THE FALL OF BRETONNIA

by PJ

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Acheron sat heavily in the saddle, following his squad of skeleton warriors toward the looming Castle de Montfort. Dusk hung over Axe Bite Pass, painting the mountainsides in shades of dark red and orange. The legions of Nagash marched silently toward Montfort, black, tattered, regimental banners hanging limply on their poles.

The Castle de Montfort sat on a wide ledge on the north face of Axe Bite Pass. A wide, curving road led up the mountain face to the waiting fortress. Acheron narrowed his glowing red eyes, spotting dozens of Bretonnian men-at-arms watching the Undead army's progress from the castle's battlements. The lead units of the Undead army reached the foot of the approach road, marching without hesitation up the smooth path.

Tyre, Duke of Montfort, stood on a battlement, watching the Undead ascend, his throat constricting with fear.

"You sent for me?" inquired Lord Wizard Nagelfar, walking quickly to the armored knight's side.

"Aye, Lord Wizard. An Undead army approaches," nodded Tyre.

"By the Lady of the Lake!" gasped Nagelfar, his eyes wide as he beheld the milling hordes. "I have never seen such a force!"

"Can you repel them?" asked Tyre without emotion.

"I will do my best, Lord Tyre," gulped the wizard apprehensively.

"Good enough," acknowledged the duke with a brief nod. "Archers! Ready!"

A line of bowmen pulled back strings, aiming gleaming missiles at the climbing invaders.

"Fire!"

Arrows hissed in the air, diving at the approaching skeleton warriors. A few lucky hits decapitated their targets, but most of the arrows passed through the fleshless attackers.

"Lord Wizard, some assistance, please," urged Tyre.

Nagelfar closed his eyes, chanting softly, tapping into the Winds of Magic. Dark clouds formed over Axe Bite Pass, followed by the growing roar of thunder. The men-at-arms looked into the sky uneasily as lightning flashed brightly overhead. The wind became stronger, blasting down the face of the castle, crashing into the marching skeletons. Undead were blown off their feet, sent hurling into the air while forks of lightning snapped down, shattering skeletal bodies to powder.

"Well done!" smiled Tyre, slapping Nagelfar on the right shoulder.

"Thank you, my lord," murmured Nagelfar, his face pale with exertion.

Acheron rolled down the road, stopping when he slammed into a jutting rock. The wight staggered to his feet, clutching the rock as raging winds screamed around him. Acheron turned when a skeletal steed skidded to a halt nearby.

"Re-form your unit!" snapped Naziram, jumping down from his mount.

"The wizard's magic is too strong, Master," replied Acheron before a crackle of lightning illuminated both Undead.

"My magic is stronger," retorted the wraith, raising his cowled head toward the battlements of Montfort.

The wraith hissed an incantation, his eyes snapping with black fire. When the spell was complete, two lances of black flame exploded from Naziram's eyes, heading directly for the human wizard.

Tyre dove to the side when the two bolts of black fire smashed into Nagelfar's chest. The wizard screamed as he was pushed off the battlement, his twitching body ablaze on its way down to the courtyard far below.

"Damn," said Tyre, switching his gaze from Nagelfar's burning corpse to the re-gathering Undead army in the pass. "Get ready to repel the enemy!"

Squads of skeleton warriors and zombies ran toward the gates of Montfort, accelerated by Naziram's magic. The wraith gathered black flames in his gloved hands, then threw a massive black bolt at the enormous fortress gates. Iron buckled underneath the magical assault. Naziram hurled another bolt, blasting the sundered gates into the castle's huge courtyard. Undead poured into the castle, hacking the men-at-arms waiting inside. Acheron unsheathed his steel Wight blade, eager to engage a foe. He looked up at the castle's battlements, searching for the human commander. He found Lord Tyre near the summit of a staircase, slashing at the skeletons trying to reach the battlements. Acheron strode forward toward the knight, stabbing two men-at-arms who got in his path. Brushing past skeletons on the stairs, Acheron reached Tyre just as the knight smashed a skeleton apart with his long sword.

"Come on, Undead filth!" smiled Tyre, blood flowing from a cut across his left cheek.

Wight blade and blessed sword clashed, throwing blue sparks into the night air. The force of Acheron's blows forced Tyre back, allowing the wight to advance onto the battlement. Tyre glanced out into the pass, despair squeezing his heart as thousands of skeletons and zombies filled the road, jostling each other to enter the castle.

Acheron took advantage of Tyre's distraction, stabbing the knight in the chest with his rune-etched blade.

Tyre fell to his knees, his life draining into the ravenous Undead sword. The knight smiled up at the cloud-filled sky with blood-flecked lips before falling limply onto his back.

Deep in Axe Bite Pass, a skeleton courier hopped off his bony mount and rushed to the entrance of Nagash's royal pavilion.

"I bear a report for Supreme Lord Nagash!" exclaimed the skeleton.

The two tall, plate-armored wights unlocked their iron spears so the skeleton could enter. The Undead tentatively stepped inside the candle-lit tent, where Nagash stood over a wide table examining a map of Bretonnia.

"Master! Lord Naziram reports that Montfort castle has been seized."

"Good. Relay this message to all my commanders, the army will advance toward Parravon."

"I obey," bowed the skeleton as it departed.

Nagash left the map table, walking through a gauzy veil into his queen's bedroom. Vanessa lay on her bed, wrapped in black silk sheets, her skin corpse-white and sweating. The half-elf woman clutched her swollen belly, her blonde hair lank and unkempt.

Nagash sat on the edge of the bed, his right gauntlet stroking Vanessa's hair.

"Soon, soon you will bear the child that will grant me new life," murmured Nagash, his glowing eyes bright with anticipation.

"Your Majesty!" shouted a messenger knight, rushing down the carpeted length of the throne room to the raised dais where King Louen Leoncoeur sat.

"Speak," bade Louen, detecting the messenger's undisguised panic.

"We have received several reports from the eastern marches. An Undead army invades Bretonnia!"

Lord Knights and ladies muttered to each other, shocked by the news.

Lord Roland Le Marechal entered the throne room right behind the messenger, his chest heaving.

"Forgive the messenger's abrupt entrance, your Majesty!" exclaimed Roland, glaring at the trembling young knight. "I just received the news myself."

"How large is this force?" inquired Louen, resting his chin on his right fist.

"It numbers in the thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands," answered Roland bleakly.

