When Steel Fails
The sky was ablaze.
Not with dawn—but with fire, screams, and the sickening crack of bone and steel.
War had returned to Vaithara's border camp. But this… this was not war. It was a massacre written in ash and blood.
Prince Jay Vashisth stood at the front lines, sword drawn, his breath ragged, left arm bleeding from a deep gash that soaked into his battle cloak. Around him, the battlefield groaned—a living graveyard where corpses moved and screamed with stolen voices.
"They're not bandits…" a trembling soldier muttered behind him, his shield rattling. "They're not men. They're dead…"
"They're monsters!" another cried, dropping his spear as skeletal arms dragged a comrade into the dirt.
Jay's voice cut through the horror like thunder.
"Stand your ground! Shield wall—tighten ranks! Hold!"
But fear had already begun its slow invasion. For every fallen Vaitharan soldier, another twisted puppet rose in the enemy lines. The dead did not stay dead. The arcane rot of necromancy fed on their losses, growing stronger by the second.
Captain Raag, blood streaked across his face, slammed his sword into the chest of a charging revenant, but it barely staggered.
"Blades aren't enough!" he yelled, pulling his sword free. "They keep rising—what in the gods' name are these things?!"
Jay grit his teeth, swinging his sword wide to knock down two more. "Fire! Fire's the only thing that slows them down! Light them up!"
Archers scrambled to ignite their arrows, dipping them in pitch and flame, releasing volleys that finally sent a few undead writhing in flames. But there were too many. Far too many.
And now… commanders were falling.
A horn blew—short, abrupt. Jay turned just in time to see his cavalry commander, Yavan, struck down. His horse collapsed beneath him, crushed under the weight of a giant revenant wielding a rusted maul. Yavan's body was ripped apart in seconds.
"No—YAVAN!" Jay shouted, his voice breaking.
Seconds later, the infantry commander—old, battle-scarred Sarthak—was impaled by three pikes at once, dragged backward by reanimated soldiers who once fought beside him.
Captain Raag's face hardened as the archer commander, Tural, ran to them, chest heaving.
"We're down to two squadrons! The third line's collapsing!" Tural shouted. "We need to pull Jay back! He's going to die out here!"
Raag didn't wait. He turned to Jay, his voice low, firm. "We need to retreat. Now."
Jay's eyes—bloodshot and blazing with rage—locked onto Raag. "I won't run. Not while our people are still out there."
"You have to!" Raag's voice cracked with something deeper—pain, loyalty. "This is not about pride anymore, Jay. You're our prince. If you die here, this war ends with you. We've lost this battle. But we cannot lose the war."
Jay looked over his shoulder—saw fallen comrades being torn apart and turned into weapons against their own army. He saw Tural—his last friend on the field—stand tall one last time, releasing a final volley of flaming arrows before being swarmed and dragged down screaming.
Raag watched him die. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched tight, and he whispered beneath his breath, "Goodbye, old friend…"
Then he turned to two remaining guards. "Get him out of here. We'll cover him."
"I'm not leaving them," Jay growled, struggling to keep upright, clutching his bleeding arm. "My men—my people—"
"ARE ALREADY DEAD!" Raag snapped, grabbing him by the shoulder. "And now they're in the enemy's army! Even our fallen fight against us! How long before you join them, Jay?!"
Jay looked around him again—and finally saw it. The truth. The devastation. The defeat. It burned like a sword in his gut.
"...Damn it…"
Raag softened, voice cracking slightly. "We don't even know the necromancer's full power yet. But we do know how to kill the dead now. That's our only leverage. And we need to deliver that knowledge to the King before it's too late."
Jay clenched his fist. "We'll return. And we'll burn them all."
Raag nodded. "We will. But only if you live."
As Raag and the last two guards covered his retreat, Jay cast one final look over the smoldering camp—his home, his soldiers, his battlefield. All of it was now a graveyard.
Smoke rose into the sky like mourning incense. And from deep within the enemy lines, Jay saw the Arc Wizard—mask cracked, arms outstretched—resurrecting yet another soldier Jay once trained with.
Jay's rage flared, silent tears streaking his dirt-streaked face.
"I will find you… and next time, I won't just fight your army. I'll burn your cursed soul."
Raag gripped his shoulder. "For now… run."
And so they did.
Through smoke, blood, and shadow—they vanished into the forest.
The screams had faded into the distance, but Madhvi's heart had not stopped racing. The battle still echoed in her veins—the clash of steel, the sickening shriek of the undead, the smell of burning flesh. Her feet stumbled over gnarled roots and blood-soaked earth as she clutched her father tighter.
"Move! Keep formation!" Royal Guard Arvak's voice cut through the night like a whip. His armor clanged with every step, but his grip on the axe was firm—trained, lethal.
Behind him, Royal Guard Venram dragged a wounded soldier, while Medic Aara kept one hand on Vaishnav's pulse, her face pale under the moonlight.
"We're losing time!" Venram hissed. "They'll catch our scent if we don't make distance."
