Augeis Vesperion

For centuries, the Augeis Vesperion world was held together by an unsteady balance, a fragile peace woven from the ambitions, fears, and aspirations of four great domains. These realms—Mortal, Corporeal, Mythical, and Ethereal—stood at the four corners of existence, separated not just by land and sea but by the very nature of their beings. Though different in power, magic, and ideology, they coexisted under an agreement forged by the Supreme Emperors of each domain, forming the Eternal Council. To maintain peace, they erected the Astral Gates—vast, mystical barriers that safeguarded their worlds from one another while preserving a delicate unity in principle.

The Four Domains

Mortal Domain (West) – The Weavers of Fate

The weakest in terms of power yet the most gifted in intellect, the Mortal Domain is home to humans and ordinary animals. Though physically weaker than their counterparts, mortals compensate through ingenuity, strategy, and an unyielding will to survive. Some rare individuals possess Soul Energy—an enigmatic force that transcends natural limitations—but awakening such abilities is an anomaly, often dismissed as legend rather than truth. Yet, in a world where power reigns supreme, even whispers of Soul Energy are enough to stoke fear and wonder.

Corporeal Domain (South) – The Living Mystique

A land pulsating with raw magic, the Corporeal Domain is inhabited by mystical creatures—talking beasts, sentient beings, and elemental spirits. Here, the very air hums with enchantment, and life itself bends to the arcane. Yet, for all its wonder, the domain is shackled by primal instincts. Their boundless magic is both their greatest strength and their deepest curse, for it treads a fine line between wisdom and chaos.

Mythical Domain (North) – The Masters of Power

Where intellect and might intertwine, the Mythical Domain houses legendary warriors, sorcerers, and celestial beings. It is a kingdom where magic is honed into an art of war, and battle is both science and spectacle. Feared and revered, the Mythical Domain has long stood as a force of balance between the realms—until it chose seclusion, retreating into isolation as the world began to unravel.

Ethereal Domain (East) – The Abyss Unleashed

Darkness festers in the Ethereal Domain, where cruelty is law and power is absolute. This forsaken realm is home to the undead, cursed entities, and nightmarish beings beyond mortal comprehension. Here, mercy is a weakness, and only the strong endure. Feared by all, the Ethereal Domain thrives on war, subjugation, and the ever-burning hunger to dominate the other realms.

The Fall of the Eternal Council

For generations, the Eternal Council ensured stability, with each Supreme Emperor honoring the unspoken truce. Yet, harmony is a fleeting illusion in a world divided by ambition. The assassination of the Corporeal Supreme Emperor shattered the delicate order, sending ripples of chaos across the land. The crime, seemingly orchestrated by an unknown faction, was a masterstroke of manipulation—an intricate ploy where those in power played the role of puppets and puppet masters alike.

In truth, the murder was no mere act of aggression. It was a calculated move by leaders who sought to expand their rule, to break the barriers, and to claim dominion over all domains. The once-sacred Astral Gates, erected to maintain peace, were torn down, and with them, the world spiraled into an abyss of war and destruction.

Now, as trust crumbles and alliances shift like sand in the wind, the realms stand on the precipice of devastation. The struggle for supremacy has begun, and in this broken world, only the strongest shall rise from the ashes.

Thirty Years Later: A World in Ashes

Three decades have passed, yet the embers of war refuse to die. The realms continue to fracture under the weight of power struggles, betrayal, and unchecked ambition. The Mortal Domain, once the cradle of innovation, has become the most oppressed—enslaved beneath the iron grip of the Ethereal Domain. In the aftermath of war, hybrid species have emerged—some born of love, others the result of forced unions, cursed to walk the world as reminders of bloodstained history.

The Mythical Domain, once a beacon of balance, has withdrawn entirely, shutting its gates to the world and abandoning the battlefield to fate. The Corporeal Domain, burning with vengeance for its fallen emperor, has cast aside diplomacy, declaring war on any who dare stand in its way.

As the realms teeter on the brink of annihilation, a question looms like a storm on the horizon:

Who will rise from the ashes of Augeis Vesperion?