The whispering of the court became sharper and even more fearful.

"Assemble the war council, Lord Marechal, we'll plan our strategy in the war room," ordered Louen, rising swiftly from his throne and departing in a swirl of white robes.

Erika, Louen's young daughter, watched her father leave, her heart fluttering with horror.

Heinrich Kemmler sat imperiously on his skeleton steed, watching with grim delight as his Undead army attacked the walls of Quenelles. Skeleton archers fired swarms of arrows at the men-at-arms warding the city's battlements. Bretonnian wizards and lesser necromancers flung spells at each other near the city's sealed eastern gates, the Bretonnians countering every magic the necromancers used to try to breach the tall, iron portals.

"Send in the dragons," ordered Heinrich negligently.

"Master," nodded the wight officer before he guided his skeleton steed away from the Lichemaster.

Heinrich smiled to himself when a wing of six zombie dragons took to the night air, roaring a challenge that shook everything and everyone across the battlefield. The skeletal dragons dove down toward Quenelles, opening their massive jaws and spitting streams of black vapor into the city's streets. Screams rose from Quenelles as the black smoke did its work, reducing anyone it touched to shriveled husks of skin and bone. The zombie dragons passed across the battlements, vomiting more black smoke over the frightened warriors and wizards. The necromancers danced with delight as they renewed their magical assault, flinging Doombolts at the eastern gates. The large doors groaned from the blasts of dark flame, melting beneath the sorcerous bombardment. The gates exploded into a cloud of lethal shrapnel, slaying dozens of the city's defenders. Heinrich slashed down with his Chaos Tomb blade, signaling the advance of the waiting skeleton and zombie regiments. The Undead raced toward the gaping opening in the eastern wall, moving swiftly from the enchantment of Heinrich's powerful Danse Macabre spell.

"Come," commanded the Lichemaster, urging his steed forward toward the smoke-filled city.

"We have to flee before it's too late!" shouted a knight, tugging on Duke Tancred's left arm.

"I will never abandon my city to those filthy Undead!" snarled Tancred, jerking his arm out of the terrified knight's grasp.

The young knight fled the hallway, leaving Tancred staring out the tall, narrow window at the burning skyline of Quenelles. The Duke adjusted the Grail Shield over his left arm before grasping the hilt of his sword and marching resolutely away from the window to face his hated foe.

Heinrich halted his skeleton steed before the gates of the Duke's castle. The smell of smoke and rotting flesh filled the Lichemaster's narrow nostrils, he appreciatively inhaled the heady aroma. A second skeleton steed joined Heinrich, this mount bearing a wight and a limp, naked young woman with long, flowing raven hair.

An armored form appeared on the battlement above the gates. Heinrich knew that it was the castle's master, Duke Tancred.

"Fauna!" shouted the duke when he saw his wife in the arms of the black-armored Undead.

"Greetings, Duke Tancred," bowed Heinrich mockingly. "I thought that you would like to see your lovely wife one last time before your demise."

"Let her go!" roared Tancred, his face contorted with fury.

"She is mine, as is your city," smiled Heinrich, reaching out to cup Fauna's soft, pale, left breast.

Tancred screamed in rage, disappearing from the battlement.

Heinrich chuckled in amusement, leaning forward to kiss the submissive young woman on the mouth.

"This will take but a moment, my dear," whispered Heinrich, squeezing Fauna's breast painfully.

Fauna moaned softly, keeping her eyes downcast.

Heinrich dismounted from his steed as the castle gates groaned open slowly.

Tancred charged out, the Blade of Couronne glowing like the sun in his hand.

The Cloak of Mists and Shadows billowed around Heinrich, draping him in a boiling black cloud. Tancred shouted a challenge, slashing across the churning mist. The cloud separated, with no trace of Heinrich inside. Tancred looked around while the mist curled around him slowly. The duke dismissed Heinrich's disappearance, raising the Grail Shield at the wight guarding Fauna. The wight hissed with disgust at the image of the Holy Grail. He pushed the slim woman off his saddle before yanking his steed around and fleeing the courtyard.

"Fauna!" said Tancred, kneeling at his wife's side.

Fauna slowly looked up at her husband, her dark brown eyes vacant.

"What did he do to you?" murmured Tancred, his chest tightening.

Fauna looked away, closing her eyes just as Tancred felt the cold bite of metal within his back.

Tancred looked down at his chest, to see an oily black sword trapped within his flesh.

"Fool," smiled Heinrich, driving his Chaos Tomb blade deeper into Tancred's body.

The duke vomited blood, his shivering hands clutching at the blade tip jutting from his chest.

"Fauna," gasped Tancred, caressing the woman's cool right cheek, streaking it with his blood as he grew limp with death.

Heinrich kicked the duke's dead body off his sword. He positioned the blade over Fauna's nude body, letting her husband's warm blood drip across her pale, white skin. Fauna flinched from the warm rain, but remained on the cold flagstones of the courtyard. Heinrich sheathed his Tomb blade before shrugging out of his filthy robes. He straddled Fauna, rolling her onto her back. Fauna moved obediently, her eyes gazing vacantly into the star-filled sky as the Lichemaster opened her legs and pushed his engorged cock into her pussy. Heinrich pumped roughly into Fauna's cunt, squeezing her firm breasts while he licked the duke's blood from her flesh. Fauna didn't utter a sound as Heinrich rode her, plunging his shaft deep into her empty belly. Heinrich rammed Fauna faster, his breathing increasing. He pulled back on Fauna's silky black hair, tilting her head while he licked her creamy throat. The Lichemaster's crotch slammed between Fauna's sleek thighs, crashing against her pussy harder and harder until he grunted, shooting his cream into her moist vagina.

Heinrich stood up, replacing his tattered robes. He pulled the compliant woman to her feet, then raised her up onto the saddle of his waiting steed. Heinrich slid atop the skeletal horse behind Fauna, hugging her intimately around her slim waist as he guided them out of the courtyard, Duke Tancred lying in a pool of his own dark blood.

=====

Acheron sat patiently at the war table, acknowledging the other wight and wraith field commanders as they entered the war council tent. Candles guttered in holders on the tent's two thick support poles, providing enough illumination to see the well-made map of Parravon and the surrounding terrain.

Supreme Lord of the Undead Nagash entered the tent, forcing all of the assembled officers to their feet. Nagash took his high-backed seat at the end of the war table, the signal for the others to retake their chairs.

