I patted the neck of my warhorse, Coin-Biter. The beast was trembling, its breathing ragged from the swamp mud.
"You need an upgrade, old friend," I muttered, reaching into my inventory. I pulled out a Golden Spirit-Apple (Value: 1,000 Gold) and fed it to the beast.
CRUNCH.
The horse shuddered. Magical mist hissed from its nostrils. The matted brown coat shifted, thickening and turning a burnished, armored gold. The eyes flared from dim yellow to spectral blue.
"Better," I grinned, swinging back into the saddle. "Now you look like Alexander's getaway vehicle."
"Wilhelm," Brandan rumbled, halting the column. He gripped Thunder-Fall. "Look ahead."
The fog parted.
They didn't look like an army. They looked like a funeral procession that had decided to stop dying and start killing.
Two hundred soldiers stood in perfect, unnatural silence. They wore armor made of black iron, rusted bronze, and petrified wood. They didn't breathe. They didn't fidget. They just... existed.
"Sweet mother of inflation," Vasco Vane whispered. "You bought the nightmares."
Four figures stepped forward from the ranks. The Commanders.
First, from the left. A woman in charred plate armor, smoke constantly drifting from the visor of her helmet. [ ASHHOLLOW ] Commander: Ser Vesper Cindergrief. SP: 100,000. She knelt, her voice like cracking charcoal. "The fire is out, Your Grace. Only the ash remains."
Second. A woman whose armor wasn't metal, but fused bark and fungal plating. Insects crawled over her pauldrons. [ ROTWOOD ] Commander: Perdita Fester. SP: 220,000. She bowed stiffly. "Life feeds on life. We are the compost of the King."
Third. A massive knight dripping with slime. Water poured from his joints, pooling on the dry ground. He smelled of deep, dark wells. [ DEADWATER ] Commander: Ser Tristan Stagnant. SP: 190,000. He didn't speak. He just gurgled, a wet, drowning sound that meant 'At your service.'
"Charming bunch," Alexander Shadowgrove drawled, looking at them with mild disgust. "They smell worse than the peasants."
"Silence," a voice commanded.
It wasn't a shout. It was a void. A sound so devoid of hope that the birds in the trees dropped dead.
The fourth Commander stepped forward.
He was tall. Terrifyingly tall. He wore robes of tattered grey over spiked black armor. On his back, he carried a massive, heavy iron cross, dragged with chains. His face was pale, gaunt, and his eyes were sewn shut with silver thread yet he saw everything.
Erebus walked past Brandan. He walked past Alexander. He stopped in front of me. He sensed the gold. He sensed the swagger. He sensed the Coin-Biter.
"You," Erebus whispered. His voice sounded like a stone lid sliding over a tomb. "You are smiling."
I blinked. "Uh... guilty? I try to keep morale up, mate."
Erebus leaned in. The air around him turned freezing cold.
"Morale is a lie," Erebus stated. "Hope is a parasite. It burrows into the heart and eats the reality."
He reached out a gauntleted hand and touched the gold plating of my horse. The gold instantly tarnished, turning dull grey.
"Why do you grin, Merchant?" Erebus asked, tilting his head. "Do you not know that every coin you hold is a gravestone for a moment you will never get back?"
"I..." I faltered. The Wilhelm charm withered under his aura of absolute depression. "I like money?"
"Money buys temporary distractions from the void," Erebus said. "We are House Crux. We do not fight for victory. Victory implies happiness. We fight to share the burden of existence."
He turned to the 200 Elite Tncti.
"DO WE LAUGH?" Erebus roared.
"NEVER!" the 200 soldiers screamed back in unison. It wasn't a battle cry. It was a sob.
"DO WE HOPE?"
"NEVER!"
"DO WE DREAM?"
"WE WAKE SCREAMING!"
Erebus turned back to us, looking satisfied in a deeply miserable way.
"We await your orders, Master of Coin," Erebus said, bowing low. "Point us toward the enemy. We will make them so sad they will simply stop living."
Duke Silas Shadowgrove started laughing. "Hee hee! Oh, this is rich! You bought an army of nihilists! They will probably surrender because winning is too much effort!"
Erebus turned his sewn-shut eyes toward Silas.
"We do not surrender, old man," Erebus whispered. "Surrender is a relief. We prefer to inflict the long, slow agony of endurance."
Silas stopped laughing. He cleared his throat and stepped behind Alexander.
Brandan stepped forward. He looked at his new army. The Ash, the Rot, the Stagnant water, and the weeping Cross. It was a horror show. But it was his horror show.