(The character will be introduced immediately after the episode concludes.)

Scene 1: The Border Village

The night cloaks the village in an eerie twilight, where the pungent odor of damp earth mingles with the acrid tang of burning torches. The village, a fragile barrier between civilization and the vast, untamed wilderness beyond, bristles with tension. At the perimeter, rows of imposing Fortress Guardians patrol with synchronized precision. Their heavy armor, etched with ancient runes, reflects the last embers of daylight, and each measured step resonates with the weight of duty and the promise of sacrifice.

In the bustling village square, a young boy named Xero Xharks watches with rapt intensity. His eyes, a bright mirror of ambition, are fixed on the stalwart Guardians. Every clank of their armor and every deliberate stride feeds the inferno of his aspirations.

Xero (voice trembling with excitement):

"Cloud, look at them! The way they move, like living statues forged from courage itself—it's as if nothing can shake their resolve! One day, I’ll stand among them, unbreakable!"

Cloud Beulah, his closest friend and the son of the revered Commander Axl Beulah, stands a pace behind. Though Cloud’s life has been steeped in the routines of battle drills and war stories, he cannot hide a small, amused smile at Xero’s fervor.

Cloud (with a teasing yet earnest tone):

"Dreams are the first step, Xero, but remember: spirit alone won't forge a Guardian. You must train your body to match that fire. My father always says—battle is a dance of precision and power. Every strike must be calculated."

Xero’s fists clench as his golden eyes spark with defiant determination.

Xero:

"That’s exactly why I push myself every single day! I won’t be defined by what they say about Mutahumans. I’ll break every chain and prove I belong among the brave!"

Before Cloud can retort, the wind carries a murmur of unease. Cloud’s smile fades as he leans in, lowering his voice, laden with both excitement and dread.

Cloud (whispering):

"My father’s messenger just rode in—a dark omen. He says the Ethereal forces are stirring along the borders once more. War might be closer than we think."

In that split second, as if the cosmos had conspired to answer their fervent hopes and fears, a deafening explosion shatters the fragile calm from the eastern edge of the village. The ground shudders violently beneath their feet, toppling market stalls and sending villagers into a frantic scramble for safety.

Without warning, a second, even more violent blast rocks the hamlet. The comforting dark of night is swallowed by a churning maelstrom of smoke and fire. Frantic cries rise in a discordant symphony as the villagers scatter like leaves in a storm.

The trained eyes of the Fortress Guardians snap into battle-readiness. Swords are unsheathed with a metallic ring, spears thrust forward in unison, and urgent commands echo over the chaos. Shadows of monstrous figures—creatures of the Ethereal realm clad in jagged obsidian armor—creep ominously from the border, their movements fluid and menacing.

Xero’s heart races as he tightens his grip on his wooden training sword. His breath comes in short, rapid bursts—not from fear, but from the surge of raw determination.

Xero (voice resolute, barely above a whisper):

"This is it... the moment I’ve waited for my entire life."

Cloud’s hand tightens around the worn hilt of his dagger. His eyes, wide with the dawning realization of impending battle, betray a mix of terror and unyielding resolve.

Cloud (muttering to himself while glancing at Xero):

"He’s not fully ready… and neither am I. Yet destiny calls, and we cannot hide."

With a shared nod that speaks louder than words, the two boys break from the square. They charge headlong toward the clashing tumult, their youthful silhouettes merging with the chaos of battle—a small but fervent spark in the encroaching darkness.

In that moment, every shouted command, every clashing of metal, and every anguished cry underscores the brutal truth: the border village is no longer a sanctuary, but the frontline of a war that could reshape their world.

Scene 2: The Last Stand

The night has erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury. What was once a tranquil village now lies ravaged—its streets awash in blood, its homes swallowed by roaring flames. The air vibrates with the clang of metal, anguished cries, and the low, ominous hum of dark magic. Every corner of the battlefield pulsates with raw, unrelenting chaos.

