Steny

Chapter 1: Forming a Team The sun had barely risen when Arvid opened his eyes. The Inquisitor lay in his home in Metalbourg, an industrial city where innovation drove every moment of daily life. The scent of metal and coal wafted through the slightly open window, a smell that had become synonymous with home for him. His intense gaze, an almost electric blue, rested on the stone walls. Beneath his pale skin, his veins seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of his humanity in a world dominated by machines. In Metalbourg, Arvid was far more than just an ordinary citizen. As an Inquisitor, he was tasked with maintaining justice and order. This work, though necessary, exposed him to the darkest facets of society: corruption, betrayal, crime. He had witnessed horrors that haunted him even in broad daylight. Yet he never wavered, drawing strength from his unwavering faith in Appolyon, the god he worshipped. In moments of doubt, he would touch the emblem of Appolyon sewn onto his black coat, a gesture that rekindled his determination and commitment to his mission. His sword, heavy yet reassuring, was always within reach, ready to strike down anyone who threatened the established order. But as dawn gently lit the skies over Metalbourg, an explosion shattered the morning calm. The nascent light was suddenly eclipsed by a gigantic shadow. A deep and powerful roar echoed, shaking the city walls: the Orks were attacking. The Orks, towering creatures of muscle and fury, were terrifying monsters. Their skin, a dark green reminiscent of the fetid swamps they hailed from, was thick and rough. Their brutal faces were marked by prominent jaws adorned with sharp tusks, attened noses, and black eyes brimming with savagery. Their coarse, straw-like hair fell in disorderly strands over their broad shoulders. They wore dark rags, often adorned with macabre trophies of war. This was no mere attack but an entire horde, unleashing a wave of destruction. Their massive weapons, forged from raw metal and splintered wood, swept away everything in their path. Their war cries reverberated through the city, spreading panic among the inhabitants. Metalbourg, once full of life, descended into utter chaos. Arvid, still resting at home, rushed outside at the rst signs of the attack. Armed with his trusty sword, he dove into the fray with precise and powerful movements, cutting down the monsters one by one. But for every Ork he slew, two more seemed to emerge to take its place. “Cowardly, honorless beasts!” Arvid roared, pushing back an Ork that had charged at him. His face was a mask of determination, his eyes gleamed with cold fury. Every strike he dealt, every monster he felled, was a challenge hurled at these invaders. He was determined to defend his city, no matter the cost. But the Orks were too numerous, too strong. Their brutal assault had overwhelmed Metalbourg’s defenses before the city could even respond. Despite his bravery, Arvid could not hold them back alone. Eventually, his enemies overpowered him, and he collapsed, unconscious. ff fl fi ff When he regained consciousness, a su ocating silence hung over Metalbourg. Arvid’s painful groan broke the morbid stillness as he blinked, struggling to shake o the confusion. Every breath was a struggle, his battered body a grim reminder of the attack’s violence. He lay on the cold stone ground, stained with his own blood, his pale face contorted in pain. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, resonating like a distant echo of bitter defeat.