He breathed heavily, trying his best to avoid smelling the rancid smell of gore and burnt flesh all around him. He bumped into another man-at-arms, the fellow armsman's eyes hollowed as he gripped his sword loosely while walking towards the shattered gate.
"We're doomed. We've done it now. We're going to the depths of Hel itself...never to return..." he muttered brokenly.
Filbert idly noticed the crest of their House he served in had been torn from his shoulder and discarded. Only a ragged hole remained in the fabric and it was plain to see.
This man was deserting.
Filbert should have tried to stop him. After all, they were soldiers under oath to the Order. The sword and shield of mankind against the innumerable horde of monsters.
But what was their purpose when the Order has shown itself to be so horribly inept? Corrupt, twisted, and stagnant? What was the point of being a sword and shield for humanity against the monsters when they themselves are not much better. Nay, they were worse even.
He joined the deserter instead.
With a disgusted grimace, Filbert also tore off his own crest and insignia and threw them onto the ground.
Oaths and honor. Duty and service. What did those mean after the laughable excuse for a crusade they just had? The fastest crusade to ever be completed, and it ended with ashes in their mouths.
As he stared at the burning city around him, it felt fitting. They didn't save anyone today. They were butcherers today, no better then the monsters of the Old.
Moving fast, the two deserters avoided the gazes of their comrades. With how distracted most were with slaughtering the helpless and looting the city, it was easy.
To his surprise, he began finding more and more of his comrades. The men just as disgusted as he was at the atrocities they committed. The horrors they saw, the destruction rained down on this city. And why?
Because it was under the control of the monsters and not the precious Order? What was the point now? Now the city would be nothing but blasted rubble and a graveyard.
The band of deserters glumly walked out of the gates with nary a struggle. There were little to no sentries to keep watch for possible enemy reinforcements. Any they found had the same haunted looks in their eyes and they did not say a word as the deserters walked out in droves.
Most still carrying their weapons, some their armor, and all abandoning their heraldry.
As they walked aimlessly into the woods, most simply disappeared from his sight.
Honor and duty. What a joke. Filbert himself found himself closely getting more and more lost and he blinked as he walked up to a twisted tree. Corruption festered from it and he looked at it with faint interest. It was scarred by various iconographies and marks that hurt to look at.
At the base of the corrupted tree was an impossibly large man, sitting still. He had heavy robes that obstructed anything of note and he looked up at Filbert with his six misshapen eyes.
Six eyes...dark as the night and haunting to look at.
Filbert's blood froze and he stared straight helplessly as his sword arm suddenly went numb. He could scarcely move or breathe.
"Hello Filbert." the ma- no. The daemon growled lowly, smile all teeth and malicious intent. It disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.
"We are damned." was the first thing Filbert thought despairingly before the daemon stood up and peered deep into his soul.
It towered over him and the creature eyes glittered in the dark, mesmerizing the man-at-arms. He cowered before it, falling upon his knees and kneeling in terror, shaking like a newborn babe.
It did not butcher him and drink from the blood in his bones as he thought however.
It simply smiled.
On and on.
An impossibly wide smile that seemed to convey a sense of danger and urgency that it made Filbert began to bleed from his eyes.
Then it raised it's palm and touched his forehead. It showed him visions.
Visions of a future that could be. A glorious future...
His eyes began changing, from a lifeless brown back to it's original liveliness. He felt something in him that he once thought lost.
Hope.
Filbert did not resist when the daemon led him to the others. Dazed and as blind as he once was. Before the daemon showed them a future that was too good to be true. And yet it was just sitting there. Waiting.
They began trailing in the direction of salvation. The downtrodden and the abused. Simple peasantry and disillusioned deserters, those who lived and served under the yoke of the Order and have had enough.
Filbert smiled, his mind returning to the happy days of his family. Of holding his infant son in his arms. Of seeing his beautiful wife's gorgeous smile again.
He was ignorant of the malicious gaze of the daemon behind him, which smiled widely at it's ignorant victims.
"All that can be yours again...if you will just follow us." the daemon rumbled.
Filbert didn't even hesitate. How different could it be? What was the point of serving the Order and their empty promises when one has so much more to gain from the servants of the true gods. And this daemon showed him the power of the Four. Nothing like the parlor tricks of the supposed gods in his realm. No...
These deities were far more deserving of worship then those harlots.
Perhaps in another life, the man's faith would have allowed him to resist. But not this one.