Up in the foyer, the massive oak doors of the palace suddenly exploded inward.

Splintered wood rained across the marble floor as Iron-Scale stepped through the ruined entryway. Gulag followed closely behind him and cracked her knuckles, looking at the terrified Tarnstead knights with an eager smile.

Alden did not retreat or attempt to negotiate. He genuinely thought his dedication to Voranthar would grant him victory. He raised his gilded sword and charged directly at Iron-Scale with a furious yell.

Iron-Scale simply sighed and swung his polearm. He deflected the incoming blade with minimal effort, knocking the expensive weapon right out of Alden’s hands. Before the idiot king could even react, Iron-Scale drove the blunt end of his polearm directly into Alden’s chest.

Alden flew backward and crashed into a marble pillar. He collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood as his ribs fractured from the impact.

The remaining Tarnstead knights dropped their weapons and immediately surrendered, completely demoralized by how easily their king fell. They fell to their knees and raised their hands in the air.

Gulag stepped forward and grabbed Alden by the collar of his expensive robes. She lifted the broken king entirely off the floor and tossed him at Iron-Scale’s feet.

"Secure the palace," Iron-Scale instructed Torix, looking down at the bleeding man. "Find Voranthar and drag him out of whatever hole he is hiding in."

Torix nodded and scuttled up the grand staircase to begin searching the royal suites. Iron-Scale rested his weapon against the marble tiles, effectively claiming the Tarnstead throne room for the Vanguard.

The capital had officially fallen.

Voranthar huddled in the darkest corner of his panic room while gripping a golden amulet shaped like a sunburst. He pressed the jewelry tightly against his forehead to focus his mind.

The sounds of the dying city filtered down through the ceiling, but he ignored the screams to channel all his remaining mana into his faith link.

"Radiant Monarch, hear me," Voranthar whispered frantically in the dark. "I sacrificed millions in your name. I built temples of gold and slaughtered the non-believers. Grant me your divine protection today. Smite these invaders and save your loyal servant."

He waited for the familiar warmth of his deity to fill his chest because he expected a blinding light to incinerate the Vanguard army.

Absolutely nothing happened. The faith link remained completely dead. The Radiant Monarch did not answer his pleas, leaving Voranthar utterly abandoned on the cold floor.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Six clawed feet tapped against the stone tiles as Torix located the hidden entrance.

Voranthar scrambled backward and pressed his back against the wall. He watched the massive iron door of the panic room groan under immense pressure.

Torix did not bother picking the intricate locks to gain entry. He simply aimed his wrist mounts and fired a net of monomolecular webbing directly at the hinges. The invisible silk cleanly sheared through the reinforced steel.

The metal door collapsed inward and crashed onto the floor with a loud clang.

Torix crawled into the room. He looked at Voranthar with his six eyes and tilted his head.

"Stay back!" Voranthar shrieked.

He threw his golden amulet directly at Torix. The jewelry bounced harmlessly off Torix’s torso and clattered onto the ground. Torix shot a single strand of webbing to wrap it tightly around Voranthar’s ankle. Torix yanked the web forcefully, instantly dragging the screaming man across the floor.

Voranthar clawed desperately at the stone tiles to stop his momentum. He broke his manicured fingernails and ruined his expensive silk robes as he slid across the dirt. He sobbed uncontrollably while Torix dragged him out of the vault and pulled him up the grand staircase, bumping his head against the stone steps along the way.

Torix entered the ruined foyer and tossed Voranthar onto the marble floor right next to Alden.

Voranthar curled into a pitiful ball and wept openly in front of his enemies. He looked absolutely pathetic next to the bleeding Alden. Iron-Scale looked down at the two defeated men and rested his polearm against a broken pillar.

"The architects of this war," Iron-Scale said. "You sacrificed your entire world for power, and you still lost."

Voranthar remained curled on the marble floor while Alden coughed violently beside him. The distant sounds of the dying capital echoed through the shattered palace doors.

Footsteps approached from the ruined foyer. Duke Lupis walked into the throne room, completely unharmed and dressed in pristine linen robes. Novus and Hawl flanked him on either side. The two assassins casually wiped wet blood from their daggers using scraps of Tarnstead banners.

Gulag grinned broadly as she saw them. "You actually finished the job without burning the entire palace down," she laughed while tossing her bone club into her other hand.

Novus smirked and bumped his fist affectionately against Gulag’s armor. "We left plenty of work for you."

Hawl nodded respectfully at Torix. The Arachne clicked his mandibles together in a warm greeting to welcome his brothers back from the shadows. They stood together in the center of the conquered room, showcasing a tight-knit camaraderie that the shattered Tarnstead military completely lacked.

Iron-Scale leaned on his polearm and looked at the two assassins. "Excellent work. You paralyzed the military structure in three days and opened the door for us."

Lupis stepped forward and ignored Alden entirely. The Duke reached into his pocket and pulled out a large iron key ring. He handed it directly to Iron-Scale with a polite bow.

"The final fourteen Earthlings are locked securely inside my subterranean vault," Lupis reported. "They walked right in and asked me to hide them."

Voranthar stopped crying for a moment. He raised his head and looked at Lupis with wide, bloodshot eyes.

"You locked them away?" Voranthar whispered. His voice cracked with absolute disbelief. "They possess the magic to level this entire city."

Lupis finally looked down at his former king. He did not yell or gloat. He simply offered a look of total pity.

"I did not have to do anything," Lupis explained calmly. "Your own paranoia drove them away. You accused your greatest weapons of treason and ordered their execution because you saw a few painted spirals. You chased them out of the palace and right into my cage."

Novus squatted down to meet Voranthar’s gaze. The assassin smiled underneath his hood.

"We never intended to fight them in the open," Novus taunted. "We just wanted to make you so terrified that you would do the work for us. You literally handed us the continent on a silver platter."

Voranthar stared at the iron keys resting in Iron-Scale’s hand. The reality crushed whatever spirit he had left. He had entirely isolated himself. He had driven away his only chance of survival. His god refused to answer his prayers. His army lay dead in the streets. And his greatest champions were currently trapped in a dark room waiting to be harvested.

He was the architect of his own complete demise. Voranthar buried his face in his hands and resumed sobbing, completely broken.

"It is over," Iron-Scale announced, turning his back on the pathetic kings. He looked at Gulag, Torix, Novus, and Hawl. "Now, it is time for the punishment."