Both giants hurried in the trail of the two great warriors, leaving the exhausted messenger alone.

Vengelis roared southward, countless miles falling away beneath the deafening sound of his speed. The featureless plains of northern snow soon gave way to vast frozen tundra and thick boreal forest as he flew ever south. Here and there, broad striations and wide craters dug deep into the very curvature of the planet: enduring scars from the uncivilized weapons of the ancient struggle against the Zergos that led to the rise of the Sejero. Confusion claimed him as he exploded across his pocked and marred land.

Vengelis tried to make sense of what he had been told. Millions have been killed. There was no logic in the messenger’s words. How could this be true? Municera was home to dozens of Imperial First Class soldiers. Surely they would have risen to defend the city?

As he neared Municera airspace, the sky before him was brushed with an undulating ocean of clouds that separated the radiant blue of the upper atmosphere from the concealed lands far below. Vengelis lingered in the serenity above the clouds for a moment before plunging toward the ground and directly into the top of a brilliantly white towering cumulus.

The dazzling sunlight instantly dissipated into obscure gray shadow as Vengelis descended through the mist. Water from the cloud’s precipitation beaded on his armor and face, gathering and rolling off him in plump drops. Briefly he was blind within the veil. Then, through the bits of parting cloud below, he caught fleeting glimpses of the land beneath.

“W-what?” Vengelis murmured aloud in disbelief.

The distinct smell of pungent sulfur and smoke filled his nose as he attempted to see through the shifting cloud. A faint heat emanated from the land far below. The obfuscating clouds that engulfed him transitioned in color to a dense and unnatural gray-brown. Through the cloud curtain, jet-black streaks and cindery red flames flashed from the lands below. The sight aroused in Vengelis a sensation of descending from a shining heaven into a surreal hell.

Vengelis penetrated the bottom of the cloud cover head first, and at once he beheld Municera. The sight shook Vengelis, and he lost focus, falling momentarily into the noxious air, but he quickly steadied himself. He rotated from horizon to horizon in horror. The city—if it could still be called as such—was completely devastated. Blocks and avenues were unrecognizably scorched, raging fires burning in every direction. Flames leapt from collapsed buildings and severed gas lines, vehicles sat overturned and charred, ruined skyscrapers and street corners were pulsing with heat like glowing embers. Acrid smoke and ash hung thick and blocked the daylight. The only illumination came from smoldering fires far below. It was as though a nightmarish underworld had risen in the city’s stead.

“How?” Vengelis mouthed in disbelief.

He floated alone far above the city, taking shallow breaths, attempting to rationalize what he was seeing. He had lived in Municera during his early teenage years, and in a sense considered the city a home. All of the landmarks of the great Municera were barely identifiable in the carnage. The Grand Arena, a triumphant marvel of his empire’s engineering, was torn down to its skeletal frame; bits of the stadium seating and tall walls reached out of a sweltering bed of sheer dark flames.

After what felt like a very long time, Master Tolland descended silently alongside Vengelis and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“We have no time to contemplate this, Vengelis. We must make for the capital.” Master Tolland paused, clearly also shaken. The fires from far below reflected in his troubled eyes. “A battle may still be underway in Sejeroreich. If there is, they’ll need you desperately.”

“Yes,” Vengelis said numbly, his arms shaking with fury and shock.

“Your people need you with a clear head, Vengelis. Rage will dull your senses. You must keep your composure, now more than ever before!”

Without another word, a deafening boom echoed across the hellscape as Vengelis burst toward the south once more. Master Tolland hurried after him, but Vengelis pulled away within moments.Vengelis seethed as he accelerated southward across the skies. He knew he was the greatest warrior of Anthem—the purest of Sejero blood and the strongest of mind. All knew Vengelis Epsilon was the most powerful warrior of the modern age, perhaps the most powerful warrior of any age. The supreme sentinel of Anthem had been in the middle of nowhere training and arguing philosophies as a holocaust tore into his world. He had not been there when his people needed him most, and that truth was poison.

Vengelis clung to the hope that it was not too late.