"They are strong," Brandan rumbled. "That is enough."
"Strong?" I muttered, looking at Erebus’s 250,000 SP. "They are stronger than me. I feel like I just hired a bodyguard who wants to strangle me for being too cheerful."
"Just don't tell them a joke, Wilhelm," Gutrum advised, keeping a hand on Astrid. "I think Ser Erebus might actually execute you for puns."
I watched the Royal Army of Despair fall into formation behind us. The fog swallowed them up, leaving only the sound of 200 pairs of heavy boots and the dragging of Erebus's iron cross.
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Scrape. Thud. Scrape. Thud.
"Well," I sighed, kicking Coin-Biter into motion. "At least we'll be the most depressing victors in history."
We rode deeper into the Whispering Weald. My horse, Coin-Biter,He snorted nervously, his warm breath steaming in the cold air, his ears twitching at the sounds of the dead forest.
Behind us marched the Royal Army. Two hundred souls who had forgotten how to breathe without sighing.
Ser Erebus Crux dragged his massive iron cross. Scrape. Thud.
Ser Tristan Stagnant left a trail of muddy water. Drip. Drop.
The depression was palpable. It was like marching through a fog of pure misery.
"I feel like I'm attending my own funeral," I muttered, patting Coin-Biter’s neck to calm him. "And I'm not even dead yet."
Then, a beam of sunshine hit the column.
Not real sun. Radiation.
"Hello, new friends!"
Melina Milkwright skipped out of the treeline. She was still wearing her glowing yellow Hazmat-Ballgown from the girls' night, her hair tied with caution tape. She didn't walk; she bounced.
She stopped in front of the Army of Despair.
Ser Erebus stopped dragging his cross. He turned his sewn-shut eyes toward her. He recoiled, hissing like a vampire exposed to garlic.
"Bright," Erebus groaned, covering his face. "It burns. The joy... it radiates."
"Hi, Mr. Cross-Man!" Melina chirped, waving a hand that glowed with 500 rads. "I'm your new Commander! Well, morale officer! We are going to turn those frowns upside down!"
Erebus looked at Brandan. "Your Grace... permission to execute the glowing girl?"
"Denied," Brandan sighed. "She is... essential infrastructure."
Suddenly, the brush exploded.
A pack of Void-Wolves burst onto the path. These weren't normal wolves. They had exposed skulls, three rows of teeth, and eyes that bled smoke. They were Level 45 predators.
"Ambush!" Alexander Shadowgrove shouted, drawing his sword. "Defensive positions!"
The Elite Tncti raised their rusted shields, ready to die (which they seemed to prefer).
"Wait!" Melina shouted.
She ran forward. Unarmed. Smiling.
"Melina, no!" I yelled, reaching for my bow. "Those things eat faces!"
The Alpha Wolf lunged at her, jaws snapping.
Melina didn't flinch. She just... giggled.
"Aww! Look at you! You're just hangry!"
She reached into her hazmat dress pocket and pulled out a Glowing Uranium-Biscuit. She held it out to the nightmare beast.
The Wolf stopped mid-lunge. It sniffed the biscuit. It sniffed Melina.
The radiation coming off her felt like a warm bath to the mutated creature.
The Wolf sat down. It whined.
Melina scratched it behind its skeletal ears.
"Who's a good boy?" Melina cooed. "Who's a terrifying murder-puppy? You are! Yes, you are!"
The Wolf wagged its tail. A sound like cracking bones.
Soon, the entire pack was surrounding her, rolling on their backs, exposing their rotting bellies for scratches.
"Unbelievable," Gutrum whispered.
Melina turned to the army, holding a baby wolf that was chewing on her finger.
"See?" Melina beamed. "Everything just needs a little love! Come on, soldiers! Pet the puppy!"
The soldiers of Ashhollow stared.
The soldiers of Deadwater gurgled.
Ser Erebus looked like he was going to vomit. "It is disgusting. The beast... is happy. It has forgotten the futility of the hunt."
Melina frowned. Tough crowd.
She scanned the commanders. She locked eyes with Perdita Fester, the Commander of Rotwood.
Perdita was covered in moss, fungi, and crawling beetles. She smelled of wet earth and graves.
Melina walked up to her.
Perdita stiffened, her hand going to her serrated blade. "Stay back, Life-Bringer. I am decay. I am the end."
Melina looked at Perdita’s armor. A small, vibrant purple mushroom was growing on Perdita’s shoulder pauldron. A tiny centipede was crawling around it.
