Primordial Enmity

I slashed through another red-shelled monstrosity, my enchanted steel blade cutting deep into its chitinous armor. The creature's death scream joined the cacophony of battle that surrounded us. All around me, the proud soldiers of humanity clashed with Borosmemnok's crab-like horrors on blood-slicked black soil.

Our enemy looked like men in red armor from afar, but upon closer inspection their inhuman traits were revealed. Though they shared our general shape, these crustacean soldiers' features held no humanity. Black eyestalks protruded from their heads, plated mouths bubbling with froth.

My gaze caught on Lord Burien's broken form. His armor lay shattered, torn apart by those vicious claws. Just moments ago he'd stood beside me, his war hammer crushing our enemies. Now he was gone, like so many others.

"Keep the line!" I shouted over the din of combat. "Don't let them break through!"

Two and a half million soldiers fought across this vast volcanic plain, matched evenly against Borosmemnok's chitinous army. The creatures moved with unnatural coordination, their red shells gleaming as they wielded jagged weapons with deadly precision. These were no mindless beasts; they fought with tactics and skill that matched our own trained warriors.

Steel rang against chitin. Blood and ichor sprayed. A soldier to my left fell, his throat torn out by serrated claws. I cut down his killer with a swift stroke, but two more creatures immediately took its place. Their eyestalks swiveled to track my movement as they advanced.

The battle stretched beyond sight in all directions, a churning sea of humanity against monsters. Broken bodies and shell fragments littered the ground, making footing treacherous. The stench of death hung thick in the air.

I parried a strike from a jagged red sword, the impact jarring my arms. These creatures had strength to match their martial skill. My counter-strike took its arm off at the joint, dark fluid spurting from the wound. Before it could recover, I drove my blade through its chest.

But there was no time for satisfaction. More of Borosmemnok's soldiers pressed forward, their claws snapping. I fought mechanically, each movement precise and economical. Yet for every monster I cut down, the sight of Burien's mangled corpse flashed in my mind. Another friend lost to these abominations. Another reminder of why we must succeed in this Crusade, no matter the cost.

I wiped sweat and blood from my brow, watching another wave of red-shelled monstrosities advance. My thoughts drifted to our previous victories, each one bitter and costly in its own way.

Zantas Maladan's valley had been deceptively beautiful, filled with flowers that sapped our will to fight. The peace it emanated nearly broke our resolve before we could strike the killing blow. I still remembered how King Mirrin's body twisted as he absorbed the Mantle of Amity.

Then came Omadzaburik in its putrid swamp, where reality bent and shifted with every step. Queen Ayen's transformation after claiming the Mantle of Prestidigitation had been particularly grotesque, her flesh rippling and reforming as the power settled within her.

Ghustafavol's domain had been a nightmare of tunnels teeming with chittering horrors. The insects had stripped the flesh from hundreds of our soldiers before we reached its central chamber. And Olnusborika, nestled in that massive tree's womb-like heart; the very air had felt alive, pulsing with creation itself.

But this, this was different. Borosmemnok had created an army to match our own, warriors that could think and fight as well as any human. The volcanic bowl we fought in had become a true battlefield, our kingdom banners fluttering alongside their flesh-flags in the ash-filled wind.

Each Primordial we'd slain had cost us dearly. Not just in lives lost, but in potential strength. Once a warrior claimed a Mantle, they could no longer participate in these battles. We couldn't risk having them face another Primordial, as the consequences were too uncertain. Would a second Mantle destroy them? Would it reject them? Or worse, would the competing powers tear reality itself apart?

So our strongest fighters, those who'd already claimed Mantles, were forced to watch from afar while we struggled against these endless waves of red-shelled soldiers. Their absence was keenly felt with each friend that fell to enemy claws.

I ducked another swing from a jagged blade, my own sword finding purchase in the gap between shell segments. We were paying for our victories in blood, and I feared the price would only grow steeper.

The battle dragged on, each day blending into the next. We slept in shifts, always keeping our weapons ready. The endless waves of red-shelled warriors never tired, never needed rest. But we endured.