"Lord Acheron has done a fine job seizing Montfort. Well done," nodded Nagash.

"For your glory, Master," replied Acheron humbly.

"Now we have a tougher objective, Parravon. Lord Acheron, I'm putting you in charge of the forces assigned to take Parravon, your thoughts on the best way to take the city."

Acheron rose, gauntlet-covered hands clenched behind his back while he gazed at the map and pondered.

"The city will be very difficult to attack. It is surrounded by chasms and is only accessible by a single narrow bridge built by the Elves centuries ago. Any force I send against Parravon will be cut to pieces by the defenders' magic and concentrated missile fire."

"I'm aware of these difficulties," nodded Nagash. "How do you propose to overcome them?"

"Flaming skull bombardment, for a start," replied Acheron. "Maintain a sustained barrage for at least four hours before sending in the foot soldiers. Hopefully concentrated fire on the main gates will make the journey across the bridge less hazardous."

"What about zombie dragons?" asked a wraith.

"Before Quenelles that would have been a viable option, but the wizards will be ready for it this time. We have too few dragons to waste them on an unsupported aerial assault," replied Acheron.

"That fool Kemmler moved too soon," grumbled a wight.

"Kemmler is a…random variable that works to our advantage for the moment. When he outlives his usefulness to us, he will be dealt with," promised Nagash. "So, Lord Acheron, you recommend skull bombardment followed by a charge on the main gates?"

"I do, Master," bowed Acheron.

"So be it. Make the preparations. We attack at dusk," declared Nagash.

"It is confirmed, your Majesty, Quenelles and Montfort have fallen to the Undead," reported Lord Roland as he stood at the foot of King Louen's council table.

"Where do they gather now?" inquired the King softly.

"The larger Undead army has assembled near Parravon, your Majesty," replied Roland, indicating the map of the kingdom on one of the walls. "Lichemaster Kemmler's army is traveling west, I believe toward Brionne."

"If Nagash takes Parravon, he can move up the Grismere to Gisoreux within a day. When he takes Gisoreux he'll practically be at the gates of the capital," frowned Louen.

"There's no way we can reinforce Parravon in time, your Majesty. I recommend that we assemble our army at Gisoreux," said Roland, taking his seat to sip from his chalice of wine.

"What about Bordeleaux?" asked Louen.

"Since it's our largest port city, it has a sizable garrison already in place. I don't recommend splitting our forces to protect both. Bordeleaux should be able to hold out on its own, we need all of our troops at Gisoreux if we hope to break Nagash's legions."

"Very well, Lord Roland, I will heed your council," nodded Louen.

"Come here, child," ordered Acheron, holding out his right hand.

The young raven-haired girl walked forward tentatively, whimpering in fear. Acheron snatched her small wrist, drawing his dagger and slashing her throat open with practiced ease. The girl-child shuddered in the wight's arms as he gathered her hot blood in a silver, skull-adorned chalice. Letting the dead body fall to the ground, Acheron inhaled the heady aroma of the freshly drawn blood before gulping it down greedily. After draining it all, Acheron wiped his cracked, grey lips, then slammed down the visor of his battle helmet. The girl's blood gave Acheron renewed strength, making his steps smoother on his way to his waiting skeleton steed. Jumping agilely into his saddle, Acheron narrowed his eyes in approval when he heard the dull thunder of flaming skulls crashing into Parravon.

"Has our Master left?" asked Acheron, joining Naziram, who watched the rain of glowing skulls smash against the battlements above Parravon's main gates.

"Aye, we are on our own," nodded the wraith.

"Then we wait for the skulls to do their work," said Acheron, shifting in his saddle.

"Aye," agreed Naziram, smiling cruelly.

In the deep of night, the city of Parravon burned, the screams of the wounded and dying even reaching Acheron and Naziram from their perch on a rocky ledge.

"Now is the time to strike," declared Naziram.

Acheron raised his right arm, "Dragons away!"

A wing of zombie dragons dove from the chasm face, howling toward the burning city. Mages still guarded the battlements, they hurled sizzling green fireballs at the skeletal dragons, blasting several of them to pieces.

"Infantry, advance!" shouted Acheron, slashing down with his arm.

Orderly ranks of skeleton warriors and zombies shambled onto the elven bridge, marching resolutely toward Parravon's damaged gates.

A wizard from the city wielded the Winds of Magic, releasing a sheet of flame that washed over the front ranks of the Undead, destroying entire units. Glaring fireballs screamed down from several battlement points, blasting skeletons and zombies high into the smoky air.

"There are too many wizards on the walls, we won't break through," snapped Acheron.

"Perhaps I can assist," replied Naziram, calling on his Dark Magic.

A churning cloud of darkness appeared on the battlements near the main gates. It coiled like a serpent, then sprung upon an unwary mage, melting its victim until only a smoking skeleton remained. The Horror billowed across the battlement, devouring several more wizards as well as soldiers that got in its way.

Naziram extended his purple-sleeved arms, opening his palms wide.

Bright green streams of light exploded from men on the walls, sucked into the wraith's hands. Naziram sighed as he devoured the men's souls, his power increasing with each new death.

"Dragons! Smash the gates!" roared Acheron, drawing his shining wight blade.

A zombie dragon dove toward the iron portals, front claws extended. The last surviving wizard managed to cast one last fireball before the Horror engulfed him. The snapping green sphere of flame smashed into the dragon's fleshless head, shattering it. The surviving body continued its flight, crashing into the gates and knocking them off their hinges. The legion of Undead pushed its way past the sundered gates, reaping death in the courtyard beyond.

"Parravon is ours," nodded Naziram proudly.

"Now we bestow the gift of Death upon the Living," said Acheron, urging his steed toward the broken city.

Princess Erika, daughter of King Louen, knelt by herself in the small, ornate chapel to the Lady of the Lake. She wore a white silk dress and a lace shawl over her thick, curly, blonde hair.

The princess quivered slightly when she detected the heavy form sitting down on the bench behind her.

"Good evening, your highness," offered the beguiling, cultured voice.

"I can't stay long," said Erika, her skin warming with excitement.

"What have you learned?"

"Father is gathering our soldiers in Gisoreux to destroy the Undead army."

"Is he planning to send troops to Bordeleaux?"

"No," replied Erika, getting off her knees to sit on the bench. She lowered her shawl to her thin shoulders, slowly turning to face the man she conversed with.