At the epicenter of this devastation stands Guardian III - Vice Captain Axl Beulah, his armor battered and stained with the crimson of his own sacrifice. Alongside him, Guardian II - Lieutenant Orin Velst and Guardian II - Lieutenant Darius Greaves wage a desperate, unyielding struggle. Their faces, etched with both pain and fierce determination, tell a tale of warriors who refuse to yield even as hope flickers like a dying ember.

Axl bellows over the cacophony, his voice hoarse yet resolute:

"Orin, can you still hold the line?"

Gripping his sword as if it were his very lifeline, Orin staggers but manages to reply through gritted teeth:

"By all that is sacred… I’m barely standing, but we must hold! The villagers need a chance to escape!"

Axl’s gaze sweeps over the chaos until it locks on to a sight both heartening and heart-wrenching—the determined figures of his son, Cloud, and the young Xero, locked in fierce combat against overwhelming odds. Pride mingles with dread as Axl calls out:

"Cloud, get back! You must run—this isn’t your battle!"

Yet, Cloud’s voice rings defiantly above the roar of destruction:

"Father, we fight together! I won’t abandon you!"

A sinister laugh, deep and resonant like the cracking of ancient bones, slices through the tumult. Emerging from the smoke is the towering Ethereal Commander—a specter of malice in jagged obsidian armor, pulsating with dark, otherworldly energy. He drags his blade across the scorched earth, leaving trails of sizzling, black fire in his wake.

"Enough!" he declares in a voice that seems to echo from the void. "The Mortal Domain’s defenders are spent. Surrender now, and perhaps we will grant you a swift end!"

With a defiant roar, Axl slams his bloodied sword into the shattered ground. The impact reverberates like a clarion call amidst the chaos.

"As long as I breathe, you will never take what is ours!" he shouts.

Darius, despite his own wounds, forces a grim smile as he eyes Cloud fighting with desperate valor.

"That fire in your veins—reminds me of the man you are destined to be," he rasps, a mixture of admiration and sorrow in his tone.

Axl’s expression softens for a fleeting moment, and he presses on, his voice urgent and strained:

"Cloud, listen—this is not your fight. I beg you, run now while you can!"

Before Cloud can answer, the Ethereal Commander strikes. In a blur of lethal precision, his blade arcs through the air and rips deep into Axl’s torso. Axl staggers, pain blazing through him like wildfire. Blood cascades over his armor, yet he stands defiant, unwilling to let darkness claim him.

A gut-wrenching scream tears from Cloud’s throat as he lunges forward, dagger clutched tightly in his trembling hand. His youthful bravery borders on reckless desperation. But Darius, in a last act of urgency, seizes him by the arm.

"Cloud, no! Don’t waste your life chasing a dying hope!" he shouts, his tone both commanding and laden with personal anguish.

Axl’s vision begins to fade, yet he summons the strength for one final, heartfelt command. With a weak smile, he whispers:

"Live, my son. Live… and grow stronger than I ever was."

Summoning every ounce of his remaining resolve, Axl slams his sword into the earth. The blow sends a powerful shockwave cascading outward, hurling debris into a protective barrier that momentarily shields Cloud from the relentless tide of enemies.

For a heartbeat, amidst the relentless clash of swords and cries of defiance, the world seems to hold its breath. Cloud locks eyes with his father—the man who, even in defeat, embodies the spirit of unyielding courage. Then, as the shockwave subsides, the reality of their loss crashes in. Axl collapses to his knees, his grip on the sword unwavering even as darkness edges his vision.

And as the battlefield roars on, the flames and fury bear silent witness to the ultimate sacrifice—a father’s love in the heart of unending war, and a promise that even in the deepest night, the spark of hope endures.

(The character will be introduced immediately after the episode concludes.)

Scene 1: The Capture

Cloud and Xero sprint through the shattered remnants of the village, their lungs burning as if ignited by desperation. The air is thick with acrid smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Each ragged breath is a silent plea for escape—but before they can find refuge, dark shadows descend upon them like a swarm of vengeful wraiths.

