The death of the King should have ended the battle.
It did not.
For one stunned heartbeat, the world stood still.
The King of the Human Empire burned in white holy fire.
The Queen floated overhead in her skeletal form, her beauty stripped away and replaced by the true face of the Chaos God's servant.
The truth had been revealed.
But truth alone did not end wars.
And the Queen was far from powerless.
Though many of the Imperial soldiers stood paralyzed, the Queen still had her disciples.
The generals closest to her had long ago accepted fragments of her power.
Each believed they had been blessed.
Each believed they had been chosen.
Only now, as they felt the Queen's fury rolling off her in waves, did some begin to wonder whether those "gifts" had been curses all along.
The Spy Master still stood.
His reward had been a form of eternal health.
Not eternal youth.
His hair had gone gray decades ago.
His face bore the lines of age.
But his body endured.
He would not die of sickness or old age.
At one time, he considered that a blessing.
Now he wondered if it was merely a longer sentence.
Others were less fortunate.
One general possessed immense strength, but his body was wracked with constant pain.
Another had enhanced magical ability but had not slept peacefully in over twenty years.
The curse mage who had tried to kill Jax found her own skin crawling with invisible insects whenever she doubted the Queen.
Every blessing came with chains.
And all of them remained bound.
The Queen's voice cracked like thunder.
"ATTACK!"
The spell was not magical.
It was instinct.
The command of someone they had obeyed for years.
And many still obeyed.
Chaos mages at the rear raised their staffs.
A storm of fireballs and bolts of dark energy tore through the sky toward the forces of the United Kingdoms.
That single act broke the tension.
The battle resumed.
The moment the first volley was launched and the first Imperial units crossed the line Jax had drawn in the dirt, the United Kingdoms surged forward.
Nearly eighty thousand soldiers charged as one.
But as they advanced, something remarkable became clear.
The full Imperial army was not moving.
Only a fraction.
Thirty thousand.
Then forty.
No more.
The rest remained rooted in place.
Many stared upward at the Queen in horror.
Others stood frozen, unsure whether they were fighting for their nation—or for the very evil they had been told to destroy.
Some officers screamed for them to advance.
Many ignored the commands.
Fear had severed the Empire's greatest weapon.
Unity.
The forty thousand who did commit were met with hell.
And before they reached the center of the field, they were already dying.
Dante was first.
The great Flame Dragon soared upward, his wings blotting out the sun.
The Imperial mages at the rear prepared another coordinated barrage.
They never got the chance.
Dante folded his wings and dropped like a meteor.
He struck the ground among them with the force of an earthquake.
Then he exhaled.
A river of molten fire swept across the mage corps.
Protective barriers shattered.
Armor liquefied.
Staffs melted in trembling hands.
Healers attempted to restore their comrades, only to discover they had no limbs left to heal.
In seconds, one of the Empire's greatest magical assets ceased to exist.
Charlotte descended next.
The giant shadow spider skittered across the battlefield, her many eyes gleaming.
With a screech that chilled even allied soldiers, she unleashed thousands of smaller spiders.
The creatures poured over the battlefield like a black tide.
They crawled beneath armor.
Bit into exposed flesh.
Injected venom that paralyzed muscles and drained mana.
Entire squads collapsed screaming as they were overwhelmed.
Rootzilla thundered forward.
The massive tree-dragon's jaws crushed armored knights as if they were made of straw.
Roots erupted from the earth beneath his feet.
They impaled soldiers.
Wrapped around cavalry.
Dragged screaming men underground.
At the center of the battlefield, Bunny was unstoppable.
Aurabelle Darquebane crashed into the enemy ranks like divine judgment.
Her hammer struck the earth.
The resulting quake launched dozens of soldiers into the air.
She leapt from one impact point to the next, her movement almost impossible to follow.
Each landing shattered armor and bone.
Each swing released flaming tornadoes and arcs of lightning.