"You have done well, my little princess," smiled Lacroix, reaching out to caress Erika's chin with a cool finger.

"Will you go to the Undead leader?" asked the girl, her breath quickening.

"No," answered Lacroix, shaking his head. "I owe Nagash nothing."

"Then why…?"

"My own interests may be served in helping your father against Nagash. I haven't decided yet."

"Could I convince you to help us?" asked Erika softly, her blue eyes wide and eager.

"What would you offer me, child?" smiled Lacroix.

"Anything you want," breathed the girl.

"I have an empire full of eager young girls," replied Lacroix, "but you are a charming young thing."

Erika unbuttoned the front of her sleek white dress. She opened her collar, tilting her head away from Lacroix.

"Drink, if you will help my father and my kingdom."

"We shall see," purred Lacroix, sitting forward, placing his hands on top of Erika's head and on her right shoulder. He held her head in place, her neck veins throbbing as he bared his fangs and descended toward her flesh.

The Vampire Lord plunged his fangs into Erika's neck, her racing blood gushing across his corpse-pale face. Lacroix growled like a lion as he drank from the princess, his lips fastened against her warm, sweet flesh.

"Please...please," moaned Erika, her body shivering in Lacroix's hungry embrace.

Drinking his fill of blood, Lacroix kissed the girl's pink lips, his bloody tongue ravaging her esophagus. The vampire tore open Erika's dress, baring her small, creamy, white breasts. Lacroix licked across the young girl's tits, painting them with streaks of glistening red. He ripped the remainder of Erika's dress from her body before picking her up and carrying her to the steps that led to the altar of the Lady. Setting her gently on the steps, Lacroix pried open Erika's slender legs, positioning himself between them. Releasing his swollen cock, Lacroix pushed inside Erika, gathering the limp girl in his strong arms while he began shoving into her small pussy. Erika groaned loudly, her tiny palms resting on Lacroix's firm chest, her entire body shuddering from each thrust into her wet cunt. Erika arched her back, her long, golden hair cascading toward the floor as Lacroix hugged her around the waist, pinning her against him as he stabbed into her belly over and over. Lacroix licked up Erika's flat stomach, enfolding her left breast with his bloodstained lips. Erika moaned in ecstasy, light-headed from blood loss while her vagina tightened around Lacroix's thick cock. The naked princess gasped when the orgasm struck, her legs trembled as a flood of nectar exploded from her cunt.

Lacroix lowered the panting girl back to the steps. He licked Erika's ragged neck wound before sealing it with a caress of magic. The Vampire Lord kissed Erika, long and deep, before slowly parting from her pursed, sensual lips.

The princess' handmaidens found her unconscious on the steps of the altar. Whispering with disapproval, the young women covered Erika in a long robe before carefully carrying her back to her royal apartments.

=====

"Hold the line!" shouted Lady Kaitlyn, her white steed pounding up to the retreating men-at-arms.

"There are too many Undead, m'lady!" retorted a stubbly-chinned sergeant while flaming skulls exploded around him and the knight.

"We mustn't allow Gisoreux to fall! If we do, the Undead will be able to march on the capital!" exclaimed Kaitlyn, flinching when a skull smashed into the ground nearby, blowing a cloud of dirt into the air.

"Aye, m'lady," nodded the sergeant reluctantly. "I'll do my best to rally the boys."

"Good man," smiled Kaitlyn. The woman's eyes narrowed when a soldier was brought down by several zombies, opening a hole in the front line. She spurred her horse forward, filling the breach, hacking at the stumbling zombies with her rune-inscribed sword.

"Let's fight by the lady's side, lads!" shouted the sergeant. "For Bretonnia!"

"For Bretonnia!" screamed the men, redoubling their efforts to beat the Undead back.

"They cannot win," said Nagash smugly, his tall frame allowing him to oversee the entire battlefield. "We reached them before they could gather all their troops."

"But they are maintaining a stubborn defense," observed the liche, Argint.

"Yes, a futile endeavor," replied Nagash, grasping his hands behind his back. "Let us enjoy the slaughter before we advance to Couronne, it will reap us a bounty of new warriors."

"Damn Nagash!" snapped Lord Roland, slapping his empty gauntlets against his right thigh. "He moved too quickly!"

"The troops he left to attack Parravon have taken the city. It's said that every man, woman, and child was put to the sword in order to increase their ranks," said an officer nervously.

"Lichemaster Kemmler's army has almost reached Bordeleaux," reported a messenger knight.

"Tell the griffon wing to get ready to fly, we'll try to hit them from the air," growled Roland, tugging his gauntlets on.

"You're going into battle yourself?" gasped several knights.

"If we don't stop Nagash here, the King will be in peril," replied Roland. "We destroy the Undead here, or die trying!"

"The troops are deploying as you instructed, Master," bowed a wight officer from the tent doorway.

"Excellent, I want everyone in position by nightfall," said the Lichemaster, Heinrich Kemmler, before he raised a silver chalice to his lips.

"It will be done, Master," bowed the wight as he departed.

"An entire day to wait. What shall I do?" mused Heinrich, stroking his straggly grey beard.

Fauna sat at the base of a tent pole, her arms bound behind her back. She slowly looked up at the Lichemaster with her dark, brown eyes, resigned to her fate.

"You do not beg to be spared, you must enjoy my attentions," smiled Heinrich, draining the last of his wine, then setting the chalice aside.

Heinrich squeezed Fauna's bare shoulders painfully, yanking the nude woman to her feet. He roughly spun her around to untie her arms, his eyes roving hungrily over her smooth back and shapely buttocks. Heinrich raised Fauna's arms over her head, binding her wrists with leather cord, then tying the cord to a thick ring nailed to the tent pole. The Lichemaster slid his cold hands over Fauna's naked body, caressing her ribs, belly and breasts.

"This excites you, doesn't it, my lovely slut?" whispered Heinrich into Fauna's right ear, his hand stroking the woman's pussy.

Heinrich backed away from Fauna, retrieving a long whip from one of his trunks. He snapped it across Fauna's left buttock, making her flinch.

"I want to hear you scream, whore!" grinned Heinrich, lashing Fauna's back. When Fauna didn't cry out, Heinrich whipped her again, then again. When over a dozen ugly red welts covered Fauna's back, she screamed, tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks.

"Beautiful," purred Heinrich, lashing Fauna's trembling legs. She moaned loudly, her arms trembling above her, her wrists chaffing in their bonds.