Our line became a wall of corpses. We stacked the dead, both human and monster, into crude barricades. The smell was horrific, but we fought on. The volcanic ground turned to mud beneath our feet, saturated with blood and ichor.

I lost count of how many I killed. My sword arm moved mechanically, each strike precise and deadly. My armor was stained permanently red, chunks of chitin embedded in the joints. Sleep came in brief moments between attacks, haunted by visions of snapping claws and dead friends.

Queen Altanava's archers rained death from above, their arrows finding gaps in the creatures' armor. King Luderenil's cavalry smashed through their flanks again and again. Yet still they came, endless ranks of red shells and black eyestalks.

Then, on the eighteenth day, something changed. A gap appeared in their line; small at first, but growing. Their perfect coordination faltered. We seized the opportunity.

"Forward!" I roared, my voice raw from weeks of shouting. "Push through!"

Our soldiers surged ahead, tired muscles finding new strength. The enemy tried to close ranks, but we'd gained too much momentum. Their line shattered.

We broke through into a clearing at the heart of their formation. There, waiting for us, stood Borosmemnok.

The sight of Borosmemnok rooted me to the spot. At first glance, it appeared nothing more than a massive boulder, its rocky surface littered with the weapons of fallen warriors. Rusted swords, spears, and polearms were all stuck into the giant rock. There was even a red banner sticking up at the top, made from some red, flesh-like material.

But as those six legs unfolded from beneath its bulk, I realized the true horror of what we faced.

Each leg ended in a crab's claw that could crush a man in plate armor. The serrated pincer that emerged from its left side looked capable of snipping a warhorse in half. But it was the right limb that drew my attention: a mockery of a human arm, covered in that same red chitin as the rest of its form.

When that hand reached up and grasped one of the swords embedded in its shell, I expected the rusted blade to crumble. Instead, the weapon pulled free smoothly, revealing itself to be no sword at all, but rather an extension of the creature itself, a blade of living chitin.

The Primordial moved with shocking speed for something so massive. Its legs carried it forward in a scuttling charge that sent soldiers scrambling back in terror. The chitinous sword swept out in an arc, and five of our best warriors, men I'd fought beside for years, were bisected in an instant.

Their deaths snapped me from my daze. This was what we'd come for. This was why we'd fought through endless waves of its red-shelled soldiers. Before me stood one of the twelve Primordials that had turned our world into a battlefield. My hand drew my starstone sword as I readied myself to face war itself.

I watched Mulmin charge forward, his massive frame moving with surprising grace despite his heavy armor. His starstone axe gleamed as he swung it in a powerful arc toward Borosmemnok's shell. My heart caught in my throat; this was the moment that would determine if our weapons could truly harm such an armored creature.

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The Primordial's chitinous blade met Mulmin's axe with a sound like thunder. The impact sent my lover stumbling backward, his boots sliding in the blood-soaked earth. But where the weapons had connected, Borosmemnok's sword hissed and smoked. The starstone had burned through part of its living weapon.

"Its blades are part of its body!" I called out, my voice carrying over the din of battle. "The starstone affects them!"

Above us, Queen Altanava's clear voice rang out. "Archers! Loose!"

The sky darkened as hundreds of starstone-tipped arrows arced overhead. They rained down upon Borosmemnok's massive form, striking its rocky carapace with precise accuracy. Where they hit, the shell sizzled and cracked, red rends forming from the wounds.

The sight filled me with fierce joy. After years of searching, after countless battles against its endless armies, we were finally on our way to defeating the Primordial of Enmity.

I watched in horror as Borosmemnok tossed its sword into the sky. At first I thought it had just gotten rid of the damaged weapon, but as it spiraled through the air I saw where it was headed. The massive blade tumbled end over end, its trajectory aimed directly at our archers. Queen Altanava's voice rang out in warning, but it came too late.

The weapon exploded on impact, sending razor-sharp shards of living chitin in all directions. Screams filled the air as dozens of our best archers were torn apart. Their bodies fell from the ridge like broken dolls, blood staining the volcanic rock crimson.

