The Sun - Lord of Mysteries (fanfiction) - Chapter 128: War

On August 4, 1110, The Night Emperor ascended to the throne, establishing the Trunsoest empire. The Black Emperor was resurrected from the dead and re-established his fallen empire on the Northern Continent’s borders.

The Trunoest and Tudor Empires controlled 5/6 of the northern continent, while the Solomon Empire controlled 1/6 of the continent.

Another historic event occurred that afternoon; the Underworld Emperor declared war on the Trunsoest and Tudor Empires, as well as the Churches of the Evernight Goddess, God of Combat, and Eternal Blazing Sun.

Immediately following that, the Black Emperor declared war on the Tudor and Trunsoest empires.

The Black Emperor allied with the True Creator, who brought his followers to the Solomon Empire to support what little was left after the churches of the seven gods nearly destroyed his servants.

The once proud and arrogant emperor was forced to bow before the True Creator and plead for assistance. The Fallen Creator agreed, resuming their alliance.

On August 5, 1110, the Blood Emperor ordered his angel families to join the war between the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun and the other three churches, declaring that he was defending his country from invasions by Heretic Churches. He also sent his person legions as support.

The Jacob, Tamara and Amon families joined the war, sending trained beyonders to aid the troops of the Eternal Blazing Sun.

Meanwhile, the Night Emperor remained silent about the Orthodox Churches’ disputes, while secretly preparing his legion for the upcoming battle with the Solomon Empire and Bayam Empire.

The Underworld Emperor, on the other hand, had mobilised his entire undead army in preparation for a full invasion of the Northern Continent.

The Churches of Evernight Goddess and God of Combat finally broke their long silence by declaring war on the Bayam Empire together. Due to the threat posed by Death, they even managed to put aside their differences and band together under one banner.

On August 6, 1110, the Churches of Lord of Storms, God of Knowledge, God of Steam, Eternal Blazing Sun, and Earth Mother were still concentrating all of their troops for the upcoming legendary war.

By 1 p.m., the aid from the Tudor Empire had arrived and joined the march with the churches of the Eternal Blazing Sun and Earth Mother. The total number of beyonders surpassed 90,000, dwarfing the three-church alliance.

The three-church alliance, on the other hand, received ‘secret’ assistance from the church of Evernight Goddess, which helped to balance the numbers on both sides.

The armies of both alliances are expected to clash the following morning in the Callide Valley between Hornacis Mountains, beginning the war of four emperors.

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The light of dawn illuminated the land, signalling the end of the dreamy night. The smell of iron and blood, as well as the scorching heat of the blazing fire, awoke the world.

The final march of two armies of orthodox churches shook the entire continent.

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Every man and woman in both armies could feel the impending doom.

When they were young, they were told that Evil would be vanquished and that Good would prevail. In innocence, they believed that Good was enough.

But no one ever told them this would hurt, that it would cost them thier lives. That there’d be no going back.

No one ever told them about the War. The beautiful calamity. The tragic victory.

It’s tectonic plates and midnight brawls. Laughter and lies — and somersaults.

It’s a walk in the gardens of paradise, a lonely hikes down haunted highways.

It’s a chuckle through a sneer and bravery through tears.

This is the war. This great epic, unceasing drama slowly unfolding before their eyes.

The trumpets were finally blown. The armies arrived in the vast Callide Valley, bringing their seven-day march to an end.

The armies occupied the valley like a ocean, troop by troop, company by company, huddled together with little fear noticeable in all of their eyes.

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Then there was a deafening silence as the mighty armies of Orthodox Churches confronted each other. The air was thick with tension, and the glare of sun was intensifying over the valley of death.

The silence was suddenly broken. There was a long rolling of drums like thunder in the sky, followed by a braying of horns that shook the very hornacis mountains and stunned men’s ears. And then, with a resounding rumble in the ground, the armies of three churches split in the middle, and out of it came the angel of calamity, Izrial.

He confidently rode alone on a black horse to the armies of Churches of the Eternal Blazing Sun and Earth Mother.

“I speak for the Lord of Storms.” His voice rang out across the valley, his black horse neighing in front of the armies of sun and earth.

“Does anyone here have authority to speak with me?” He asked with scorn, his mocking gaze sweeping the sun and earth angels. “Or, indeed, with wit to understand me.”

“Mind thy tongue, barbarian.” A beautiful woman with long green hair glared at the Angel of Calamity.

Helena, Angel of Life, serving under the Earth Mother.

Helena rode out on her silver horse, the bow drawn at Izrial’s heart.

They strived at each other, but soon, though Helena didn’t release her bowstring; Izrial quailed away and rode back as if menaced by the angel of life.

All eyes turned to the Angel of Life in the valley, wide and curious. Then they realised. Helena’s arrow radiated the divine aura of the Earth Mother.

Helena’s grip on the bowstring gradually loosened, causing the entire ground to tremble to its very foundations.

“I am the herald of the Lord of Storms, and may not be assailed.” Izrial cried out, noticing Helena.

“Where such ancient laws hold.” Lucas Reyes- Angel of Light- spoke up, looking into the eyes of Izrial. “It’s also custom for the herald to be less insolent. But no one has threatened you. You don’t have to fear us until your errand is done. But, if you still insist on your foolish behaviour.”

He exchanges glances with Helena. The threat was clear for all to see.

He continued, “So, state the terms, Angel of Calamity.”

Izrial glared at them, enraged. Then he returned his attention to his armies. From his side, a woman in silver robes nodded at him. Her right eye flashed with an illusory divine light.

Evelyn, Angel of Arcane, serving under the God of Steam and Machinery.

Izrial suddenly gained a lot of confidence. He smiled as he returned his attention to them. “These are the terms.”

He eyed the angels one by one. “The mob of the sun and its deluded allies shall withdraw at once beyond Trier, first unconditionally surrendering to the might of the storm; second, Trier shall be the storm’s forever more; third, the west lands of Trier to the Andal Mountains shall be tributary to the Steam.”

The terms were spoken loud and clear, for all to hear.

A loud laughter suddenly sounded, piercing the heavy atmosphere in the valley.

Blaise Larson – Angel of Miracles – spoke up, his eyes gazing up at the glaring sun. His voice thunders across the valley.

“Izrial, the Sun, has never bowed to anyone, even if that one was the almighty creator himself.”

He looked at Izrial and spat mockingly. “Unlike the storm, who bends to the whims of the night ever so often.”

“So, take your terms and begone!”

The herald of Strom smiled no more. His face twisted with amazement and his eyes widened in rage.

“Blasphemer!” Izrial roared, drawing his lightning sword and charging at Blaise.

His sudden attack was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. The delicate balance was shattered.

“Charge.”

The roars erupted across the Callide Valley. Blood splattered and fire flared up. The mighty armies clashed, blowing their war horns.

The lightning cracked; the sun rose; illusory beams whizzed; sweat stung their eyes like tiny vipers, dripping down from their twisted faces.

All around was a whirlwind of disorder and violence, a blur of colour and vicious motion.

The parched, panting tongues collected the dust-choked air which intermixed with the bitterness of iron. Blood pounded in their ears, drumming to a ferocious beat inside the helmet.

The sound was barely loud enough to drown out the cries of men and women, the shattered white tower, and the thunder that struck the world tree.

Above the lower scent of sweat was the smell of all pervasive fear, carried aloft from clashing bodies that howled amidst a sea of scarlet liquid which drained from friend and foe alike, to soak a once vibrant field of white flowers…

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This was a glorious tragedy. A beautiful calamity.

This was war.

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A/N: This chapter is one of my favourites among many chapters that I written until now…..