The stench of sweat and fear filled the large, candle-lit tent as Heinrich continued to whip Fauna's helpless body, her glistening flesh one large mass of agony. Throbbing welts became bleeding rents, staining Fauna's milky white skin with gleaming drops of scarlet. Fauna's shuddering breasts pressed against the smooth tent pole, her mouth gasping in pain as Heinrich brought the whip down with a sharp crack.

Heinrich lowered his blood-drenched whip. He moved close to Fauna, grabbing a handful of her gleaming black hair and pulling back violently. Fauna grimaced, her face tilted toward the Lichemaster. Heinrich kissed Fauna's slack lips, sucking wantonly upon her warm mouth. He cupped the woman's dripping breast, his fingers caressing the hot mammary.

The Lichemaster removed his dusty robes before turning Fauna to face him. He grasped the backs of Fauna's thighs, spreading her slender white legs apart. Pulling her legs up into the air, he thrust into her dripping pussy, moaning when the woman's vagina enfolded his engorged cock. Hanging by her wrists, Fauna groaned softly while Heinrich pumped into her belly, his crotch slapping against the insides of her thighs. Heinrich lowered his mouth to Fauna's left tit so he could lick her tender nipple. Again and again Heinrich pushed into Fauna, her cunt caressing his aching member. The Lichemaster kissed Fauna again, his tongue stabbing between her compliant lips. Heinrich squeezed Fauna's firm thighs, grunting when he slammed into her pussy one last time, his seed blasting into her womb.

Heinrich gasped as he dropped Fauna's legs and backed away. Fauna leaned heavily against the tent pole, her arms shivering above her head, her tits pumping. The Lichemaster retreated to his sleeping pallet to rest until the time for the battle drew near.

Princess Erika leaned against the open window, allowing the cool night breeze to waft through her long, golden hair. She smiled when a dark mist solidified into Lacroix's strong frame.

"My lord," murmured Erika, licking her pink lips.

"Your Highness," bowed Lacroix, his smile predatory.

"Please, come inside," invited Erika, moving deeper into the dark bedchamber.

Lacroix strode smoothly into the room, elegantly removing his long, black cloak.

Erika leaned against one of the poles of her poster bed, her small breasts rising and falling quickly.

Lacroix admired the girl's body through her sheer white sleeping gown, the transparent fabric revealing all of the young princess' charms.

"Will you help Bretonnia against Nagash?" asked Erika, nearly panting with anticipation as Lacroix loomed over her.

"I think I will. Your Highness has been very persuasive," smiled Lacroix, taking the young girl's arms in his hands while he kissed her greedily.

"When will you send aid, my lord?" gasped Erika after she broke her lips away from the Vampire Lord's.

"Within the week. I'm gathering an army along the western border of the Empire even as I dally with you now," whispered Lacroix against Erika's slender neck before he sucked on her warm skin.

"Thank you, my lord!" moaned Erika, a smile on her face as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the passion flowing in her veins.

Lacroix could hear the passion pounding from Erika's heart. He growled softly, baring his fangs before biting deep into the left side of Erika's throat. Erika moaned softly, her slim arms around the Vampire Lord's waist as he fed upon her.

Lacroix collected Erika's legs over his left arm before carrying her to her bed. Carefully lowering her to the feather mattress, Lacroix removed his clothes before climbing next to the princess. He licked the blood trickling from Erika's neck before tearing open her nightgown to suck hungrily on her tender breasts. Erika groaned loudly, grasping the bars of the bed's headboard as Lacroix nibbled on her small brown nipples. The Vampire Lord licked his way down Erika's firm, flat belly to her bush of golden pubic hair. He nuzzled the thick, musky curls before pressing his mouth against the young girl's sex. Erika bit her lower lip to keep from screaming as Lacroix licked up and down her clit, his tongue agile and wet as it stroked her stiff, little nub. Lacroix probed Erika's pussy with his tongue, making her writhe blissfully on the bed.

Opening his mouth wide, Lacroix bit into the inside of Erika's right thigh, drinking from her leg. Erika moaned sharply, shuddering in ecstasy, her small hands tightening around the headboard bars.

Lapping one last time from Erika's bleeding thigh, Lacroix positioned himself between the naked girl's legs. He grasped Erika's hips, holding her waist in place as he inserted his prick into her wet cunnie. Erika gasped loudly, her belly clenching from the Vampire Lord's probing cock. He began thrusting into her cunt, his member stabbing deep into her belly through her well-lubricated vagina. Erika pushed forward with her taut buttocks, forcing Lacroix's shaft even further into her womb. Vampire Lord and girl smashed against each other, a violent, uninhibited coupling that left them both perspiring and limp.

Lacroix stretched out behind Erika, healing her bite wounds while she fell into a peaceful sleep. The Vampire Lord snarled when he felt the intruder in the room. He sprung from the bed, extending razor-sharp claws from his fingernails.

"Ilse?" hissed Lacroix, recognizing the thick green hair and attractive features of the young girl he had brought across.

"Emperor," acknowledged the girl, her expression cold and remote.

"Wait, I know that circlet," murmured the Vampire Lord, eyes narrowing when he noticed the Crown of Sorcery around Ilse's head.

"You must not aid Bretonnia. This realm is destined to fall before the Supreme Lord of the Undead."

"I do not believe in destiny," snorted Lacroix, straightening from his crouch to face the Crown-possessed girl.

"Fate has determined your fall as well, Emperor," replied Ilse, her eyes vacant. "Observe well the destiny of Bretonnia, for it mirrors your own."

"Are you threatening me?" demanded Lacroix, his eyes gleaming an angry gold.

"No. We warn you. Return to the Empire, glory in your power for the time that remains, this is the only gift we may grant you," said Ilse, the girl's face momentarily reflecting sorrow.

"I gave my word, I will not foreswear it."

"Farewell, Emperor," replied Ilse, disappearing with a snap of her billowing dark grey cloak.

Lacroix walked naked to the open window, bathing in the soft white light of the moon and stars. He glanced back once at Erika's sleeping form, then returned his gaze to the dark sky above.

A string of blue fireballs exploded across the battle line, hurling dead knights back into their comrades. The Undead tide pressed forward, skeletons and zombies slashing and clawing at their living foes. Gradually, the Bretonnian line shattered, allowing squads of Undead to attack the soft heart of the Bretonnian army.

