CHAPTER 52: The Emperor's Fury
Imperial Capital – Highcourt, Dawn of Chaos
The dawn that broke over Highcourt was not the usual golden herald of Imperial grandeur. It was a bruised, sickly grey, tainted by plumes of acrid, sweet-smelling smoke that billowed from the **Grand Imperial Granary**, a colossal monument to the Empire's might, now burning from within. The fire was unnervingly quiet, devouring stone and grain with an insidious patience, unlike any ordinary blaze. Panicked screams mingled with the frantic shouts of legionaries, their usual precision lost in bewildered chaos.
High Crown Orsain Vellgaard stood on his palace balcony, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the distant smoke. Reports had begun to trickle in—wild, contradictory tales of invisible attackers, of administrative offices smoldering with unseen heat, of precious archives turning to dust. This was not a revolt. This was a nightmare.
Below, in the palace courtyard, Archlector Malgrad raved. His crimson robes were disheveled, his face contorted with unholy fury as he stared at the blackened, smoldering remains of the Basilica's administrative wing. Legates lay dead in the corridors, their throats slit with ritualistic precision, their faces locked in silent horror. On the main altar, in the very heart of the desecrated chamber, sat a small, mundane brazier, its blue flame flickering mockingly.
"Abomination!" Malgrad shrieked, his voice raw. "Profanity! The Serpent Witch has dared to defile the very heart of the Flame! She must be purged! Every last one!" His Purifiers, witnessing the Archlector's raw, unfiltered rage, began to chant, their voices rising in a furious, condemnatory drone.
The War Council – Rage and Retribution
Hours later, in the Imperial war room, the air was thick with barely suppressed fury. Lord Marshal Daegarn, his face a mask of grim resolve, listened to the panicked reports. Lady Edraya, the Minister of War, paced like a caged lioness, her hand never leaving her sword hilt. Lord Tervan, the Quartermaster General, was near collapse, babbling about the lost grain.
"The Granary is lost, Your Grace!" Tervan wept, his jowly face red with shame and fear. "And the archives… their records are ash! They slipped past every defense! Every legionary!"
Orsain Vellgaard, seated at the head of the table, his usual weary demeanor replaced by a terrifying, cold rage, slammed his fist on the polished oak. "Impossible! Highcourt is impregnable! These are lies!"
"No lies, Your Grace," Daegarn cut in, his voice grim. "Major Krell's reports from the Serpent's Spine speak of this. Phantoms that haunt the dark. Whispers that drive men mad. This is the Red Veil, led by the witch, Seyda. Kael Ashmark's blade in the shadows. He warned us. He told us he would bleed us."
Malgrad interjected, his eyes burning with fanaticism. "This is a direct assault on the Emperor's divine authority! A blasphemy against the Flame itself! The very soul of the Empire is under attack! This is the ultimate heresy!" He turned to Orsain, his voice a low, venomous growl. "Your Grace, there can be no more talk of strategy! Only retribution! We must show them the true meaning of judgment!"
Edraya, her voice sharp and cold as steel, agreed. "They have stabbed us in the heart, Your Grace! Any further delay, any sign of weakness, will shatter what remains of our authority. We must respond with a brutality that eclipses their terror! We must show them what true fire is!"
Orsain's gaze swept across the faces of his council—the weary pragmatism of Daegarn, Tervan's fear, Edraya's cold rage, Malgrad's unholy fervor. He understood. Kael had not just burned buildings. He had burned their pride. He had exposed their vulnerability. He had turned their overwhelming might into a mockery.
"This will not stand," Orsain whispered, his voice gaining power, turning to a terrifying, controlled roar. "Archlector Malgrad! Your Purifiers! Every cultist, every sympathizer, every suspected heretic within these walls—you will cleanse them! Flood the capital with your Flame! Show them the true price of defiance! Leave no shadow for these devils to hide!"
Malgrad bowed, a chilling smile touching his lips. "As the Flame wills, Your Grace. The cleansing shall be absolute."
Orsain turned to Lady Edraya. "Minister of War! That advance in the north! I want it to move faster! Blast through the Serpent's Spine if you must, but clear that artery! And the Blackwood… burn it all! Every tree! Every hidden crevice! Leave no cover for these phantoms!"
Edraya snapped a salute, grim satisfaction in her eyes. "It shall be done, Your Grace. We will drown them in steel and fire."
"And Lord Tervan!" Orsain's voice was a whip. "Rations! I don't care how you do it! Starve the populace if you must! But my legions will be fed! They will march! And they will crush this rebellion underfoot! This is not just about logistics, Lord Tervan! This is about proving our divine right!"
Tervan, trembling, stammered, "Yes, Your Grace! As you command!"
The Imperial Hammer Falls – A New Brutality
Outside the palace, the bells of Highcourt began to toll, not a mourning, but a furious, condemning peal. Legionaries, their faces grim, began rounding up suspected sympathizers, their movements brutal, driven by the Archlector's raving Purifiers. The pervasive scent of Seyda's ash was swiftly replaced by the acrid stench of burning homes and screaming dissenters.
Lord Marshal Daegarn watched it unfold from a high window. He saw the inevitable. Kael had forced them into this. He had dared them to become the monsters he claimed they were. And they were answering. The Legates in the north, already frustrated and desperate, would now unleash a fury unseen. The Capital, once the symbol of peace, was turning into a crucible of fear and righteous retribution.
He thought of the message Seyda had left for Krell: *"We are the Serpent. We flow through your veins. And your blood is ours."* Daegarn knew now. Kael was not just fighting them on a battlefield. He was fighting for their very soul. And the Empire, in its desperate fury, was tearing itself apart to prove him right. The nature of this response, the visceral fear, the widespread brutality, and the summary executions were the terrifying answer to Kael's desperate gamble. The war had just become a blood-soaked, apocalyptic nightmare.