From the surrounding chaos, the notorious Black Cloak Raiders emerge—cloaked in tattered obsidian and masked by malice. Their movements are fluid, predatory, closing in with ruthless precision. Cloud shouts, his voice cracking with panic and defiance:

“Xero, keep running—don’t let them catch you!”

But there is no escape. The raiders strike like a relentless tide, knocking away their weapons—Cloud’s dagger and Xero’s wooden practice sword clattering uselessly against the rubble. Rough hands seize them, their muffled cries swallowed by the overwhelming din of battle.

Not far away, Darius and Orin stand their ground, steel flashing as they fight desperately to protect Axl’s lifeless body. Each swing of their blades is fueled by grief and fury, a last stand against insurmountable odds. But the raiders are too many. The clash of steel turns to the sickening sound of blades meeting flesh. One by one, Darius and Orin fall, their final gasps lost to the merciless night as the Black Cloak Raiders claim yet another victory.

Just when despair threatens to shatter the remnants of hope, the ground trembles beneath a new, thunderous sound—a deafening metallic roar that cuts through the chaos. Six Protohumans, mechanically enhanced warriors of the Lethal Troops, burst onto the scene like titanic guardians of justice. Their exoskeletons glisten under the flickering firelight as they descend upon the battlefield with calculated precision.

At their forefront, Mechan "the Foul Circuit" Pavlov bellows a command that reverberates through the night:

"Lethal Troops, engage! Do not let them escape with those kids!"

In an instant, the battlefield transforms into a maelstrom of clashing metal and explosive energy. Mechan and his team surge forward like living war machines. Anna the Forgeborn, her arms blazing with untamed ethereal flames, conjures weapons from pure energy—a swirling tempest of bullets and razor-sharp blades that tear through the raiders' ranks. Beside her, Viktor the Iron Fist launches seismic punches, his metallic arms shattering armor and sending shockwaves through the enemy lines.

For a fleeting moment, the tide turns. The Black Cloak Raiders falter, their tight formation splintering under the relentless assault. Cloud strains against his captors as he sees hope glimmer when a nearby raider staggers from a powerful blow. Xero, his eyes fierce and determined despite the pain, manages to wrench free from a choking grip.

"Hold on, we can still make it!" Cloud shouts, his voice a blend of hope and desperation.

Yet, in the chaos of battle, fate twists once more. A Black Cloak Captain, shrouded in a dark aura of cursed energy, steps forward. His eyes burn with unholy fire as he raises a hand, summoning a spear forged from cursed flames. With a swift, calculated flick of his wrist, he hurls the weapon straight toward Viktor. The spear pierces through Viktor's chest in a horrifying display of brutality—the dark flames consuming his cybernetic enhancements as he stumbles backward, blood mingling with sparks before he crumples to the ground.

Anna’s scream of rage echoes through the battlefield as she retaliates with blinding fury. "You will pay for this!" she roars, summoning a massive railgun of pure energy. The weapon discharges a searing beam that incinerates the Captain on impact, reducing him to nothing but ash and echoes.

But even as the Lethal Troops celebrate small victories, new threats emerge from the shadows. Blaize, the dreaded Shadow Reaper, materializes silently behind Rael the Swift. In a split second, his twin daggers flash in the dim light and plunge deep into Rael’s back. Rael’s enhanced reflexes fail him—his gasp is choked off as he collapses beside Viktor, his light fading as swiftly as his life.

Two brave warriors, lost in an instant.

Mechan roars in fury, charging through the enemy lines with a ferocity that seems to shake the very ground. Yet, the Black Cloak Raiders retaliate with a barrage of dark magic-infused arrows. Mechan’s reinforced exoskeleton absorbs much of the impact, but a few arrows find their mark—one grazing his brow, another embedding into his shoulder. Sparks fly from his damaged limbs as he falls to one knee, blood trickling down his face.