"We cannot hold, my lord!" shouted a griffon-riding knight next to Roland. "We have to withdraw!"

"No!" roared Roland, tugging on his griffon's reins, urging the animal to dive.

The griffon screamed as it descended toward the Undead legions beneath it.

Roland slashed at Undead with his long sword as his mount clawed and bit, ripping several zombies to pieces. The griffon cut a swath of destruction through the Undead ranks, slowing the army's advance.

"That griffon-mounted knight is becoming a nuisance," observed Nagash, fingering the hilt of his sword, Mortis.

"I will deal with him, Master," bowed Argint before he rushed to mount his waiting zombie dragon.

"Flee, m'lady!" shouted the sergeant just before a skeleton's sword cut him down.

Kaitlyn jerked on her horse's reins, but before the steed could turn, two zombies stabbed the animal with their spears. The horse screamed, falling onto its side. Kaitlyn jumped away, but landed heavily on the blood-soaked ground. Struggling to rise, the woman knight took a sword tip to the left shoulder from a looming skeleton. She slashed at the Undead, breaking the skeleton in half. Using her dripping blade for support, Kaitlyn stood up, gazing around in shock as the Bretonnian army broke apart around her.

The zombies who had slain her horse jerked free their bloody spears before advancing on her. Kaitlyn brandished her sword with both hands, waiting for the shambling corpses to strike first. She ducked beneath the first zombie's clumsy stab, hacking his left leg off at the thigh. The second zombie struck for Kaitlyn's head, smashing his spearhead against her silver helm. The helm flew away, but protected the lady knight. She hacked down with her glowing sword, splitting the zombie from shoulder to waist. Dark, reeking blood spewed into the air as the zombie fell motionless to the ground.

Lungs burning, Kaitlyn turned when she sensed another foe watching her. She gasped softly when she beheld the wight standing nearby, his wight blade crackling with red flame. Wight and knight raised their weapons, saluting before they struck. Acheron slashed at Kaitlyn, who parried the blow before hacking down at the Undead's leg. Acheron backed away, then swung up toward the knight's gore-splattered breastplate. Kaitlyn retreated, Acheron advancing without pause. The knight batted at Acheron's sword, the magic of the two weapons sparking angrily when they touched. Exposing the wight's black breastplate, Kaitlyn stabbed forward, her body fully extended.

Roland tugged his griffin back into the air just as Argint commanded his dragon to breathe on the knight lord. Black vapor smashed against the corpse-littered ground while Roland fought for more altitude. The liche leveled his hand at Roland, casting a blue fireball at the griffon rider. The griffin evaded, but blue flames still licked the creature's left wing, making it shriek with pain. Roland dove at Argint, glowing azure sword held high. Argint's eyes smoldered, unleashing black fire just as Roland slashed at the liche. The blessed sword bit deeply into Argint's torso, making the Undead tremble violently. The black fire scorched Roland's right arm, the steel of his armor melting, sending spikes of agony through the knight's frame.

Roland flew higher and higher, the dragon-mounted liche in close pursuit. Turning on the griffon's right wing, Roland looked down at the battlefield, his heart freezing when he saw the Undead horde fall upon the retreating knights, slaughtering without mercy.

"Forgive me, my king," murmured Roland, tugging gently on his griffon's reins.

The griffon obeyed its master, diving directly for the zombie dragon, claws outstretched. Argint hurled a Doombolt, black fire snapping forward to burn into the griffon's strong chest. The griffon screamed as it died, crashing into the flapping zombie dragon. Roland jumped from his saddle, sword out-thrust, impaling Argint to the hilt. The liche shrieked in despair, clawing at Roland as they both fell like stones toward the ground. Roland closed his eyes, silently praying to the Lady until he landed in a bone-shattering impact.

Kaitlyn's blue sword shattered like a rod of glass beneath Acheron's blade. As the lady knight staggered backward from the force of the strike, the wight lashed out, punching his weapon through the woman's stomach. Kaitlyn's eyes were wide, blood dribbled from her lips as she slid off Acheron's sword.

Acheron knelt beside Kaitlyn's body, sliding his left arm beneath her back. Raising the woman up, the wight slashed her throat open, then gathered her spurting blood into his right palm. Dropping the dead woman's body, Acheron flipped up his visor and savored his opponent's hot, sweet blood.

=====

Decayed, leathery wings flapped in the pre-dawn air, propelling the three zombie dragons toward the smoking remains of Bordeleaux. The trio of Undead flyers passed over the port city, evading columns of thick, black smoke that still billowed toward the sky. The zombie dragons began a gradual, spiraling descent toward Bordeleaux's enormous harbor, landing in a large, cobblestone square.

Acheron slid off his flapping mount, left hand resting on sword hilt as he looked around, his glowing red eyes narrowed.

"Where is the Lichemaster and his legions?" asked one of Acheron's wight comrades.

"Where are the people of Bordeleaux?" inquired the other Undead.

Acheron walked to the edge of a short pier, taking note of three Bretonnian warships burning in the middle of the harbor. The wight spun away from the sea, returning to his dragon. Without a word to his companions, Acheron ordered his mount back into the sky, wheeling northeast for the long flight back to Nagash.

King Louen stood at the summit of his castle's highest tower, watching with a twisted knot in his belly as the legions of Nagash started encircling Couronne.

"We could attack them now, while they're still positioning themselves," suggested one of the King's attending knight lords.

"It would be suicide. The Undead outnumber us a hundred to one. We stay behind our defenses. Our only hope is to wear them down until help arrives."

"What help?" demanded a noble.

"I've received a missive from a representative of the Empire. They say that they will send a relief army to aid us against the Undead."

"When?"

"They should reach the capital by tomorrow night," replied the King, eyes narrowing when he saw flaming skull catapults being readied.

"May the Lady grant they reach us in time," prayed a knight.

"Aye," nodded Louen.

"I apologize for disturbing you, your Majesty," said the doctor as he walked beside the King toward Princess Erika's rooms.

"How long has she been ill?" snapped Louen, marching quickly down the corridor.

"Apparently ever since the invasion of the Undead, your Majesty. The symptoms were barely detectable at first, but they've grown steadily worse. I'm afraid she's dying."

"Have you sent for a priestess of the Lady?" demanded Louen, reaching Erika's apartments and flinging the double doors open.

"Yes, your Majesty. She is there with Morgiana Le Fey now."

