The apostles did not need a signal. They charged straight for the city gates, like a dark wave swallowing the night light. The massive iron gates of Midgard groaned at the impact, but remained firm — at least for that brief moment.
A group of guards immediately rushed out, weapons raised, their faces brave but clearly worried. "Halt!" one of them shouted.
At that moment, one of the apostles of Chaos raised his head. An eye opened in the middle of his forehead, so large that it took up the entire top of his face. But it was no ordinary eye — its iris was a spiral, its pupil a mass of thousands of floating symbols that seemed to rewrite themselves, and around it was a crack as if space itself were being distorted by its gaze.
The eyes of chaos — the most terrifying mark of the apostles.
The moment their eyes met the soldiers', they all stopped short. One began to tremble, retreating unconsciously. Another fell to the ground, clutching his head as if trying to block out something that was ringing in his mind.
"No… no… that's not right! Mother… mother, save me…!"
Another laugh—a high-pitched, piercing, meaningless laugh. Blood flowed from his nose, his ears, and his eyes as if the reality inside had exploded.
They all fell, not a single apostle having to move a finger.
"When the eye of Chaos opens, order collapses."
A line from the Book of Chaos.
With nothing to stop them, the apostles advanced into Midgard, and the real invasion had just begun.
The red sirens blared throughout Midgard, and the lights from the watchtowers swept toward the broken city gate. The city's army was immediately mobilized—cavalry, mages, archers, infantry—all lined up in a desperate battle formation.
But facing them were entities that no longer belonged to the physical world. The Apostles of Chaos, having lost their human form, were now mere shadows with eyes glowing with a distorted light, flickering like nightmares torn from the unconscious.
One of them stepped forward, his Chaos eyes opening—with just a glance, each of Midgard's soldiers screamed, clutching their heads, collapsing as if their minds were being torn apart from the inside. The others, who had not yet reacted, were also swept up in the wave of madness, the entire battle line collapsing in an instant.
The Apostles of Chaos are more than just enemies—they are a scourge, an unstoppable storm that can engulf an empire if left unchecked. And now, that scourge has knocked on Midgard's doors.
On the road leading to the royal castle, the screams of the common people echoed like an echo from hell. People ran, jostling and trampling each other in despair. Houses were distorted, the ground shook, and the sky seemed to darken with the growing aura of Chaos.
The Apostles of Chaos did not stop — they swept through the burning streets, past the sacred temples, through the crowded squares, without fighting but still causing an entire city to collapse with their mere presence. Those who dared to stop them were sucked into the eyes of Chaos — no blood, no screams, simply disintegrated into shapeless confusion.
The crowd rushed towards the castle's back gate, while the remaining soldiers tried to set up a final defense. But all they did was delay the inevitable.
The stone steps leading up to the castle trembled under the Apostles' feet. The main gate of the imperial palace — the symbol of Midgard's power — was only the next target.
Inside the Midgard Castle, a heavy atmosphere filled the great hall. King Eldran – an old man but his eyes still held a majestic look – stood before the throne with a golden robe that reached the ground. On both sides of him were his courtiers, the last knights who were brave enough to stand.
The red alarm bell from the city gate still echoed through every crack in the wall, every beat of their hearts. The atmosphere was so thick that it was hard to breathe. Outside, the sky was torn apart by the chaotic atmosphere, causing even the moonlight to distort and lose its shape.
A young knight said with a trembling voice:
"Your Majesty… They have arrived. The Chaos Apostle… are just a few steps away from entering the palace…"
King Eldran did not reply. He only nodded slightly, then gently removed the ancient sword from his waist – a sword forged in the first era, once used to fight against the Demon King of ancient times.
He whispered:
"If today is the day Midgard falls, it will fall with honor."
The courtiers drew their weapons in unison, knowing that their opponent was an unknown, an untouchable concept of madness, they were still ready to die as the last defenders of the light.
