Chapter 15: The Final Summoning
The dawn mist clung to the valley like a dying breath. Above the charred plains, the last horns of the Orcish horde echoed as shadows circled ominously in the sky. The battlefield lay quiet, almost reverent… until the ritual began.
Far beyond the ruined outer walls, in a blasted crater ringed with bones and burnt trees, the Chios Demons began their Final Summoning.
Ancient words, black as midnight and hot as brimstone, spiralled upward in twisting tongues of flame. Blood was poured into the earth — thousands of gallons. The skies darkened unnaturally, and a storm churned, fed by pain, hatred… and power.
💔 Queen Maeve’s Last Stand
Meanwhile, atop the inner tower wall, Queen Maeve, Sir Salty’s first and fiercest love, surveyed the carnage. Regal in her crimson cloak, her beauty shone even in soot and shadow. Her longbow shimmered with runes, a gift from Salty in gentler days.
Beside her, Salty fought below in the courtyard. They locked eyes through smoke and blood.
“Hold strong, my love,” she whispered to herself.
And then, it happened.
A shadow-fletched arrow, loosed from the hand of a Chios assassin, whistled through the chaos. It struck Maeve through the chest — right through her heart.
She gasped.
Her bow clattered from her fingers.
Salty looked up just in time to see her fall from the wall.
“MAEVE!” he roared, the sound pure agony, shaking him to his core.
He ran to her body, dropped to his knees, and held her, her lifeblood pouring over his hands. She smiled faintly, cupping his face.
“Finish this… for us…”
And then she was gone.
Salty let out a howl that echoed across the mountains.
🔥 The Ritual Ends — and the Weapon Rises
As the final drop of sacrificial blood sank into the cursed soil, the earth split open. From the pit rose The Vraemorr, a demon of such scale and malice it blocked out the sun.
It had ten arms, each ending in weapons — blades, whips, scythes. Its skin was obsidian armour woven with screaming souls. The very air screamed.
Even the Orc Warlords backed away.
“What in the name of the Black Forge is THAT?” muttered Skullcleaver, blinking.
“Victory,” hissed the Demon Lord Xaroth.
The Vraemorr let out a scream — a sound like mountains being crushed — and pointed toward Blackridge Castle.
💀 The Ogre's Misfire (and Goblin Pancakes)
Before the beast could advance, the excited Ogre, Bork the Smasher, couldn’t wait to charge. With a giddy roar of “SMASHY SMASHY!”, he charged forward, mace swinging wildly.
In his bloodlust, he accidentally flattened a full squadron of Goblin riders, their wolf-mounts squealing under his massive feet.
SQUELCH.
A pause.
Silence.
Then, from the ramparts, Queen Sarah peered through her spyglass and burst into laughter.
“Own goal, ya big pillock!”
Michelle beside her let out a snort. Even in sorrow, the absurdity broke through the tension.
⚔️ The Armies Rally
But there was little time for levity. The Vraemorr marched, and Salty, heartbroken but burning with rage, rose from Maeve’s side.
He looked to his commanders — Sarah, Michelle, the Dirty Dozen — all battle-worn, bloodied, and still burning bright.
“Sound every horn. We hold nothing back. Today, we avenge Maeve. Today… we make history.”
The cannons were wheeled back into position. Archers dipped their bolts in holy oils. Witchcraft flared around the Dirty Dozen, each one a living storm of fire, shadow, and lightning.
The armies of Virellia stood tall. And The Final Battle loomed.
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