Morgana: The Mother Of All

Even after setting up the base camp—a hastily erected fortress of sharpened logs and earthworks—Gideon's forces found no respite.

The night was alive with unseen terrors.

It started subtly. A sentry, a veteran of a dozen campaigns, was found at his post, not dead, but catatonic. He was just staring into the darkness, his eyes wide, unseeing. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He could only tremble, a silent, broken doll.

When the priest tried to read his mind to find out what happened, the holy magic was rejected. The sentry's mind was a fortress, its walls made of pure, absolute terror.

Then, more soldiers began to suffer the same fate.

One by one, they were found in a similar state. Some were gibbering incoherently, some were weeping uncontrollably, and some were just... gone. Empty shells, their minds shattered beyond repair.

The enemy was never seen. There were no tracks, no signs of a struggle. It was like they were being hunted by ghosts, by phantoms that could walk through walls and steal a man's soul without leaving a trace.

The inquisitors were working overtime. They had to use the most expensive and rare artifact to set up protective wards around the camp. They held prayer circles, chanting the sacred verses of Uriel, their voices a desperate plea for salvation in the encroaching darkness.

But it was of no use. The terror continued.

Gideon was in his command tent, poring over the map, his face a mask of grim determination. He hadn't slept in two days. The constant attacks, the unseen enemy, the rising panic among his men... it was taking its toll.

"Any news about the supplies?" he asked, not looking up from the map.

His second-in-command, a tired, haggard-looking man, shook his head.

"Nothing, my lord," he said, his voice filled with frustration. "The riders we sent... they haven't returned. We sent another group, with more men, but... they haven't returned either. It's like they're just... vanishing."

Gideon's jaw tightened. The riders. He had sent them to the Gray Knights to get more supplies. They should have been back by now. Their disappearance was another nail in the coffin of this doomed campaign.

"This crusade is already over," he said.

The commander looked at him, his eyes wide with shock. The Grandmaster was a man of unshakable faith, a rock in the storm of chaos. To hear him say something so... defeatist was a shock.

"My lord?" the commander asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"This crusade is over," Gideon repeated, looking up from the map, his golden eyes burning with a cold, hard light. "I'm not stupid enough to march into a death trap with my eyes closed, but the Church and the king will not accept defeat. They will want a scapegoat. They need someone to blame for their failure."

The holy crusade was rushed; the Church wanted to gain political power over the kingdom by being the one who "defeated" the new goddess. The king wanted to expand his territory south and gain access to the new lands.

Both of them were using the crusade as a political tool, a way to further their own agendas.

They didn't care about the men. They didn't care about the cost.

However, it was a massive undertaking, a huge investment of resources and manpower. The Church and the king had put their reputations on the line. They couldn't afford to lose. They couldn't afford to look weak.

So they would not accept defeat. They would find a scapegoat. Someone to take the fall for their failure.

And Gideon knew exactly who that someone would be.

The former Chapter Master, Leonardo.

They wouldn't dare target him, the Holy Paladin Grandmaster, a living legend, a symbol of the Church's power. But Leonardo? He was a fallen paladin. He was already tainted by suspicion. He was the perfect scapegoat.

They would say that he was the one who brought this curse upon them. That he made a deal with the new goddess. That he was a heretic. They would strip him of what little honor he had left, and they would execute him in the public square, as a warning to all who would dare question the Church.

It would also be an opportunity to weaken and damage Gideon's image and influence within the Church, since Leonardo was his student.

His political rivals, the ones who had been waiting for him to make a mistake, would use this to their advantage.

So he had to act fast. He had to find a way to turn this around. He had to find a way to win this war. Not just for the glory of Uriel. Not only for the kingdom. But also for himself.

Gideon was a man of faith, but he was also a man of ambition. And he was not going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

"Commander," he said, his voice low and steady. "I want you to gather our best inquisitors and—"

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.

BOOOOM! BOOOOM! BOOOOM!

The entire fortress shook violently, the ground trembling as if a giant were stomping on it. The sound of explosions, loud and deafening, echoed through the night, followed by the screams of men and the war cries of... someone else.

The base was under attack.

"What's happening?" the commander yelled, his face pale with shock and confusion. "Where is the attack coming from?"

Gideon swiftly stormed out of his command tent, his golden armor gleaming in the firelight. The scene before him was chaos.

The base was in chaos. The walls were breached in multiple places, and the wooden logs shattered and splintered. The tents were on fire, casting long, dancing shadows across the battlefield. The soldiers were running around in panic, their formation broken, their morale shattered.

"Stand your ground!" Gideon roared, his voice filled with authority. "Form a line! Protect the wounded!"

The soldiers, hearing the Grandmaster's voice, tried to obey, but they were no match for the enemy.

They were not human. Or elves. Or demons.

They were... well.

BOOOM!

Explosive barrels were tossed over the walls with inhuman strength, each one exploding with a deafening roar, sending shrapnel and fire in all directions.

"In the name of the Holy Light!" Gideon raised his shield, a brilliant golden light emanating from it. "BEGONE!"

A massive wall of light erupted from the ground, forming a wave of pure energy that swept across the base, extinguishing the fires and healing the wounded.

The inquisitors and holy paladins rallied around him, their own shields glowing with power, their swords gleaming with holy light. They formed a shield wall, an impenetrable fortress of faith and steel, and they held the line.

Then, all of a sudden, no more explosive barrels were being tossed at them.

Just silence and darkness.

"Archers! Ready!" Gideon commanded, his golden eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of the enemy.

Suddenly, the wind started to pick up again, the same unnatural, biting wind from before. The firelight from the burning tents started to flicker and dance, creating strange, distorted shapes on the walls.

The archers held their breath, their bows drawn, their arrows nocked, waiting for a target to appear.

DUM! DUM! DUM!

War drums started to beat, a slow, rhythmic, and menacing sound that seemed to come from all directions at once. It was a sound that spoke of ancient battles, of blood and iron, of death and glory.

"Steady!" Gideon's grip on his sword tightened. He had a bad feeling about this.

The drums grew louder and louder, the vibrations shaking the very ground beneath their feet. The soldiers were on edge, their hearts pounding in their chests, sweat beading on their foreheads.

And then, out of the darkness, they emerged.

They were not the monsters from the swamp, not the wood elves, not the demons. They were something else. Something... far more terrifying.

Men.

Seven feet tall, clad in black, ornate armor, with glowing red sigils etched into the metal. They moved with a grace and a purpose that was inhuman, their steps synchronized, their formations perfect.

Each of them held a massive tower shield, made of a strange, dark metal that seemed to absorb the light, and a wicked-looking halberd, its blade shimmering with a dark, corrosive energy.

They didn't run. They didn't charge. They just... marched. Their war drums beat a steady, ominous rhythm, a funeral dirge for the men who were about to die.

"OPEN FIRE!" Gideon roared, his voice filled with desperate urgency.

A hail of arrows flew through the air, a black cloud of death that arced toward the enemy.

But the enemy didn't even flinch.

They simply raised their tower shields, and the arrows just... bounced off. The dark metal of the shields seemed to have a life of its own, the red sigils flaring with a malevolent light as they deflected the projectiles, the arrows falling harmlessly to the ground.

"Impossible..." one of the archers whispered, his face pale with disbelief. His magical arrow, which was able to pierce through a solid stone wall, was just... deflected.

These were not normal soldiers. These were... something else. Something... unholy.

The enemy continued their advance, their march unbroken, their war drums beating a steady, relentless rhythm.

"CHARGE!" Gideon roared, raising his sword high in the air. "FOR THE GLORY OF URIEL!"

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