Amid the carnage, Auron the Sentinel lunges to help Mechan, only to be met by a brutal curse. An Ethereal Warlock, eyes glinting with malice, casts a hellfire spell that incinerates Auron’s right arm. His scream of agony is swallowed by the ongoing battle, and he staggers back, his fate uncertain. Simultaneously, Eira, the nimble warrior with lightning-fast reflexes, is caught off-guard by an elite Black Cloak sniper. A single, well-aimed shot costs her an eye—her cry of pain a testament to the cruelty of war—before she crumples to the ground.

Despite the overwhelming losses, Anna fights on with wild, desperate tenacity. With a flurry of conjured weapons and a surge of raw power, she forces the remaining captors to release Cloud and Xero, buying them precious moments. As the two boys scramble to safety, Anna’s presence draws the attention of the Black Cloak’s sinister leader.

"Enough!" the Black Cloak Commander bellows, his voice echoing with dark authority. "The Forgeborn—she is too valuable to waste. Seize her!"

A surge of shadowy energy bursts forth, binding Anna’s limbs and sapping her fiery magic. She struggles against the invisible chains, her eyes blazing with defiance even as she is dragged away into the abyss. Her final, anguished scream—a mixture of fury and sorrow—lingers like a dying ember over the battlefield.

The Black Cloak forces, their prize secured, begin their calculated retreat. The devastation is palpable: Anna captured, Viktor and Rael fallen, and Mechan, Auron, and Eira crippled beyond immediate aid. The once-formidable Lethal Troops now lie broken amid the ruin.

Silence settles over the battlefield for a heartbeat, broken only by the crackling of flames and the labored breaths of survivors. Bleeding and battered, Mechan slams his fist into the scorched earth, his voice a hoarse promise of vengeance:

"They… they took Anna… Damn it all!"

Cloud, trembling with a mixture of rage and sorrow, tightens his grip on his dagger as tears glisten in his eyes. Standing beside him, Xero’s fists clench in quiet determination, his golden eyes reflecting the unbearable weight of loss.

"We… we couldn’t save her…" Xero murmurs, voice raw with grief.

Cloud, swallowing hard, replies in a whisper that trembles with the resolve of youth hardened by tragedy:

"Then we get stronger… and we take her back."

In that echo of defiant promise, as the dying embers fade into the night, the seeds of a fierce rebellion are sown—each beat of a wounded heart a vow to reclaim what was stolen and to rise again from the ashes of despair.

Scene 2: Reinforcements and Reckoning

As the embers of battle finally surrender to a disquieting silence, the first rays of dawn unveil a landscape scarred by bloodshed and ruin. Amid crumbling walls and smoldering debris, reinforcements from Visceral City surge forward like a tidal wave of purpose. Clad in armor that gleams even in the gloom, the Fortress Guardians march in rigid formation under the steadfast command of Guardian IV - Captain Aldric Voss. Their synchronized steps echo with authority and the promise of renewal.

Raising his voice above the clamor of rebuilding efforts, Captain Voss declares with both command and compassion,

"Men, secure every breach and fortify our walls! We must rebuild not just our defenses but the very spirit of our people. Every stone laid is a testament to our unyielding resilience!"

At his words, squads disperse with precision. Some Guardian units hasten to seal gaps in the fortress walls with enchanted mortar, while others erect makeshift barricades from salvaged wood and stone. Each clang of a hammer and whispered incantation weaves together a growing bastion of hope against the encroaching darkness.

In a quieter corner of the chaos, the makeshift triage area buzzes with frenetic urgency. There, Xero’s gaze drifts over the fallen—his eyes lingering on Orin and Darius, brave souls who sacrificed themselves to protect the Border Village. Their noble end speaks volumes of their devotion and courage. Nearby, Cloud sits on a rough-hewn bench, his spirit shattered and fragile. The loss of his father, Axl—who gave his life to shield not only his son but also the villagers—has left Cloud emotionally raw, each tremulous breath a painful echo of his grief.

Captain Voss moves among the injured with a solemn determination. Pausing beside two gravely wounded fighters, Auron and Eira—whose injuries silently testify to the savagery of battle—he administers healing salves with gentle urgency, murmuring,

"Auron, Eira—your valor burns bright even in these dark hours. Rest now; our healers will mend what can be saved. Your sacrifice will forever be our rallying cry."

