Fall of the Sun Ward

T wenty years after the War of the Undying, Nioba still bore the scars of that century-long conflict. The Sun Ward, once the proud vanguard of the Kiteshi Empire, stood diminished—their numbers thinned by battle. The world they fought to protect had grown complacent, and in that complacency, Hephsut found his opening.

Seething with resentment, Hephsut brooded in the shadows, his hatred festering like a wound that refused to heal. Though Vauldis was gone, the echoes of his influence remained etched in Hephsut’s brittle pride. His victory over Vauldis had earned him no monuments, no songs, no reverence. Instead, the Sun Ward basked in the glory, their names etched into history while Hephsut was relegated to a footnote. But Hephsut had claimed more than the Infinus Maledus; he had claimed a key to his ultimate revenge.

The Infinus Maledus, the Black Book of Curses and Diseases, became Hephsut’s weapon. Its pages whispered secrets older than empires, curses potent enough to unravel the very fabric of life. Drawing from its abyssal knowledge, Hephsut wove a grand curse, not a simple blight upon flesh but a corruption of purpose, faith, and memory. He unleashed this dark plague upon the Sun Ward, a silent killer that struck from within, warping their spirits, sowing distrust, and igniting factional schisms.

The curse manifested in insidious ways. Some Sun Ward warriors fell ill with a wasting sickness, their bodies deteriorating despite divine healing. Others grew paranoid, suspecting treachery among their ranks, fracturing the unity that had once been their greatest strength. A handful turned against their comrades entirely, corrupted by whispers only they could hear, their loyalty eroded like stone under acid rain.

While the Sun Ward crumbled from within, Hephsut moved with surgical precision. He did not lead legions or raise armies—he needed none. He infiltrated their sanctum, where the hundred sacred Sun Blades were kept. Those few who stood in his path, weakened by the curse, fell swiftly and arose once more to become his Ravagers. The sanctum became a slaughterhouse, the golden banners of Amnut stained with blood and ash.

One by one, Hephsut shattered the Sun Blades. The curses etched into his hands seared through enchanted steel, sundering divine relics as if they were brittle glass.

By the time dawn rose, the Sun Ward was no more. Their sanctum stood in ruins, the walls scorched with necromantic runes, and the ashes of their legacy scattered like dust in the wind. Hephsut left no survivors to tell the tale, only broken blades and echoes of a forgotten order.