Chapter 239 Brutal Victory

Chapter 239 Brutal Victory
He closed the distance with a terrifying burst of immortal speed. He swung his broadsword in a massive, horizontal arc. The rusted blade sheared cleanly through the wooden shafts of both spears and kept going, tearing through the iron breastplates of the guards as if they were made of parchment.

The two men collapsed, their blood washing away in the rain.

Klaus stepped up to the towering wooden gate. He did not look for a lever. He planted his heavy boots in the mud, raised his left leg, and drove his heel squarely into the center of the thick oak doors.

The sheer, overwhelming force of the impact shattered the massive iron hinges. The thick wooden doors splintered violently down the middle, bursting inward with the sound of a detonating bomb.

Klaus stepped through the ruined gateway and into the chaotic slaughter of the courtyard.

He was a force of absolute, unstoppable ruin. He fought with a brutal, mechanical efficiency. A soldier lunged at him with a short sword; Klaus grabbed the man’s wrist, snapped the bone with a sharp twist, and drove his own blade through the soldier’s chest. He ripped the sword free, spinning to catch another guard with the heavy iron pommel, crushing the man’s iron visor into his skull.

The Outcasts fought with feral, desperate rage. The Vampires fought with elegant, surgical precision. But Klaus fought like a man who had spent three hundred years waiting for the chain to snap.

The skirmish did not last long.

The Imperial forces broke. Panic swept through the remaining soldiers as they realized they were entirely trapped. The vampires held the walls, raining stolen arrows down on anyone who tried to run. The Outcasts blocked the exits.

Ten minutes after the first throat was cut, the screaming stopped.

The only sounds left in the valley were the heavy downpour of the rain and the low, wet groans of the dying.

I stood up. My legs trembled slightly, stiff from the cold, but I forced my posture straight. I walked down the muddy slope, my heavy boots slipping on the slick grass, until I reached the main road.

I stepped through the shattered remains of the massive wooden gates.

The courtyard was a slaughterhouse. The muddy ground was completely saturated with thick, dark blood. Dozens of Imperial bodies lay scattered across the paving stones, their armor hacked to pieces.

Cassian stood near the barracks door, wiping a long, elegant silver rapier clean with a piece of white silk. His midnight-blue coat was speckled with red. Riven was kneeling near the center of the yard, pulling an Imperial dagger from his own scaled shoulder without making a sound.

The two factions looked at each other over the field of corpses. They had fought side by side. The aristocratic vampires and the mutated outcasts had shed blood together, united by the violence.

Klaus stood at the far end of the courtyard.

He was entirely drenched in blood. The dark red fluid coated his chest, running down the deep pink scars and soaking into the waistband of his dark trousers. He held a terrified, sobbing man by the collar of his uniform. The man wore the gold insignia of an Imperial checkpoint captain.

Klaus turned his head, his bright, glowing sapphire eyes locking onto me as I walked through the carnage.

He dropped the captain. The man hit the muddy stones, scrambling backward until his spine slammed against the grey rock of the fortress wall.

Klaus walked toward me, his heavy boots splashing in the red puddles. He stopped two feet away. He looked at my pale face, searching for any sign of fear or revulsion.

I didn't flinch. I reached out, pressing my raw, cold hand flat against his blood-soaked chest. The heat of his skin burned through the freezing rain.

"The gate is yours," Klaus murmured, his voice thick and rough.

I stepped past him, walking toward the terrified Imperial captain cowering against the wall.

The man stared up at me. He looked at my torn, dirty clothes, and the complete, chilling absence of mercy in my turquoise eyes. He was trembling violently, his hands raised in front of his face.

"Please," the captain begged, his voice cracking. "We surrender. The post has fallen."

I stopped directly in front of him. I looked up at the stone wall directly above his head.

Carved deep into the grey rock was the massive, proud crest of the Empire—a towering eagle clutching a sword. It was the same crest that had been stamped into the silver collar they locked around my neck.

I reached my right hand up, placing my palm flat against the center of the carved stone eagle.

I did not hold the rot back. I pushed the freezing, dark energy directly into the rock.

The stone shrieked. A massive, deafening hiss echoed through the courtyard. The solid grey rock turned pitch black instantly. The heavy, oily sludge ate through the carving, dissolving the proud eagle into a weeping, featureless crater of dark decay. The foul stench of the Blight filled the damp air, overpowering the smell of the blood.

I pulled my hand away. The black sludge dripped down the wall, sizzling violently against the paving stones inches from the captain’s boots.

The man let out a pathetic, weeping whimper, pressing himself harder against the stone.

"Get up," I commanded, my voice completely flat and echoing in the dead quiet of the ruined fortress.

The captain scrambled to his feet, his knees knocking together. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the melting, hissing rock above him.

"You are going to run south," I told him, stepping closer until he was forced to look at my face. "You are going to run until your boots fall apart. You will go to the Ivory Spire, and you will stand before the Emperor."

The man nodded frantically, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt and blood on his face.

"Tell him the checkpoint is gone," I whispered, the words slipping from my lips with cold, lethal precision. "Tell him the Vampires and the Outcasts march together. And tell him the Siren is no longer singing."

I pointed to the hissing, black crater of decay melting into the wall.

"Tell him the Blight is coming for his throne," I said. "Now run."

The captain didn't hesitate. He turned and sprinted toward the southern road, abandoning his dead men and his ruined post, running blindly into the dark forest.

I stood in the rain, watching him disappear into the shadows. The first blow of the war was struck. We had broken their vanguard, and we had signed our name in rot.

Klaus stepped up behind me, wrapping his large, hot arms around my waist. He pulled my back firmly against his bloody chest, shielding me from the biting wind. He rested his chin on my shoulder, looking out at the southern road.

"The Emperor will know by tomorrow," Klaus murmured, his grip tightening protectively around me.

"Let him know," I answered, leaning into his fierce, unyielding warmth. "Let him sit in his high tower and wait for the rot."