GAMBIT 48 48| The Beginning

The four pillars of Pureheart, the king, and the princess, sh.e.l.l-shocked they are after seeing a new king, new allies, and not a single member of the shadow monarchs can be found. Some people realized the face of the king for they have seen his ill.u.s.tration in books and carved paintings. They couldn't believe their eyes, even the princess and her father was gobsmacked, they know a lot about the king's power, and they are very aware it exceeds theirs.

"Pureheart, your time has come. I know some or perhaps even most of you may remember me. I, King Darian, will take my place as the one and only king of Sacchi. With me, the power and the supremacy of our motherland shall grow endlessly as we drive forth to a better regime with the other kingdoms and countries bowing on their knees!"

"You should be dead by now. You fight for domination, we fight for the sake of the future generations. Our youths, they live in famine, poverty, because of this dreaded war. Our people, they pray tirelessly for this war to end for good. I am aware of your capabilities. A hex, a dragon, but as the current king of Pureheart, your brother fights alongside us." Felix confronts Darian.

"We will see then." chuckle, Darian as he walks straight back to his side of the "board". On the other hand, Felix does the same and returned to his side in which he is greeted by the concerned look of his daughter.

"Father, he is too powerful. I can't lose you too."

"Don't worry, my daughter. The victors of war are not determined by strength but by skill." touching the cheeks of Jupiter, Felix comforts her.

There is a moment of silence amongst all as everyone stares at each other. The weather flashes to the scene as the moon rises above, bringing darkness across the land. Thunders crash, lightnings roll, and the war has just begun with the cries of the two kingdoms buzzing through the sky as they come forth to each other with confidence.

There, after clashing upon each other, the slithering sounds of thousands of swords being unsheathed were frightening. It was carnage, it was everywhere. The storm was somehow peculiar and little do they know, that above a tree was the red l.u.s.trous bird, watching the battle in disappointment, even shedding a tear. Once that tear fell to the ground, the serpent of Witherheart emerged while the Phoenix of Pureheart drifted.

The storm was only getting far worse than expected. The sky is carrion-black. Poppy-red blood drizzles from their wounds. The trolls are clunking axes and crashing war hammers against their shields. Arrows are zipping and hissing through the air. Some of Pureheart's men are sobbing and snivelling with fear.

Swords are ringing against each other. A legion of trolls and hexes, alongside the other creatures attacks the centre of Pureheart's defense lines. The septic smell of death hangs over the battlefield. It is a battle of head-clasping horror. The acrid taste of blood rises up in their mouths.

The spear tips wielded by the elves glints like wicked h.o.a.r frost, but the screams of the enemy were bowel-loosening. The battlefield is more of a theatre of death filled with keening and caterwauling sounds as the sodden land became oily with ichor.

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