"Oh my gosh!" Melina gasped.
She reached out. Perdita flinched.
Melina gently touched the mushroom.
"You're a garden!" Melina whispered, her eyes wide with genuine wonder. "Look at this little guy! He's living on you! You're like... a walking ecosystem! That is so cool!"
Perdita blinked. Her eyes, clouded with cataracts, widened.
People usually screamed at her. They called her a corpse. They called her filth.
This girl... called her a garden.
"A... garden?" Perdita rasped. Her voice sounded like dry leaves.
"Yes!" Melina smiled, blindingly bright. "Death feeds life, right? You aren't just the end, Miss Perdita. You're the beginning of something new. You're beautiful."
Perdita stood frozen. The concept slammed into her nihilistic worldview like a hammer.
Beautiful?
The corner of Perdita’s mouth twitched. The crust of mud on her cheek cracked.
Slowly, painfully, uncontrollably...
Perdita Fester smiled.
It was a jagged, terrified smile. But it was there.
"I..." Perdita whispered. "I feel... warm."
Erebus saw it.
"PERDITA!" Erebus roared. "YOU ARE SMILING! YOU ARE FORGETTING THE PAIN!"
Perdita’s eyes snapped open in horror. She realized what she was doing. She had allowed happiness in. She had betrayed the code of the Crux.
"No," Perdita gasped. "No, no! Sin! Sin!"
She reached to her belt and pulled out a Thorned Scourge.
CRACK.
She lashed herself across the back.
"Sorrow!" Perdita screamed, striking herself again. CRACK. "Remember the rot! Remember the grave! Happiness is a lie! Pain is truth!"
She fell to her knees, whipping herself in a frenzy of penance, erasing the smile with blood.
Melina stood there, horrified, her hands over her mouth.
"I... I just said she was pretty..."
Erebus walked up to Perdita, nodding approvingly at the self-flagellation.
"Good," Erebus droned. "Purge the joy, sister. Let the blood wash away the smile."
He turned to Melina.
"Do not infect us with your light, girl," Erebus warned, his voice shaking with genuine fear. "We draw our power from the void. If you make us happy... we become weak."
Melina backed away, clutching her hazmat dress. She looked at me, tears in her eyes.
"I broke her," Melina whispered. "Wilhelm, I tried to be nice, and I broke her."
I rode Coin-Biter up to her and pulled her onto the saddle behind me.
"You didn't break her, Melina," I said softly, watching Perdita weep and bleed. "You just showed a vampire the sun. It burns them."
I looked at the Army. They were marching again, stepping over the weeping Perdita as if she were just another log in the road.
"Let's keep moving," I commanded, my voice grim. "This army... is going to take a lot more than cookies to fix."
We rode on, Melina hiding her face in my coat, while behind us, the rhythmic CRACK of the whip kept time with the marching of the damned.
—----------------------------------------Army Power—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[ FACTION ANALYSIS COMPLETE ]
[ ENTITY: THE ROYAL ARMY VASSAL WAVE I ]
? CORE UNITS
Elite Tincti “The Sanctified”
- Classification: Elite Infantry
- Average Strength Points (SP): 50,000
- Unit Count: 200
→ Total Unit SP: 10,000,000
? COMMAND STRUCTURE DETECTED
[ ASHHOLLOW ]
Commander: Ser Vesper Cindergrief
- SP: 100,000
- Description: Woman in charred plate armor, smoke drifting from visor. “The fire is out, Your Grace. Only the ash remains.”
- Status: Active
[ ROTWOOD ]
Commander:Ser Perdita Fester
- SP: 220,000
- Description: Armor of fused bark and fungal plating; insects crawl over pauldrons. “Life feeds on life. We are the compost of the King.”
- Status: Active
[ DEADWATER ]
Commander: Ser Tristan Stagnant
- SP: 190,000
- Description: Massive knight dripping with slime; water pours from joints. Gurgling at command. “At your service.”
- Status: Active
[ WEEPING CROSS ]
Commander: Ser Erebus Crux
- Class: Joy-Eater
- SP: 250,000
- Description: Tall, terrifying; tattered grey robes over spiked black armor. Iron cross chained to back. Eyes sewn shut with silver thread yet sees all.
- Status: Active
→ Total Commander SP: 760,000
? AGGREGATED FACTION POWER
Total Strength Points (SP): 10,760,000
? SYSTEM NOTE:
All Command Slots Filled 4/4
Elite Units Fully Deployed 200/200