Rage consumed me. These were my people, my soldiers, dying to this monstrosity. With a roar that tore at my throat, I charged forward. My starstone blade felt alive in my hands, hungering for the Primordial's flesh.

Others took up my battle cry, their own weapons gleaming as they rushed to join me. The sound of our charge must have been deafening, but I heard nothing over the thunder of blood in my ears.

Borosmemnok's massive claw reached up, grasping another weapon embedded in its shell. The halberd it drew was longer than three men, its edge serrated and cruel. The weapon moved with impossible speed for its size, sweeping toward me in a deadly arc.

I threw myself into a roll, feeling the wind of its passage above me. The sound of screaming and tearing metal told me others hadn't been as fortunate. The volcanic soil scraped against my armor as I tumbled, then sprang back to my feet.

Through the chaos, I saw Mulmin strike. His massive frame launched forward, starstone axe biting deep into one of Borosmemnok's legs. The Primordial's shell cracked and hissed where the weapon struck, but before Mulmin could press his advantage, another leg whipped out.

The impact sent Mulmin flying. My heart stopped as I watched him sail through the air, landing hard on the blood-soaked ground near me. I rushed to his side, my hands finding purchase on his armor as I helped him up.

Blood ran down his muscled arm from a deep gash, and his precious starstone axe lay shattered nearby. But his eyes still burned with warrior's fire. He gave me a quick nod of thanks, drawing his backup starstone sword in a smooth motion.

I raised my own blade as we charged back into the fray together, our weapons ready to strike at the heart of war itself.

The battle against Borosmemnok had become a dance of death. Mulmin and I moved in perfect synchronization, our starstone blades seeking gaps in the Primordial's defenses. Years of fighting together had taught us each other's rhythms; when he would strike high, I would go low. When I feinted left, he pressed from the right.

But Borosmemnok matched our coordination with its own impossible grace. Its six legs moved with fluid precision, keeping its massive bulk balanced as it wielded that grotesque halberd. More weapons sprouted from its shell like a forest of death, each one a part of its own flesh shaped into killing tools.

"The joints!" I called to Mulmin as we circled the creature. "The shell is weakest there!"

He responded with a grunt, his blade already seeking such a target. Blood still flowed from his wounded arm, but he showed no sign of slowing. If anything, the injury had only hardened his resolve.

I ducked under another sweep of that massive halberd, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle my hair. The weapon's edge caught one of our soldiers who'd ventured too close, cleaving through his armor like parchment. His death cry joined the chorus of battle that surrounded us.

The volcanic ground beneath our feet had turned treacherous, slick with blood and scattered with fragments of red shell. Each step required careful placement to avoid slipping. One mistake would mean death.

Mulmin landed a solid blow against one of Borosmemnok's leg joints, his starstone blade biting deep. The Primordial's screech sent soldiers stumbling back, hands pressed to their ears. But I pressed forward, seizing the opportunity Mulmin had created.

My own blade found purchase in the crack his strike had opened. The starstone burned through the creature's flesh like fire through ice, widening the wound. The carapace parted, revealing the ragged red wound beneath.

For the first time since the battle began, I felt hope surge in my chest. We could hurt it. We could kill it. The Primordial of Enmity was not invincible.

But Borosmemnok was far from defeated. As I pulled my blade free, preparing for another strike, its damaged leg whipped out with shocking speed. The blow caught me square in the chest, sending me tumbling across the battlefield.

My armor saved my life, but I felt ribs crack from the impact. Each breath brought stabbing pain as I struggled to my feet. Through blurred vision, I saw Mulmin pressing his attack, keeping the Primordial's attention focused on him while I recovered.

I gripped my starstone sword tighter, ignoring the pain that screamed through my body. We had come too far to fail now. The world needed us to succeed, needed us to end the Age of Primordials once and for all.

With a roar that tasted of blood, I charged back into battle alongside my dearest friend, both of us ready to strike at the dreaded monster.