Turning his piercing gaze to Mechan, who stands amid the ruins with grief etched into every line of his face, Voss lowers his voice, his tone a mix of respect and urgency:

"Mechan, heed me well. We cannot let these losses be in vain. We will transport Auron and Eira to our stronghold, and I will ensure they receive every honor and care. Their potential, like that of every warrior here, must never fade."

Mechan’s eyes harden, his voice rough with steely resolve:

"They deserve every chance to fight again. I trust you, Captain. But mark my words—the debt we owe to our fallen will drive us to reclaim what was stolen from us."

Before further words can settle, a tall figure in sharply tailored uniform steps forward from the reinforcements. Agent Sylas Dorne of the Vanguards Association unfurls a dossier with clinical precision and announces,

"This engagement was unauthorized. Your squad, Mechan, was granted only a preliminary license three months ago. Engaging in full combat without proper Vanguard oversight is a violation. Effective immediately, the Lethal Troops are suspended."

The pronouncement hangs heavily in the cool morning air. Mechan’s fists clench, and his jaw tightens as he struggles to contain a tempest of fury and despair. "Suspended?" he spits, voice low and seething. "We fought because we had no choice! We defended our home with every ounce of our being!"

Agent Dorne’s tone remains unyielding and clinical:

"Regulations exist for a reason, Mechan. Emotions—even those born of justified grief—do not override protocol. This battle, desperate as it was, cannot excuse a breach of command."

Amid the orchestrated chaos of reconstruction, the Fortress Guardians continue their tireless work. A unit hoists a wounded Auron onto a stretcher, while another carefully drags Eira toward a makeshift medic station. The rhythmic pounding of tools and steady murmur of incantations stand as fragile counterpoints to the earlier screams and clashing steel.

Captain Voss strides over to a table strewn with maps and blueprints. In hushed, urgent tones, he confers with his lieutenants:

"We must assess the damage immediately. Our defenses here are compromised, but with swift, united action, we will transform this disaster into strength. We owe it to our fallen—and to the future of our realm."

Two days later, the village remains a work in progress. Repairs are still underway, yet the spirit of resilience endures. The Fortress Guardians have not only fortified their defenses but have also deployed additional units to the Border Village. Every gap is now guarded with unyielding vigilance, a living testament to the sacrifices made by heroes like Orin, Darius, and Axl. In this crucible of recovery, hope burns fiercely—a promise that from the ashes of loss, a renewed legacy will rise.

In a quieter corner of the camp, Cloud and Xero, still trembling from the harrowing events, exchange solemn words. Xero’s voice is soft yet resolute:

"I never imagined the cost of this war. Every scar, every tear... it fuels me to fight harder. We will get stronger, Cloud. I swear on every life lost today."

Cloud, staring into the distance where the horizon blurs with the remnants of smoke, replies with a steely determination:

"This isn’t over. We carry their hopes, their sacrifices. One day, we will stand against those who steal our future and reclaim every stolen promise."

Overhead, the dawn grows brighter, casting long shadows of warriors as they labor and mourn side by side. The intensity of loss and the spark of defiance intermingle in every gesture, every whispered word. The Fortress Guardians and their reinforcements may have come to mend the physical ruins, but in every heartfelt exchange, in every call to rebuild, the soul of the realm is being reforged.

Mechan, though burning with indignation over Dorne’s decree, finds himself silently absorbing the resolve of his comrades and the steadfast determination in Captain Voss’s eyes. With the weight of regret and the spark of vengeance fueling him, he vows silently that this setback will not deter them. The realm has been wounded, but as long as hope flickers and warriors remain, the fight for justice and reclamation will go on—stronger, fiercer, and unrelenting.

Thus, amid the clamor of reconstruction and the bittersweet symphony of loss, the seeds of reckoning are sown. A new chapter in the war is beginning—one where every fallen hero becomes the rallying cry for the survivors, and every rebuilt wall stands as a monument to defiance in the face of tyranny.