"They won't stop. Those aren't soldiers anymore," Arvak said grimly. "They're cursed. Puppets of death."
Madhvi's breaths came in ragged gasps. The branches whipped against her cheeks, the forest pressing in tighter, shadows dancing like phantoms between the trees.
"I—I can't hear the battle anymore," she choked. "That's not a good sign."
Venram exchanged a glance with Arvak.
"It means there's nothing left to hear," Arvak said, his voice low. "Either it's over—or everyone's dead."
Madhvi's knees buckled slightly, but she forced herself forward. Her father's weight was heavy, limp… and yet his presence was all that tethered her to sanity.
What if Jay didn't survive? What if I lost them both?
She turned her head toward the distant fire-lit sky. The flames had dwindled, but the smoke still rose like a mourning banner.
"Jay…"
Aara tightened her grip on her wrist. "He'll survive. He's stronger than most. But right now, we need you to stay alive."
They broke through a narrow passage in the woods, guided only by moonlight and the trampled trail left by a scouting party. Ahead, a small hollow awaited—a place they could hide for the night.
"Set down the wounded," Arvak ordered. "We rest here, but only for an hour. Then we move again."
As they prepared camp, Madhvi knelt by Vaishnav's side. His breathing was shallow, erratic.
"Father… please don't leave me now," she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest.
The silence of the jungle wrapped around them, but her thoughts were chaos.
---
Meanwhile…
Jay's body was beginning to betray him.
The wound on his arm pulsed with fire, his legs nearly gave way with every step. Blood had soaked through his armor, and every breath was a struggle between pain and pride.
"Keep moving!" Captain Raag barked, blocking another tree root to help Jay pass. "We're almost to the eastern bend!"
Jay gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. "Don't yell at me like I'm a boy."
"You're not a boy," Raag replied, eyes hard. "You're a dying prince with a dozen shattered ribs and no godsdamned backup. Now move!"
The last of their cavalry had scattered. Most of the infantry was gone. Only two guards remained, holding the rear with grim resolve.
Jay paused under a wide oak, pressing a hand to the slash on his shoulder. The battle played on loop in his mind:
The Calvary Commander's neck crushed under a dead soldier's bite.
The Infantry Commander overrun, dragged screaming into the necromantic pit.
The Archer Commander's final plea, his arrow loosed mid-air as his body was cleaved by a resurrected brute.
The voices still rang in Jay's ears. The faces of men who once laughed beside him now twisted in pain, animated by unholy spells.
"I failed them," Jay whispered.
"No," Raag said, gripping his arm. "You fought like a Warlord. But this… this was no ordinary battle. This was a slaughter orchestrated by powers older than steel."
Jay looked back—where his camp once stood, only ruins remained.
"I saw one of the wizards," Jay said, voice trembling with restrained rage. "He raised one of my men—Sarthak. His eyes were still full of pain… still aware."
Raag's face grew cold. "We've faced death before. But this—this is something deeper. A curse. A spellcraft that rewrites the laws of life itself."
Jay clenched his fist. "Then we burn it to ash."
Raag nodded. "Yes. Fire is the only thing that worked. Our blades bounced off their rotted armor, our arrows snapped in bone… But when the fire took them, they screamed."
"We need to tell the King," Jay said.
Raag helped him up again. "And to do that… you need to live, even if every inch of you wants to stay and die in their memory."
---
Elsewhere: Campfire and Confessions
Under the crooked trees, Madhvi sat by the fire, holding her father's hand. The moon cast long shadows over her face.
"He's not waking up," she said to no one in particular. "His magic… it's silent now. Like the forest has swallowed it."
Aara gently took her shoulder. "He gave everything to protect you. Don't let his sacrifice be in vain."
"But why?" Madhvi asked, eyes burning. "Why are we in the middle of this? Why is a simple girl from the woods suddenly hunted by dead men and wizards?"
Arvak leaned against a tree, arms crossed. "Because fate never picks the willing. It picks the necessary."
Venram nodded. "And you're necessary now. Whether you like it or not."
Madhvi looked toward the horizon again.
"Jay… if you're out there… I need you to survive. I need you to come back."
---
Two Days Later – The Arrival of Kalsim
On the crest of the eastern hill, a new banner rose.
Commander Kalsim, draped in scorched silver armor, rode at the front of his elite scouting unit. His spear, taller than a man, glowed faintly under the midday sun.
He pulled his horse to a halt.
"By the Gods…" he whispered.
Before him lay the remains of Jay's battalion—torn standards, broken blades, and hundreds of fallen Vaitharan soldiers scattered like discarded dolls.
Black smoke still spiraled from the earth, and in the distance, the ravens circled.
One of his lieutenants rode forward. "This was a massacre."
Kalsim didn't speak. His eyes were locked on a shredded banner bearing the mark of the royal cavalry.
Jay's banner.
"Find survivors," he said at last. "And prepare my second unit. If Prince Jay still lives… we bring him home."
_to be continued