The sunset seemed to occur with greater speed this evening, deliberately eating away what might well be the last remaining hours of the ignorantly doomed with a rapacity that was almost malicious. As a further act of spite, the callous theft was wreathed amidst fulgent streaks of amber and red, the incarnadine sky a blatant portent of impending bereavement.

The city of Morsthrak sprawled within its walled confines, the mighty defences a negligible consideration against the foe that held sway over the entire region, no portion of geography being above this most malignant rule. Fire and forge threw up slender columns of smoke, the soot gradually staining the tall spires and buildings before feeding the broiling cloud of smog hanging over the town like some ghastly spectre - a beast whose edges drifted away on the slight breeze. The city itself had a withered heart, the centuries of expansion from a central hub causing the greatest levels of archaic waste to pivot at the very core of the settlement. There had been no wars or attacks to devastate the slums and prompt rebuilding; they had merely continued to decline into squalor, the repair of the more affluent outer regions proving easier than tackling the festering centre.

Normally the city rang with activity, a thousand voices raised in a booming chorus of sale, protest, chatter and argument, the cacophony of humanity and their many tasks and deeds drifting out over the hills and almost deafening those within. But a pensive quiet had ruled this day, the culmination of weeks of unease and trepidation that had bruised the nominally friendly peace. All knew what was to occur, but none wished to bring forth the subject through superstitious fear as much as sparing the eligible from another reminder of their possible dreadful fate.

For ten centuries now Morsthrak, like every city and town within the Witch Queen’s clutches, had suffered this infernal tradition. No-one could even recall a time when it had not been so. Even legend failed to notice a period when the Witch Queen had not taken her pick of the celestial youths of the populous, the imposition of her will trailing onward past the time when Morsthrak was but a small hamlet.

Rumours accorded the fate of the chosen to many heinous possibilities - devouring, sacrifice, torture, possession by the Queen or her demonic cohorts, all manner of twisted notions. The imagination of the people was fertile indeed when it came to a mystery, but one glance to the Black Fortress caused instinctive realisation that even the most degenerate rationale for the abductions would be as naught when compared to the truth.

If the Queen’s bastion bore a name, none knew it. The title it held had been gained simply through its visage, and it was one that fitted more apply than any other.

The fortress moodily threw off the rays of the sun, its midnight stone brooking no illumination of its surfaces. Rising amongst the distant mountain range known as the Hellfurnaces, it cast up dagger spires and needle turrets, its grim banners fluttering defiantly in the winds, its crooked peaks stabbing and clawing at the sky. A cloud of crows and other nefarious birds swam in the air above it, as if attracted to the malevolent aura. No living soul had ever faced the fortress and returned, and though countless brave knights and stalwart regiments of troops had attempted to end the Witch Queen’s reign of endless terror, their shattered and ruined armour was always found at the foot of the path winding up to the fortress gates, each of these twisted metal cairns a convincing reminder of her power. Even nature herself spurned the place, the entire zone about the citadel being little more than a sea of blasted rock, with burbling streams of incandescent lava and blankets of volcanic ash gently wafting across the charred landscape. It was no natural phenomena as one might see encompassing a volcano, for it formed a distinct ring about the castle, a ring where a single pace could carry a traveller from lush green valley into a cracked and barren wilderness, and those who had performed such a feat told of the insidious dread and fear that entered their very soul the moment they set a foot down upon the Witch Queen’s sacred soil, so that never again, not for all the gold and riches in the world would they again provoke fate thus a second time.

The last tainted beams of the sun lost their grip upon the hovering clouds and fell away, letting the stars cautiously emerge. Families seized their last chances to be with their children, while those who knew the night might yet bring the destiny they dreaded, sought solace and comfort in prayer or with their loved ones. There was to be no running away. Every settlement was cursed with this rite, there was nowhere to go, the borders of the cancerous empire could not be crossed, and even the deep wilderness was no refuge from the diabolic will of their self-appointed deity.