Soldiers who survived the initial impact were hurled into the air and incinerated before they landed.
Bunny laughed as she fought.
Not because she enjoyed death.
But because she was defending the people she loved.
And because for the first time in her life, she was exactly where she belonged.
Behind her, Zee was a revelation.
Many expected the shy healer to remain far from the fighting.
Instead, Zephrial Darquebane became the backbone of the front line.
Her barriers sprang into existence wherever they were needed.
Arrows shattered against them.
Magic dissolved.
When enemy soldiers broke through, Zee drove them backward with solid walls of force.
One armored knight rushed her.
She struck him with a barrier-enhanced punch.
The man flew twenty feet and folded around a tree.
Allied soldiers stared.
Zee blinked in surprise.
Then blushed.
Then returned to healing the wounded as if she had not just launched a fully armored man through the air.
Llandra stood elevated above the battlefield like an elven goddess of war.
Starpiercer sang in her hands.
Each arrow split into five.
Then ten.
Then dozens.
Some burned.
Some exploded.
Some carried lightning.
Entire formations vanished beneath her barrages.
She tracked officers and standard-bearers first, dismantling command and control with ruthless precision.
No movement escaped her notice.
No opening went unexploited.
Nyxian fought like a dark dream.
Lilith's Kiss split into two living whips.
They coiled and struck with minds of their own.
One severed limbs.
The other injected shadow poison.
Grim and Steed charged through the front line like twin battering rams, scattering infantry.
Flower drifted behind her, releasing spores that soothed allies and seeded paranoia among the enemy.
Fear spread.
Then suspicion.
Then rage.
Imperial soldiers began accusing one another of betrayal.
Some even turned on their own officers.
Nyxian smiled.
"Good flower."
Pixelle, tiny but brilliant, hovered above the front lines like a general.
Roots burst from the earth at her command.
Walls of stone rose to protect wounded allies.
Vines dragged enemy soldiers from horseback.
Her magic turned the battlefield itself into an ally.
At one point, she crossed her tiny arms and shouted, "Nobody hurts my family!"
A towering oak fist erupted from the ground and flattened an entire squad.
Lexi surprised everyone.
The fairy enlarged herself to full size and entered the battle with a fierce determination none had expected.
Her iPoint-enhanced strength allowed her to wield a blade with shocking skill.
One veteran soldier underestimated her.
He was launched headfirst into three of his companions.
Lexi blinked in surprise.
Then grinned.
"Okay. That was fun."
Brannic and Merriweather fought side by side.
The old dwarf swung his enchanted greataxe in wide, devastating arcs.
Each strike sent shockwaves through the ground.
Merriweather hovered above him, singing battle magic and launching beams of concentrated light.
Together they fought like a legendary duo returned to glory.
Grathok, the Beast Broker, wore armor instead of his usual tailored suits.
Twin daggers flashed in his massive hands.
Every movement was precise.
Every strike efficient.
Those who knew him only as a businessman watched in stunned disbelief as he carved through the enemy with practiced brutality.
Across the battlefield, countless personal grudges were settled.
Former slaves struck down their captors.
Families avenged loved ones.
Warriors who had once been powerless now fought with strength they never dreamed possible.
Stories would be told for generations.
Stories of vengeance.
Of redemption.
Of freedom.
Within an hour, the forty thousand who had charged were shattered.
Reduced to fewer than twenty-five thousand.
Then fewer still.
The remaining Imperial forces never moved.
They watched.
Watched their King die.
Watched their Queen reveal herself.
Watched the United Kingdoms fight with unity and purpose.
And many chose not to die for a lie.
Even as their commanders screamed for them to advance, the majority stood frozen.
Weapons lowered.
Eyes wide.
Hearts uncertain.
The United Kingdoms had not merely won a battle.
They had broken the illusion that had held an empire together.
And on that blood-soaked field outside Solmere, under the gaze of a revealed servant of Chaos, the world began to change.