Time: 02:07, Day: V?lthundr, Week: 3, Month: K?rgoyde, Year: 36651

  "Queen, it seems our march in Elix Forest has been routed. The entire front line was lost, and only the ranged and magical artillery squads were recovered. There's still no report of what enemy managed to turn our soldiers into little chunks of flesh and metal, but I can assure you we are looking into it. What would you have us do in the meantime?" The hooded, cloaked demon, his voice deep and tinged with alarm, knelt before his Queen.

  Syren’s blackened, cracked lips twisted into a sinister smile, the jagged fissures in her skin seeping faint trails of shadow like wounds that refused to heal. Her once-vibrant crimson hair, once a fiery crown of seduction and power, now hung in brittle, graying strands, each lock frayed and lifeless, as though scorched by her own corruption. The toll of the Founding Stones clung to her like a plague, hollowing her cheeks and etching sunken valleys beneath her eyes, yet not diminishing the wicked intensity that gleamed within them.

  Her body, emaciated and fragile in appearance, was little more than a vessel held together by obsession and rot. The thin fabric of her gown clung loosely to her skeletal frame, embroidered not for beauty but for intimidation, threaded with runes that pulsed faintly as though feeding off her lingering essence. Every motion she made, no matter how slight, sent cracks through the air itself, as if reality flinched at her touch.

  And yet, for all the decay, she radiated authority—an aura of malevolence so thick it pressed against the skin, worming into the marrow of those who dared stand before her. The throne room seemed to darken around her, the flames in the sconces guttering low, cowed into shadows by her presence. She was no longer the Succubus Queen she once had been, a symbol of allure and fire. She was something else now—something colder, crueler. A tyrant preserved by the very corruption that had devoured her vitality.

  Her cracked smile spread wider, teeth faintly glinting, and the room itself seemed to hold its breath, as though it too feared what would happen if she chose to exhale her will.

  "Raise your head, Aluza," Syren commanded, her voice a dry rasp that still carried an undeniable authority. "I knew this would happen. Pull all of our forces from the forest. Let them think they have a fighting chance." Her emerald eyes, now dulled with streaks of black, glinted with malicious glee. "My daughters believe they can stand against me, but neither of them is powerful enough to match what I have become. And as for who turned my army into… into this!” Syren huffed as she pushed the massive sack of metallic balls that had become her army, down the steps of her throne, “I know it was her! According to the reports, she spoke a single word, and tore them to pieces with their own equipment! That power should be mine!”

  Slowly the pieces of crumpled armor, still containing hunks of flesh, spilled down the steps with the clattering of metal.

  Queen Syren examined her brittle nails and emaciated fingers, “Aluza. Have you brought me a new mercenary?” Syren pulled herself forward in her throne, her bones creaking and joints cracking and popping, her withered hands coming together in the sad excuse for a clap.

  “No, my Queen. You asked for hard to kill warriors that won't heed the call of the Beast God. I've brought you out finest, and highly trained Corrupted Havoc Fiends.” Aluza nodded, and the massive doors to the throne room opened. In walked 5 barely clothed humanoid demons. The shortest was easily 8 feet tall, and scratched itself while not paying attention. The five of them grumbled and shoved each other, growling, and snarling. Around their necks were collars with the spikes facing inward, preventing much motion without pain. In fact, three of them were actively bleeding, though they seemed to not care in the slightest.

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  Syren’s eyes widened as her blackened cracked lips curled into a sinister smile at the edges.

  “They'll hunt the girl down and bring her back to me?” Syren asked quickly, her Aura pulsing through the throne room, forcing the five massive beasts to kneel before her.

  “They'll hunt her until her last breath and bring you her remains, my Queen.” Aluza bowed deeply.

  “Release the Corrupted Havoc Fiends, and hope that Ayanna is brought to me before dawn.” Syren said, her twisted smile stretching even farther across her emaciated face, “Otherwise, I'll have to have you punished too.” Syren nodded to the Executioner that was standing by the door, holding a rope. As the Queen nodded the massive demon released the rope.

  The Queen's company stood looking bewildered, until…

  Aluza jumped back at the last second, watching in horror as one of his own troops quickly became a splatter on the throne room floor. Slowly he looked up, and horror drained his face of color. Yet he did not falter, only bowed and grit his teeth, listening as the rest of his troops met the same fate.

  Plop!

  Thump!

  Splat!

  The wet percussion echoed like drums of rot, each impact sending a fine mist of blood across the marble tiles. Skulls burst like overripe fruit as the bodies came down in succession, bound and inverted, their limbs jerking like marionettes tangled in their own strings.

  Heads split open as they crashed from the rafters, bone crunching, flesh tearing, brains smearing across the obsidian in grotesque streaks. They writhed as they landed, their torsos convulsing even as their necks were already broken, mouths stretching in silent agony. Their jaws worked furiously, as though trying to scream through the bloody gags shoved between their teeth.

  The rain did not relent. One by one, the failed rangers and mages of Salem Kingdom tumbled from the cathedral ceiling like condemned offerings, their ruined forms piling grotesquely at the foot of the throne. The stench of iron and ozone thickened the air, mixing with the acrid tang of corrupted magic leaking from their bodies.

  The Corrupted Havoc Fiends shrieked as they tore themselves free from the heaps, eyes blazing with feral hate. Their restraints snapped like brittle twine, and immediately they turned on each other. Claws tore through armor. Fangs ripped into throats. Friends, brothers-in-arms, sisters—none of it mattered. They lashed out blindly, maddened by pain and the corruption that threaded their veins like molten wire.

  It was chaos incarnate. A rainstorm of blood and betrayal. One ranger, her face mangled beyond recognition, sank her teeth into the throat of a mage she’d once shared bread with. Another, his arm twisted backward, impaled two fiends with a shard of shattered staff before being ripped apart by three more.

  All the while, more bodies rained from the rafters. The throne room floor grew slick with gore, a crimson mire that reflected the flickering torchlight in distorted ripples.

  Above it all, the throne remained untouched, looming over the carnage like a predator watching its prey devour itself. And there sat the Queen, smiling and laughing as carnage rained supreme.