As the full blackness of the night descended, all of Morsthrak trembled, for they knew time had run out, and something unspeakable was to stand amongst them in expectation of a weighty fee.

***

Deep booming notes from the bell tower rang the first chime of midnight and instantly the stars began to vanish behind a broiling curtain of glistening clouds, their tempestuous innards streaked with glowing lines of crimson that whirled with the aroused void. Lightning arcs licked the land as the bell continued to toll the hour, each metallic imprecation continuing the menacing count-down. When the twelfth stroke echoed across the city, an opaque bolt struck the town square and with a flash of sickly black light, a robed form was deposited by the strike, a trio of armoured figures poised about it.

The jet veil of cloth sheathing the tall form swayed in the gale of the storm, the winds carrying away the wafting lines of steam wrought by its entrance. Crimson eyes glowed with an inner fire deep within the shadows of its hood, a shade that resisted the most fervid efforts of lightning and city lights to penetrate, and it was this sightless gaze that panned across the year’s selection.

The guards were examples of the Witch Queen’s forces - the black and terrible fighting force that rampaged at her command and enforced her will where she declined the mass destruction her sorcery so freely produced. Their ebony platemail was sculpted with a skeletal quality, cloaks of slashed and stitched human skin, faces of the slain still visible within the hideous patchwork. Their helms were forged to resemble elongated demonic skulls, with horns and fangs, scales and frowning brow. The only things more fearsome than these artificial countenances were the serrated greatswords slung across their backs in studded scabbards of tanned human skin. Each was a warrior of equal renown and infamy, every vile trooper under the Witch Queen’s command being equal to ten of any other mercenary or soldier on the battlefield, and the deeds they perpetrated upon the wounded and captured after a conflict only made the notion of fighting them seem all the more absurd.

The young trembled in angst and mortal dread upon seeing the beast’s blank scrutiny, praying and wishing only to be overlooked by the messenger of the Queen’s wishes.

The harbinger gave a wink of brighter intensity and a maiden screamed, her body having been snatched by sorcerous tendrils of manipulation, and in jerking shuffles the puppeteer moved her from the throng, watching as she vainly fought the control, weeping and crying out to be spared or saved.

The guards moved forth to collect the prize, but paused unexpectedly as several citizens were barged rudely aside, their down turned, ashamed stares flashing to the culprit of this rough passage.

A statue of gleaming metal stepped out into the square, the knight’s air of bold defiance shining as gloriously as the silver platemail skin she wore. A white cloak flapped in her stead, and the symbol of the burning heart was set proudly upon her cuirass, declaring her to be a paladin of the Order Eternal. Gripping the jewelled hilt of her greatsword, she drew forth the blade, the keen edge whispering a dull squeal of protest against the scabbard.

“Hold abomination, your foul mistress will have no sacrifice this night, I, Tanya Veress, command thee to leave or perish,” she roared, her voice stern and uncompromising, a conviction of such force that for a moment the population saw the dim light of hope flicker about the rigid knight in addition to a shadowy recognition of her noble name.

The creature halted as though frozen by the words, and with a trio of soft, drawn out screeches, toothed blades left their sheaths.

The apparition turned slowly to face this zealous purger of evil and cackled, the laugh a hideous travesty of amusement, dragged from deep within a torn and putrid throat.

This fearful sound sent a visible shudder through the crowds, but Tanya was well versed in facing such corrupted aberrations, and the rancour in her heart of this particular breed of beast had been kindling for years, allowing no room for fright, only the crucial need to acquire vengeance.

“Tear free her heart so I may drink of it,” uttered the spectre, and without pause the warriors charged, their armour rattling with their bounding step as they roared with fury.

Amidst a growling retort Tanya stormed forward, casting up her blade in readiness for the rending of flesh. With all the skill she had garnered during long seasons of training and practice she moved with almost supernatural celerity. A fake thrust for the lead soldier’s face had him hurl up his weapon in a frantic sweep, trying to parry the potentially mortal stab. His notched blade met her weak jab amidst a scintillating burst, whereupon she span in a full arc, grabbing the momentum her opponent had bestowed and whirling on her heel as she dropped into a crouch.

The blade sang through the air, and before her opponent could even detect what was occurring, the keen edge rang against his breastplate, ripping through the cuirass with ease, tearing through the skin and muscle beneath. The slice across his belly unleashed a river of red that poured freely down his torso in thick torrents, and it seemed as though every particle of his life was suddenly robbed, for he simply toppled and sprawled to the floor in a slack heap, rolling to a halt as his comrades veered and turned their blades onto the squatting paladin.

The twin slivers of notched blackness fell from above with sanguinary velocity. Dragging up her left heel, Tanya kicked with the right, rolling aside and out from beneath the incoming assault. Her shoulders carried her over and back into a crouch, and as the black blades clanged against the ground with tiny geysers of angry sparks she sprang forward, driving her blood flecked weapon before her in both hands, adding the force of her rapid rise to the mighty stab she launched at the nearest guard. The offensive was delivered with such sterling proficiency and fluid grace that the warrior barely saw it coming, his first awareness being when a lance of white heat drilled through his torso, her blade transfixing him.

A ferocious jolt ran through his frame, and his blade seemed to sag in his grasp as though in surrender. Dribbles of crimson gore drooled from the tunnel and wandered along her blade towards the guard. Without delay, Tanya wrenched the weapon free with a savage twist, the tune of tearing metal and the rustle of churned viscera announcing the removal with a grisly clarity. Without her support he dropped to his knees and toppled forward into a ball, a pool of his life welling beneath his body.

The silvery sword deposited flecks of red in the air as it swept up horizontally to meet the overhead chop of her final foe. The weapons met with a loud chime, and it took all of Tanya’s brawn to hold him off, his sheer power a thing of terrible potency, causing her to realise why these troops were so feared, for such might would readily slay a lesser warrior, hacking down a defender’s guard with ease. Dragging their weapons back, the two edges screamed in outrage as they grated against each other, and as his tip fell free, the soldier thrust with all his strength, seeking to skewer her heart. A lissome sidestep evaded his rash attack, causing him to stagger awkwardly forward as he fought to counter his own impetus.

Her greatsword fell in a smooth arc, opening his backplate, the point rattling down his ribs, gouging open the flesh and smashing bones. The guard arched upright, his sword falling from his grip as he tottered like a reed in a breeze, his essence pumping from the exposed tissues.

Drawing up her weapon, Tanya paused in assessment, watching him sway for a moment before lashing out in a broad arc that ripped through his gorget and removed his head in one clean movement. The severed helm bounced upon the ground with a dramatic signal that served as a more effective encouragement to dissension than a decade of impassioned speeches and underground revolt.

With a dull thud the decapitated cadaver struck the floor, the twin fonts of his exposed arteries feeding the pool he and his comrades were creating from their deaths, the dark reservoir stretching thin tendrils out between the cobblestones.

Having dispatched the lackeys, Tanya turned her murderous attention and fury to their superior. With a disdainful flick she cast the accumulated liquid from her weapon and, knowing that a fight with a sorcerous foe was imminent, she readied her defences both physical and enchanted.

“Lords of light and law, I ask thee to shield thy servant from the foul touch of your enemies, grant me the power so I may gain victory,” she hissed, and in response to her words of power the bright length of the holy weapon obediently lit up with a halo of pulsating white, a divine radiance that made all who saw it automatically gaze into its beauty - mesmerised and enraptured.

Levelling the augmented weapon she bolted forward, ready to slaughter the monstrosity. From within the robes a scaled hand arose into view, the three fingers hooked into a claw-like gesture. Briefly she assumed it was shielding its eyes from the luminiferous glare of her augmented sword, but then the glowing spheres flashed like twin suns, and the ground beneath Tanya exploded upward amidst a jet of belching blue fire and scorched debris. When the incendiary fountain cleared, it revealed that only a blackened, smoking crater remained.