Centurion Darius Vaelor's Log, Supplemental
Imperial Legion field recording
30 days after Rothgard's Fall
Pride turns to dust.
Magic shatters on steel.
The sky delivers judgment.
Centurion Darius Vaelor pressed his back against the charred remains of a supply wagon, heart hammering in his chest as if it would burst through his black armor. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid tang of spent magic, choking every breath. Above him, the dark shapes of the enemy airships hovered like demons from the deepest pits of the Abyss, their engines emitting a constant, menacing whine that drilled into his skull and set his teeth on edge. *This cannot be happening*, he thought, gripping his custom magitech rifle tighter, the ornate runes along the barrel glowing faintly with power. *The Imperia is invincible… we have crushed kingdoms beneath our boots. These gray ghosts cannot break us.*
"Hold the line!" he shouted to the men around him, voice raw with fury and disbelief. "For the Imperia! For glory!" Decurion Voren Thal, his second in command, crouched beside him, face streaked with soot. "Centurion! The left flank is folding—we need to fall back and reform!" Darius rose just enough to sight down the barrel and squeezed the trigger. A bolt of enchanted energy lanced out, streaking toward one of the gray-armored soldiers advancing steadily from the checkpoint barriers. The round struck the soldier square in the chest with a bright flash—and pinged harmlessly off the matte gray armor, ricocheting into the dirt like a child's toy. Darius's eyes widened in disbelief. He fired again. And again. Each enchanted round struck true, only to bounce away as if the armor was blessed by the gods themselves. Doubt crept in, cold and sharp. *My rifle has never failed. The runes are perfect. How… how is this possible?*
Around him, the chaos swelled into a nightmare. Men screamed as they fell, their black armor no longer a symbol of strength but a shroud. Lesser dragons roared in agony as they crashed to the ground, wings torn by invisible forces. Explosions bloomed in the distance, siege engines reduced to splinters and twisted iron. The very air seemed to burn with the enemy's unnatural power. *Everything we have built, everything we have conquered… it is dissolving like waves against an unbreakable rock*, Darius thought, the realization crushing his pride until it felt as though his chest would cave in. *We were the storm. Now we are the spray.*
"Centurion!" Voren shouted again, reaching for him. "We have to—" A deafening roar split the air. One of their siege engines, only yards away, erupted in a massive explosion as a missile from the hovering airships slammed into it. The blast wave hurled Darius backward, slamming him into the ground with bone-jarring force. Debris tore through the air—shards of wood and iron and stone—and he heard Voren's scream cut short as a jagged fragment struck the Decurion full in the chest. Voren crumpled without another sound.
Pain exploded through Darius's side as he tumbled across the dirt, ears ringing violently. The world spun. Smoke filled his lungs. He coughed, tasting blood and ash, and tried to push himself up on shaking arms. The ground lurched beneath him as though the earth itself had turned traitor. A strange ringing modulation filled his head, disorienting him completely, a high-pitched wave that made the world tilt and sway. His stomach rebelled violently. He collapsed onto all fours, vomiting as nausea overwhelmed him, his vision blurring with tears of rage and humiliation. *I am Centurion Darius Vaelor of the Draco Imperia*, he thought desperately. *I have led charges that broke elven lines and toppled dwarven halls. How can this be?*
Through blurred vision, he saw his men shattered and broken—some crawling, some still, others staring in wide-eyed horror as the gray soldiers closed in, tall, relentless figures in their impenetrable armor. One of them reached down. Cold restraints snapped around his wrists with merciless efficiency. Darius tried to fight, to spit defiance, but his limbs refused to obey. The world faded to black as unconsciousness claimed him, the last fragments of his pride shattering like glass beneath an unbreakable wave.
Pride is shattered.