The sun's rising was the signal the living were waiting for, the bright star, its light a nourishment for the life below, shone bright, the gates of the city swung open, leading the way for many soldiers, all eight elemental champions, and the iron king himself, leading the charge.
For a moment, they halted, Loimos, still grasping upon his war scythe with both hands, was exuding a more than menacing presence, a maelstrom of death force and dead energies swirling around him, enhanced by countless arts and conditions affixed on each individual energies, using the teachings of Nosferatu, he utilised stack for something other than simply enhancing his physique, runes, sigils and other symbols spun around his body alongside him, circles forming.
Incantations were recited, making for a most ominous imagery, the runes and such were all issued from the death tongue, which was a language that encompassed just about everything, so no one could decipher what Loimos was up to.
Thrusting his polearm up in the air, a ripple went outward, everyone did what they could to shield themselves from the rapidly approaching wave, but it went right through them, going around the barrier, the congealed mass of death and energies instead seeping into the mundane golems, who all erupted with putrid flesh and sharp bones, miasma exploding outward alongside shards of rocks.
"Hail to the king" reciting these four words endlessly, the amalgamations of rot and stone spoke in Loimos's voice, everytime they completed this simple sentence, a small circle of miasma would erupt from them, like rabid beasts, the now enhanced golems rushed forward, all in their own ways as all were misshapen in their own particular way.
"Brace yourselves!" Fioldron Ferrcrona shouted his order, and all did as he said, working in conjunction, the elemental champions channelled simple mana and funnelled it into a single spell, forming a small, but durable barrier, the amalgamates crashed head first into it, not bothering about going around it for even a second.
But a bulk of the golems cleared out an area, forming a perfect corridor toward Loimos, was was currently drowned in shadows, an enormous undead having appeared to his side, speaking a word, an order most certainly, the rotting zombie leapt from his spot, landing in the center of the clearing.
One of the seven minor lords under the directive of Loimos, Herlbe, a revenant of an ancient race that once opposed the undead king, a forgotten species of goliath.
Herlbe loomed well over the battlefield, standing above three meters tall even when hunched over, his shoulders and arms were terribly thick, covering the upper portion of his back were an assortment of heads that was come from various source, barely identifiable for the most part as they were severely decayed, the most recognisable amidst the rot was the original head, with all teeth exposed, hollowed out sockets covered in stab and slash wounds.
A goat head to the left of the original, and one with long hair covering it completely.
A metallic claw nailed to his left forearm, chains wrapped around the right and around his bare chest, only his lower section was garbed in armour strangely enough.
With a barbaric roar, the king and his champions felt their hair being pushed back as the barrier was called off and the stacked up golems eliminated, the eight elemental champions went on the ready, the revenant was unimpressed, even laughed at them, flexing his putrid, yet sturdy arms.
"I am Herlbe! Minor lord in the service of the eternal monarch, King Nitok! Present yourselves, for the dead have names and titles too!" he was more of the rowdy kind, his stature imposing, stalwart and seemingly immovable, the champions looked at one another, it seemed like Herlbe was truly awaiting them to give out their names.
"Alosfit, Champion Of Fire"
"Defoim'nocle, Champion Of Water"
"Forven, Champion Of Wind"
"Filiusorci, Champion Of Earth"
"Dasato, Champion Of Crystal"
"Neige, Champion Of Snow"
"Msir, Champion Of Sword"
"Lunate, Champion Of Salt"
Shrouding his fists in flames, compressing water in between her palms, gathering turbulent winds around his blade, manifesting an earthen golem, crystals growing on her face, a bright white cloud forming as per her will, readjusting the hat on her head and grinding both short swords together, and finally, calling forth a whirlwind of salt around herself.
The eight champions took this opportunity to prepare spells ahead of time, the undead was still unimpressed, smiling, one might assume if they looked closely.
"All of you… Might just hold out for a little while!" a projectile went right past him, deflected, by the Msir hastily, still in the same spot, Loimos was manifesting heavy bone javelins, launching them mostly into the crowd of mundane soldiers, tearing them apart, immediately turning their remains into miasma.
The stronger people could resist through the clouds of miasma produced by both golems and their master, but it was clearly going to decimate a great portion of the regular men fighting in the army.
Elements intertwined, raining down on the revenants, he shrugged everything off, not bothering to defend himself, he lashed out of his metal claw, champions scattered and surrounded him, unfortunately, they left the undead's back free, for they couldn't afford to turn their backs on Loimos, always keeping an eye for his movements.
Fioldron Ferrcrona abandoned the safety of being surrounded by his loyal champions, ran past Herlbe, unsheathing his long sword, forged out of a dark alloy just like his armour and crown.
He had formed the caste of elemental champions, not out necessity, but because Starkefolten had always been proud of its strength, yet, when he inherited the throne, he was long aware, and appalled at the lack of power within the army, their numbers were great, but they were not the most trained army, and they lacked any powerhouses to represent them.
Although none of the champions could measure up to a copper knight, Storm Of Blade, Or The Volcano Witch, as a collective, they were powerful and a step toward Starkefolten rekindling with strength.
So it went without saying that he could not be satisfied with remaining a figurehead, he wanted to lead the armies in orders, but also physically if needed.
Was his swordplay and strength sufficient to challenge a monster like the one they called butcher of the badlands? Of the one undead trusted by a true monster to lead his vanguard and be the face of his reign?
"Loimos, Royal Courier, would you be honourable enough to accept a true duel?"
He would find out soon enough.
The javelin within the undead's hand dissipated, grasping his weapon, he stepped down his position and met the iron king to his level.
"Would you be honourable enough to see its result through?"
Fioldron Ferrcrona stopped himself from shivering, gone was the diplomat that demanded for them to surrender their lives, he was facing an executioner whose every movement and words were meant for only a single purpose, reap the king's life.
The iron king steeled his resolve, circulating his mana throughout his body, he held no particular talent for manipulating energy, no energy trait, no inborn talent or ability, his physique was not extraordinary, and had no elemental affinity.
But his training had been harsh, he had persevered from a young age, from six years old he had begun his gruelling training, and he had his kingdom and people to protect, he had never felt so powerful.
"May the gods have pity on this fool"
Yet, he did not see an undead before him, but the grim reaper itself, and the gods, were silent.
Erupting with death force and dead energies, capable of switching between internal flow and external at will, Loimos had learned all that was within his reach, incorporated and melded everything into a singular component, a fighting style that encompassed nearly every method of power.
He had not bothered naming it himself, but King Nitok had, very enthusiastic about his royal courier.
The Eternal Monarch had generously dubbed it as such: