The Songstress of Heartfelt Desire was but one of many currently swimming in the Chaos Sea. There were dozens of Chaos Lords at the Baron level, with a couple of Viscounts to serve as backup in case things didn’t go as planned. They were in the pure Chaos now, untainted by the dreams and desires of humankind.

She reveled in her freedom and hummed beneath her breath. The Chaos rippled around her, subtle waves that gave her strength and comfort. They had lingered in this particular part of the Sea for what must have been weeks. It felt as if no time had passed at all, yet it seemed as if she had been drifting forever, too.

Desire, she thought to herself. Shortening her title to something manageable was common practice amongst the Chaos Lords, though most would have called her Songstress instead. She liked Desire more than the first part of her title and protested vehemently when her peers called her the other. She was either Desire or the Songstress of Heartfelt Desire. Nothing else.

Of course, the leaders of the Chaos Dwellers, the Marquises and the Dukes, could call her whatever they wanted. They were the ones to give her the title anyway, and they could change it if they wanted. Only…her title was her. It was the phrase that described her core. If it were changed, then she would change with it.

Changing a title was as easy as changing oneself. Which greatly depended on the individual in question. She reminded herself that, however the greater lords called her, only Desire had the power to accept that name or reject it.

Well, things are always muddy these days. She was less than a year old, by her reckoning. Her previous life as a Wyldling was a nonexistent blur. Nobody really remembered the time they were practically mindless beasts ruled by nothing more than instinct. Everybody reckoned age for when they achieved becoming Chevaliers or Barons. It was called their true naming day.

Well, Desire’s batch contained dozens if not hundreds of Barons. A nearly unheard of number, going by the rumours and whispers of the court, possible only due to some…stratagems.

Desire shook her head and focused on what she should be watching. The Fysalli in the distance contained what the humans called Witton Hold. A fortified area where the Imperials used as a tether to keep the channel between the planes of Rumiga and Delovine connected. Witton was right smack in the middle of the two planes and was the most heavily protected.

She didn’t need Chaos Sight to know that the entire fortress was etched in multiple layers of runescript and that it was full of legionnaires.

Three cohorts from Agminis, at least three Knights. Five Colossi squads, too.

The voice came from the back of her mind. It was hers but at the same time, not. A past life, perhaps? Desire wasn’t sure, and everytime she thought of the “before”, only blurred images remained. And longing. She was sure of that. She wanted something, desired it with the strength indicated by her sobriquet, but she had no idea what it was. Perhaps the voice inside knew.

Well, there were two dozen Chaos Barons here, waiting for the signal that could come at any time. They had to strike simultaneously, she knew. Otherwise, the Imperials would get a call for aid out, and Delovine would send its mighty legions to the rescue. If they could shatter all of the fortresses, destroy or subsume the anchoring artefacts, then they would succeed in their goals.

Days. Weeks. Then Seasons passed. And finally, the signal. Right in front of Desire’s eyes, a Chaos particle changed into the image of their lord. The Watcher’s Eye. It blinked at her, then turned to look at the Fysalli containing Witton Hold. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see an illusory eye before each baron, and a complete image next to the Viscounts. The next moment, the Eye faded into the Chaos Sea, not gone, but there. It would watch her, and judge.

One of the Viscounts, a freshly raised woman called the Wielder of Divine Flames, lifted a hand and shot a beam of cold plasma above. Another signal, though not one for the barons. The Chaos Sea stirred. Out in the distance, a twisted structure appeared. It looked like a wasps’ nest if one was the size of a three-storey building. From within, a wave of swarmlings emerged, their fragmentary Anima too weak to hold full consciousness. They were as unknowing as they were undying. As long as their Nest existed, it would eventually reclaim the shattered bits of Anima and recreate a body for them, again and again without end, until the Anima wears down to nothing or it breaks away from the Nest and becomes a Wanderer.

The human’s fortress was in a Fysalli within a Fysalli. There was no way for them to reach the inner bubble without breaking through the outer, no way for them to play their tricks without overwhelming the rules laid down.

The first wave was always one of swarmlings. When attacking a fortified locale that couldn’t be taken quickly, weaken and exhaust the defenders. Then set up a perimeter to intercept the inevitable calls for help.

The swarmlings pierced the Veil, which was still thin enough that Desire and the others could see what happened within. Nearly a third of the swarmlings died as soon as they entered the Fysalli, gasping for breath.

“An empty zone,” one of the other Barons, Breaker of Bonds, muttered. He glanced at Desire and nodded. “You’re up, new girl.”

Desire fought the urge to roll her eyes. But he was right on both counts. She was new, and it was her unique skill that made her such a valuable addition to the assault force.

She sang. A wordless song, a melody of tears, fears, and hopes. The Chaos rippled around her as she advanced, touching the Veil with a gentle palm. Her song rippled across the entire thing, drawing her strength until she ran almost dry. Still, she sang. It was her only purpose.

The swarmlings stopped dying. The ambient Chaos rose enough that the negative pressure didn’t immediately wring them dry.

Too late, the legionnaires realised the danger she represented. They spilt out of their fortifications, three Colossi, two Certus and one Evgenis class, elites and a noble, lumbered out. The Certus were five paces high, made of steel enforced, lacquered wood. One carried a huge cleaver, while the other, a proportionately sized boar spear. The Evgenis was six paces high, and made entirely of a silvery metal alloy. It practically glowed with runescript lines which shifted and spun around its lithe limbs. It carried a greatsword, and the blade had a fancy wavy flame pattern.

Each Colossus towered over the swarmlings, and they didn’t even deign to use their weapons. Instead, they trampled the hapless creatures in a bid to close in on her contact point. The Veil where Desire’s hand lay, opened a wide hole that allowed the Chaos Sea to pour in, along with her song.

“Time for the big guy,” she heard the Wielder say. The flame clad Chaos Lord gestured, and from a device she held, out came a Behemoth. Then another, and another, until there were twice as many of them as there were Colossi.

The giants were about the height of a Koinos Colossi, four paces high, at the shoulder, but were quite a bit longer and wider. The composite creatures were the result of too many deaths amongst the swarmlings, far in excess of what the Nests could handle. The wandering Anima combined to ease the flaying pain, and in the process, created such monstrosities. None of the Behemoths looked similar to each other, each was a unique blend of features. The first one looked like a mountain of meat with hundreds of hands flailing in the air, though each of those were tipped with razor-sharp claws, or could spray acid, flame, or lightning.  The second was a bulbous thing with a giant eye. Whatever it looked at just plain burst and died. The third was a large serpent with a dozen tails. It was the largest of the lot and charged straight at the Evgenis.

Desire didn’t take note of the last three Behemoths as the clash between the giants began. Rocks shattered, steam billowed, and flame bursts covered the skies.

The human’s fortress wall butted up against the interior Veil, and their weapons were able to fire through it. Balls of superheated plasma splashed against the swarmling wave, making carapace, skin, hair, and blood sizzle and steam. Acrid smoke filled the Fysalli’s air, but they didn’t linger for long. The smoke and other obscuring substances seemed heavier than it would normally be, and they sank quickly back to the hard-packed earth, turning it to slippery mud.

The Colossi and the Behemoth’s large feet churned the ground and mud, even as their blows sent shockwaves all over the place. Only swarmlings died as the humans sent no infantry. The Behemoths were handily beaten back, despite their numerical superiority. Desire felt worry twist her guts. The Evgenis was stronger than she expected. A Koinos was typically piloted by Journeymen, and it brought them up to the strength of a Knight. Certus increased a Knight’s strength to Knight-Captain, and an Evgenis strengthened a Knight-Captain to nearly Knight-commander.

The two Viscounts in the group should be able to handle it, but perhaps the Colossus Core was a veteran Knight-Captain who was already close to advancing another tier up. The Behemoths certainly weren't able to push it to its limits, even when four of them tried to gang up on it.

Desire’s song continued, and she poured as much of her emotions, her need for victory and fear of failure, in it. The ambient Chaos rippled around her, and sent a wave of concentrated Chaos into the Behemoths, sealing their wounds and giving them a second wind. But it wasn’t enough.

“Five go forth. Bury them in the tide,” Wielder of Divine Flames intoned. Five Barons pierced the Veil and sent a fusillade of varied power expressions at the Evgenis. The Certes were still preoccupied by the two Behemoths and were unable to aid their leader. But it wasn’t needed.

The Evgenis’ armour projected a bubble of protection, which deflected or absorbed the attacks. Then, inexplicably, the Colossi started to retreat. Perhaps their power sources were drained?

“Press them!” Wielder yelled, her high pitched voice was sultry and rough, as though her flames had scorched her throat but nevertheless managed to sound pleasant. The paradox boggled Desire’s mind, but she reminded herself that in the Chaos Sea, how one saw oneself mattered far more than someone else’s perception.

Another squad of Barons entered the fray, then another. Only Desire’s honour guard, her peers honestly, stayed outside. Everyone else, including the Viscounts, entered and fought. As the Colossi’s back pressed against the inner Veil, the rest of the humans entered the fray!

Brilliant bolts of light, chains of darkness, invisible waves of force that pressed the Barons down to their knees flew from the Imperials. There were far more of them than Desire expected, and for a long instant, she thought the assault doomed.

But the tyranny of numbers was on their side. And it was made more apparent when reinforcements in the form of their own humans arrived.

No words were exchanged, no quarter given. No parley flag flew over the fortress. No, what was left, when outnumbered nearly a hundred to one, was a slow grinding death.

Desire sang for hours, then days. There was no rest, no further surprises on either side. The Imperials stuck to their walls, their inner Fysalli, until the outer bubble had been completely turned to the Telurian Court’s side. A few of the Barons were really from Asheron, but the Telurian reigned supreme by virtue of having the only Duke in the area.

Once the bubble was turned, then there truly was no escape. Oh, a few humans tried, fleeing in the opposite direction, but they ran straight into the Asheroni blockade. If they survived, then there would be more fodder for that court’s troops.

Finally, after long days and weeks of hot fighting, the inner walls were breached. But it was then that the Empire’s final defenses triggered and all were consumed in ever-expanding light.