Erotic Sensation (18+)

Allfather's Executioner

" One death is tragedy. A million deaths is statistic. "

(Chapter 2)

When the strikes at midnight occurs, they stand at Bhab Bastion, first squad of Veteran Hinterclaws on the fifth region of Mantara. The enemy aims the first shell deliberately at the centre of the Inner Bastion, the Sanctum Bjorn, one of the fifth churches located in the kingdom. It screams a song of fire as it tears the apart over the Civita, falling through the furious storm of arrows coming up from the city's defense. The assault on the WF's constant attrition is so intense that the shells go almost unnoticed.

Their flights are short, being cut apart by net of beams as soon they were detected. But they were seen. The High Executioner watches their brief descent, his stern features unmoved. Three others stand with him, mighty wolves and angels of the Alpha's own genetic material. The Devastator, and the Warclaws see the momentary flash also.

Three armoured giants forge in the fires of yesterday's knowledge. They are brothers, after a fashion, born of the same inhuman faith and the same course of nature. The High Executioner's name is Y/N Valoris. His armour is of black and red, reflective of the sky he fights under. His hair is indifferent. His sculpted face is as severe as any patriarch from his homeland. There is no room for compromise in his expression.

Fafnorn, the Devastator is named. He is garbed in gorgeous marbles of gemstones as bright as gold. His armour covers all of his body including his face and the jump pack on his back. He is seen as a beautiful angelic figure, pulled down from Valhalla's walls and exiled in the soiled world of men. He observes the world sadly.

The Warclaws wears camouflage grey. His adopted brothers called him Svern the Conquerors, the first name and tittle given for his prowess, the latter because his proficient with his Lightning Claws. He keeps the name. Unlike his brother, he goes to battle without a helmet. Below the excited and delighted smile of his wild and proud face, lies a death row for his foes. He seeks for death merely for the thrilling path.

" Midnight as the old reckoning has it. The Blood Moon has returned to its home. " Said Svern as the features of his face light up by crackling of the sky and his pelts blow against the air. " Our foes mark an enmity for us. It is a challenge. Don't you remember The Overdox? That fireworks and shots are meant for the three of us. "

" Such arrogance. " said Fafnorn shakes his head in result for his neck armour to purr. " Maybe I should use my flamethrower for good. "

" Please don't. "

Viktor (WF's commander to the siege) is well gifted with confidence. It has grown wayward. He is too sure of himself.

Svern shrugs as if Viktor's fall had been an inevitability. His glorious armour hisses and sighs.

" Arrogance is close kin to hubris. He will fall because of it. " Y/N turns his gaze to the darkness before the mountain.

Civita's iron children return to their origin with murder in their hearts, to spit hatred onto the cradle of mankind. And yet, for the moment, they hold back, weathering the storm of blood and fire. A legion of monsters crowds the perpetual night, so many that their blood on the ground able to make the world swim in their blood. Sanctified aegis covers the entire city as snow piling on them, encasing it with a white layer of snow -- away from the Blood Moon. Bells ring from every churches.
Sirens wail. Tocsins clamour. Guns ripple out asynchronous drumbeats. The city defences have been firing since the three arrived. The grimms are so densely packed the defenders could not miss.

Outnumbered. Outgunned.

As the brothers watch, a response is made by the WF. A single firework launches to the sky, lighting a clear path to the mountain across the man-made river separating two lands.