The years of battle had changed us all. Where once Mulmin and I had been merely fellow kings leading our armies, the crucible of war forged something deeper. It began with shared meals in my tent, discussing strategy over maps and wine. Then came the long nights where we'd trade stories of home, finding comfort in memories of peace.

I never meant to fall for him. I had a family waiting: my dear wife Elenas and our two boys. But there was something about Mulmin's strength, his unwavering courage in the face of horrors that would break lesser men. The way his deep laugh could lift spirits even after the bloodiest battles.

We first came together after the battle in Zantas's valley. The peace-inducing flowers had left us all raw, emotional. When Mulmin appeared in my tent that night, neither of us spoke. We simply held each other, finding solace in shared warmth.

Such relationships weren't uncommon among soldiers. War creates bonds deeper than friendship, and many found physical comfort with their brothers-in-arms. Still, what grew between Mulmin and I was more than mere comfort.

That's why, when I saw Borosmemnok's serrated claw arcing toward Mulmin's exposed back, I didn't hesitate. My body moved before my mind could process the decision. I slammed into Mulmin's broad frame, shoving him clear of the strike.

The impact came like thunder. The claw pierced my enchanted armor as if it were paper, tearing through flesh and muscle beneath. Pain exploded through my back as the Primordial lifted me skyward, impaled on its massive appendage.

Time seemed to slow. I watched my blood drip down the creature's red shell, joining the carnage below. Then Borosmemnok flicked its claw, sending me flying through the air like a discarded toy.

I crashed among the corpses of fallen soldiers, their cold flesh cushioning my landing. Blood poured from the wound in my back, soaking into the already saturated ground. Through dimming vision, I saw Mulmin turn.

"VARDIN!" His scream carried over the battlefield's chaos. The sound held more than fear or anger, it carried the raw anguish of watching someone you love fall.

Mulmin's massive frame seemed to grow larger as rage consumed him. He charged at Borosmemnok with reckless abandon, his starstone blade becoming a blur of motion. Gone was the measured warrior I knew, and in his place stood an avatar of vengeance, dealing death with every strike.

Through a haze of pain, I watched the battle unfold before me. My blood pooled beneath my broken body, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Mulmin's fury. He fought like a man possessed, his massive frame moving with deadly grace despite his earlier wounds.

Others joined him: Queen Altanava's remaining archers picking their shots with careful precision, King Luderenil's cavalry circling to strike at exposed joints. But it was Mulmin who drew my focus, his starstone blade finding weak points in Borosmemnok's armor again and again.

The Primordial's leg came off first, severed at a joint already weakened by our earlier attacks. The creature's screech of pain sent soldiers stumbling backward, but our warriors pressed on. Another leg fell, then that massive serrated claw that had torn through my armor.

Time lost meaning as I lay there. Each breath brought fresh agony, but I forced myself to stay conscious. I needed to see this through. When Borosmemnok's arm finally fell, the same one that had wielded those horrific weapons, a cheer went up from our surviving soldiers.

Then it was over. The Primordial of Enmity lay still, its limbless body a grotesque monument on the blood-soaked ground.

"Vardin!" Mulmin's voice cracked as he reached me, strong arms wrapping around my broken form. "Healer! I need a healer now!"

A young woman appeared, her hands already glowing with healing magic as she examined my wound. "The injury is severe, my lord. Without immediate treatment, he will die."

Mulmin nodded, muscles tensing to lift me, but Queen Altanava's voice cut through the moment. "King Mulmin, you've been chosen. The Mantle of Enmity must be claimed."

I saw the conflict in his eyes, the war between duty and love. Before he could speak, King Binar stepped forward. "I'll take him to the healers. Go, fulfill your destiny."

I squeezed Mulmin's hand weakly. "I'll be f-fine. Go. This is what we fought for."

Pain etched deep lines in his face as he nodded. He retrieved his fallen starstone sword and walked toward Borosmemnok's remains. As Binar lifted me carefully, I caught one final glimpse of my lover, still human, still the man I'd grown to care for, as he plunged his blade deep into the Primordial's core.

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