The palace doors... began to shake.
The door to the Midgard imperial palace's main hall was broken open like a wall of shredded paper.
Each stone pillar engraved with dragon patterns trembled violently, and a chaotic whirlwind rushed in – not the wind of nature, but something that roared from the essence of chaos, carrying with it the sound of the dry laughter of thousands of distorted souls.
At the head of the group of apostles was an entity with no stable form – changing every second: sometimes it was a man with a laughing mask, sometimes it was a woman with bloodshot eyes and sharp claws, sometimes it was a naked child with an inverted halo.
Its voice echoed, as if filtered through tens of thousands of voices at the same time:
"Midgard... you have lived long enough."
King Eldran stepped forward, although his body was no longer strong, his eyes were still strangely bright. He said:
"You are darkness without roots. We are light with roots."
He raised his ancient sword – the Holy Sword of Bravaniel – it emitted a shimmering light, not bright, but as steady and pure as the soul of a people.
At that moment, the apostles rushed forward like a wave of chaos:
One apostle screeched, his chaotic eyes blazing – but Eldran shielded the guards with Bravaniel's light.
Another apostle transformed into a thousand dark tentacles, crawling up from the stone floor, wrapping around the knights.
The last priests in the castle began to chant ancient incantations, asking the stars to guide their souls as the end approached.
The battle was no longer between man and man, but between the will of order and the will of chaos.
As soon as Eldran beheaded one apostle, three more grew, for the nature of Chaos was not to be destroyed – but to spread.
But Eldran did not retreat. He said to the last retainer beside him:
"Pass on the spirit of Midgard… even if it remains only as ashes."
The scene of Midgard was in hell.
The apostle commander – the chaotic entity stood in the middle of the hall, his voice echoing through the space like an ominous voice from the bottom of the abyss:
"Sweep it all. Leave no trace of order behind."
The apostles shouted in unison, sounds that did not belong to any language that had ever been written. The screams made rocks crumble, blood boil, and reason melt like candle wax.
They began to herd civilians into the streets, those who did not die from the chaotic eyes were torn apart by tentacles, those who managed to run were burned by a fire that was not from the physical world – the chaotic fire, burning away even the memories and names of those touched.
The fire did not spread like normal fire – it bloomed like a flower of terror, engulfing the entire residential area, spreading up the watchtowers, and rushing into every small alley.
Torches of chaos were set ablaze everywhere – not to illuminate, but to destroy.
The commander stepped into the middle of the square, where the ancient statue of the Goddess of Order had once stood – now only its feet. He whispered, almost singing:
"No one will remember your names. No one will know that Midgard ever existed. Order? Wrong... From now on, there is only one reality: chaos."
He raised his hand, and a torrent of black fire flowed back from the sky, pouring straight down on the palace of Midgard. The entire city was engulfed.
A few hours later, only ash remained.
The wind blew through the smoldering ruins, carrying the scent of ash, dried blood, and the mad whispers of what had once been human.
And like every time before...
When everything was just ashes and hauntings — they disappeared.
There were no signs of footsteps, no screams, not even a trace of blood. All the apostles of chaos retreated as quickly as if they had never existed.
They did not use portals, did not use teleportation magic, nor did they leave any trace of energy. They simply disappeared, as if their existence had been a black dream.
A few minutes later, the vanguard of the Western alliance was on the outskirts of Midgard.
The silver-armored knights stood still. The sky was still hazy with smoke, and ashes flew in the wind like snow.
A Western commander — General Ardan — dismounted from his horse and picked up a handful of ashes. Among them were small pieces of bone and pieces of burnt wood from the houses.
"We're too late…" he said in a low voice, his eyes red.
A mage senses the environment:
"There is nothing left to trace. No magic, no aftershocks, nothing. It is as if everything here has been... erased
A strong wind blows, carrying a whisper that echoes through the ruins:
"Midgard... has become the first chapter."