"Morgiana?" murmured Louen, surprise on his face as he crossed the salon toward Erika's bedchamber.

The King found his daughter in her bed, covered in thick blankets, her body small and frail-looking while two women stood on each side of her, murmuring softly.

"Your Majesty!" exclaimed the priestess, stiffening in the presence of her King.

The other woman, an ageless, raven-haired beauty, stroked Erika's chalky white forehead once before turning to face Louen.

"Fey Sorceress," bowed Louen respectfully.

"Your Majesty," curtseyed Morgiana.

"Can you help my daughter?"

"I'm sorry, Louen, I cannot," replied Morgiana with a shake of her head.

"What's wrong with her?" asked the King, his face anguished.

"She has been touched by Darkness. It holds her tightly in its embrace. My magic is not strong enough to break its hold upon her."

"Then she will die," whispered Louen, sitting near Erika's left hand, caressing her cold cheek.

"Yes," answered Morgiana simply.

"How long?"

"A day, perhaps two."

"Leave us, please," murmured Louen.

Everyone filed out of the bedroom except for Morgiana, who lingered near the doorway.

"You should leave, Louen. Tonight."

"A King cannot abandon his kingdom. I stay to defend my people, as is my duty."

"You will not win. Bretonnia is destined to fall."

"How can you say that?" snapped Louen, glaring at the sorceress. "You serve the Lady! The Lady is part of the land!"

"She will survive. If you leave now, you can survive too, to reclaim your kingdom another day."

"No. I will not leave," whispered Louen, brushing a strand of lank blonde hair away from Erika's sleeping face.

"Louen..."

"Please, just go. Honor my memory, if you will."

"You were a good king. I'm saddened to witness your passing," said Morgiana, bowing deeply before departing.

"Father.." groaned Erika softly.

"Hello," smiled Louen, leaning down to kiss his daughter's forehead.

"Have you defeated the Undead?"

The King was tempted to lie, but looking into his little girl's eyes, he realized he could not.

"No. They destroyed our army, and killed Lord Roland. They're surrounding the city at the moment."

"You should go, meet with the Imperial army when it comes."

"No. Couronne is the heart of Bretonnia, I cannot leave it, I cannot leave you."

"Father! Please!" begged Erika, before a fit of coughing overtook her.

Louen hugged his daughter, holding her tightly until she quieted.

"Father.."

"Hush, Erika. Rest. I will stay with you for awhile," said Louen, stroking his daughter's hair.

Erika leaned into her father's strong chest, comforted by his presence.

"I love you, Father."

"And I love you, my daughter," murmured Louen into Erika's golden mane.

Louen awoke abruptly when a dull boom of thunder reverberated through his bedchamber. Rising quickly from his bed, the King draped on a thick robe as more booms shook the chamber. He opened the set of glass doors that led to a wide observation balcony. Louen watched in horror as a wave of flaming skulls arced over the city's walls, slashing down into the capital to smash into homes and shops. Several large fires had already appeared, spreading to nearby buildings with ravenous enthusiasm. One burning skull sailed toward the castle, crashing into one of the eastern towers. The structure shivered, cracks forming along its stone face.

Someone pounded on the doors of Louen's bedchamber, pulling the King's gaze away from his burning city.

"Your Majesty!" screamed the visitor from behind the doors.

"Enter!"

A disheveled page burst into the room, panting sharply.

"Your Majesty! Your knights require your presence in the war room at once!"

"Tell them I am coming," replied Louen, standing strong and unafraid.

The page regained his composure, bowing respectfully. "I will tell them you are on the way, your Majesty."

After the page had closed the doors, Louen walked to one of his wardrobes. He opened the tall cabinet, examining his waiting armor with a critical eye before he prepared to don it.

Erika's eyes snapped open when she felt the tremble of an exploding skull. A black-cloaked form sat on the girl's bed, taking her small hand.

"Nagash has begun attacking the city," said Lacroix, his sharp features outlined by the fires glowing outside.

"Will your army make it here in time?"

"I hope so. I haven't heard from them lately, I'm going to speed them along after I say good-bye to you," replied the vampire lord.

"Thank you for aiding us," smiled Erika, squeezing Lacroix's cool hand.

"You gave me your life, a poor bargain on your part."

"A worthy one if it saves my kingdom," refuted Erika. The young girl sighed. "I'm dying. Finish it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," murmured Erika, her eyes locked on Lacroix's.

Lacroix slowly pulled down Erika's covers, then helped her pull off her thin white sleeping gown. Discarding his own clothing, Lacroix climbed on top of Erika, taking her wrists and guiding them to the bars of her bed's headboard. Erika wrapped her fingers around the polished bars as Lacroix fondled her small breasts. Lacroix kissed Erika, the girl's pale lips warm and soft. He licked the side of her neck, his fingers kneading her pert tits. The vampire lord revealed his gleaming ivory fangs, gathering the naked princess in his slender, strong arms.

"Take me!" gasped Erika, her belly shuddering.

Lacroix bit deep into Erika's throat, slurping loudly upon her deathly pale flesh. Erika's whole body trembled, trapped in the vampire lord's embrace while he fed from her one last time. Erika moaned, her body becoming limp in Lacroix's arms. With one last gasping breath, Erika died, her head lolling back onto her pillow.

Lacroix replaced Erika's body on the bed, covering her with warm blankets. He ran his right hand through the girl's gold hair, then kissed her gently on the lips. Standing up and dressing, the vampire lord left the silent bedchamber in a swirl of black fog.

Vanessa screamed in agony, writhing on the pallet, surrounded by attending necromancers.

"It is time, Supreme Lord," announced Naziram, leading the way into the smoke-filled bedchamber.

Nagash crouched into the room, his glowing eyes intense with anticipation. The necromancers bound the naked half-elf's wrists and ankles with leather straps, struggling with her while she screamed again at the top of her voice. A necromancer in black robes and a heavy hood chanted over Vanessa, slowly pouring oil over her bloated belly. Another dark wizard lit several sticks of incense, then picked up an incense pot on a chain, wafting thick, pungent fumes at Vanessa while chanting a long incantation. A necromancer knelt between Vanessa's outspread legs, chanting along with his brothers, gazing expectantly at the young woman's oozing pussy.

"It comes," growled Nagash, his gauntlet-covered hands clenching and unclenching as the head of Vanessa's baby slid out of her body.

The necromancer helped the baby free itself from its mother, then neatly severed the cord binding it to her. The wizard laid the blood-covered infant on a purple blanket in front of Nagash.

Nagash began singing in a harsh, guttural voice, arms outstretched toward his squirming son. Green fire burst from Nagash's eyes, diving toward the baby's. The infant screamed, tiny limbs twitching as Nagash filled it with more and more fire. The baby started to grow, aging years in seconds. With one last explosion of jade flame, Nagash's huge suit of armor fell apart, clattering to the ground.

The crying baby was now a young man, lithe and graceful as he jumped to his feet. He pressed his hands over his flat chest and stomach, breathing deeply.

"I…live!" laughed Nagash, stretching out his new arms.

The necromancers knelt on their bellies, chanting praise to Nagash. Naziram also lowered himself to his right knee, face downcast.

A necromancer rose to help garb Nagash in a warm, black robe.

"What do we do with the woman?" asked Naziram, indicating Vanessa, who still lay bound upon her back on the pallet.

"I wish to reward her," replied Nagash, "but first I must subdue her prize."

"They're attacking the main gates, your Majesty," reported a knight softly.

Louen leaned heavily against a battlement, tears still fresh in his eyes after hearing that his daughter was now dead.

"Ready my mount," ordered the King.

"Your Majesty?"

"Just do it!" roared Louen.

The knight bowed hastily before fleeing the battlement.

Louen wrapped his left hand around the haft of the Lion Lance before marching from the battlement, prepared to defy the Darkness.

"This is unwise, lord," warned Naziram as Nagash climbed into the saddle of the waiting zombie dragon.

"I have not tasted battle in human form for centuries, I wish to feel my blood boil with the excitement of the kill," retorted Nagash in his new, form-fitting black armor. Drawing a long, obsidian blade etched with ruby runes, Nagash prodded his mount into flight. The zombie dragon flapped its wide wings, rising into the air upon a cloud of churning dust.

King Louen swooped down on a group of Undead climbing atop the wall battlements of the city. He leveled the Lion Lance, punching through four zombies with ease, tearing their bodies apart as he flew up and away from the wall. The remaining knights rallied, hacking at the zombies and skeletons that struggled to take the battlements. Louen turned on his hippogriff's left wing, preparing to make another dive at the Undead-covered wall. The hippogriff roared in warning when it sensed the zombie dragon flying toward them. Louen urged the flying beast forward, eager to meet this latest adversary.

The black-armored rider slashed at Louen with a long, obsidian sword, cutting deep into the King's armored torso. Louen grimaced, whirling his flying mount about, diving down at the Undead lord with Lion Lance aimed at his foe's back. The zombie dragon banked to the right, taking the lance against its left wing. Leather tore under the sharp lance's touch, making the zombie dragon scream in fury. Nagash swung at the King, blade biting deep into Louen's right arm. Louen pried his lance free, swinging it back into Nagash's stomach. Nagash nearly lost his seat, descending out of the King's reach. Louen pursued, his hippogriff's wings beating madly.

Nagash flung out his open left hand, hurling a blue fireball at Louen's feathery mount. The hippogriff roared in agony, wings becoming limp as it died. Nagash followed the falling beast, smiling in triumph as it crashed onto the corpse-littered battlefield.

Nagash landed next to the dead hippogriff, dismounting with bloody sword ready to finish dispatching the Bretonnian king.

Louen lay broken atop his mount, using the last of his strength to gaze up defiantly at the Undead Lord.

"Your kingdom is mine," smiled Nagash, raising his sword with his right arm to deliver the death blow.

Louen drew a blade, slashing out to sever Nagash's left hand.

"NO!" screamed Nagash, clutching his spurting left wrist.

Nagash swung out with his sword, decapitating the grinning king.

Nagash tied off his open wrist with a strip of his black cloak. Struggling back into his saddle, the Supreme Lord of the Undead flew back to his tent to see to his injury.

The sun was beginning to set when Lacroix emerged from the ground to complete his trip back to his waiting army. Flying in bat form, the vampire lord saw his troops resting in camp. As the night's stars began to appear, Lacroix landed, resuming human form.

"Why aren't you on the march? I ordered you to head for Couronne!" shouted Lacroix.

"Go to your tent, Majesty," replied the officer, his eyes glassy.

Frowning suspiciously, Lacroix marched to his waiting pavilion, throwing aside the door flap to enter the dark interior.

A hand snapped around Lacroix's throat, pulling him into the air.

"What?" gasped the vampire lord, prying at the pale, white hands that wouldn't budge.

"Time to pay for your treachery, worm!" snarled his attacker.

"It can't be! Not you!" choked Lacroix, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Bright red flame gathered in the attacker's left palm. He raised the fire to Lacroix's face, making the vampire flinch.

"Burn forever," decreed the attacker, releasing the fire coiled in his hand.

Lacroix screamed, his body falling to the ground, engulfed in hungry flame. It was over in an instant, the vampire lord's frame reduced to a few specks of ash.

The black-cloaked man knelt on the ground, retrieving a ring and sliding it back onto a finger of his right hand.

"Such is the price of theft," said the man, departing from the empty tent.

Vanessa entered the empty throne room, attended by Naziram.

"The city is firmly in our hands. We'll slaughter the living, then leave you here with a full legion, more than enough to guard your new realm."

"Very well," nodded Vanessa. "Will my lord be coming to wish me farewell?"

"No. He is still resting from his recent injury. We march east in the morning, there are reports of an Imperial army near the border, and Nagash wishes to begin the campaign against the Empire now that Bretonnia is ours."

"I see. Good luck, Naziram," dismissed Vanessa.

"My queen," bowed the wraith before departing.

Vanessa walked to one of the throne room's tall windows, watching while large fires burned unchecked. She approached the throne dais, climbing the steps and sitting heavily in the tall-backed, padded chair. The throne room was dark except for the glow of flames raging outside, it was silent except for the screams of the dying, the murder gangs already plying their art.

The half-elf snapped her head up when she caught sight of the cloaked form approaching the throne. The Crown of Sorcery burned with violet flame, leaping off of Ilse's head. The vampire girl exploded into green fire, brightly illuminating the chamber as the Crown landed on Vanessa's startled brow, embedding itself in her skull. Vanessa screamed silently, clutching her head, helpless as the Crown crushed her will.

Vanessa slowly sat up, leaning back upon the throne, her eyes vacant and soulless.

~~~~~~