Await the lieutenants

Only a fool goes blindly to war, and only an idiot does so without knowledge of the battlefield.

You are neither of these things, so you watch and you wait. You watch for your enemies, waiting to see if they take notice of your gained freedom, of their looming demise.

You also wait and watch for things almost as precious as knowledge: tools. Specifically, your thrice damned lieutenants, bound to you in so many ways and chained away with the rest of your forces.

Slowly, finally, as the wounds upon the world begin to stitch, you see them return to this land, with steady, sultry, and staggered gait.

The steady gait belongs to the black clad behemoth commonly whispered of as "The Wail." This is not a sound that he makes, in fact few beyond you have ever heard him so much as breathe. Rather, this is all the remains of those he doesn't deem necessary to slaughter; a low, struggled keening for them and their's. His jet black plate looks just as sturdy as ever, implying that wherever they were cloistered away, time has all but stopped. The heavy, brutal maul he carries is in fact a repurposed cannon from one of your early conquests. He is almost as loyal to it as he is to you, having once laid siege to an enemy fortification after his men left it behind while trying to save him. What became of his men is better left unsaid, and woe be to any fools who may've built upon that land in the time since.

The sultry, seductive steps of Shang Burth Hiug are enough to quiet the fiendish howls of your murderous ****, if only for a moment. Hiug walks onto every battlefield like a dancer before a captivated audience, and rarely is she wrong in that assumption. Where "The Wail" is so adorned that his flesh is rarely seen, let alone struck, by anyone but you, Hiug has never been seen with a decent amount of clothing on. Her feet are stained red with blood, her legs ripple with visible power, strength enough to carry her yards in moments and crush an armored skull between them. Her abdomen (visible through her tank top) is almost indistinguishable from a armored plate, and almost as resilient, though she would often claim the deflected knife or arrow was simply because they didn't really want to hurt her. No one really wanted to hurt her, according to Hiug, they simply wanted to get close enough to feel her loving embrace, as she crush the lifeblood from them between powerful arms. That many a fool would falter at the sight of her considerable breasts, each bigger than a man's head with aerola the size of tea plates, did little to actually disprove the argument. Atop those bountiful breasts though, lay the real prize for many opponents, and assuredly the downfall for all of them. Thick ruby lips, twisted into a constant smile, hid teeth that had chewed through more men than an army. A sharp, thin nose sloped up slightly into a pair of vivid green eyes, brilliant as jade in the sun, and wild and frenetic as a hurricane. They were in constant motion, checking the battlements, watching for prey, seeking, hungry with desire. You'd only seen them still once, and that was after a particularly powerful orgasm following a particularly hard fought battle. Objectives for a later time.

Above those wild eyes a thick head of brilliant red hair sank down to the mid of her back. The hair seemed to move and dance on its own a bit, as though the constant heat of her flesh set the very air in motion. Given how hot she could get, it was a distinct possibility.

The last notable detail of her was the one most often neglected: she carried no weapons. Shang Burth Hiug tore, bit, and crushed her enemies to ****, rending them to pieces with hand and foot and mouth alike. Armored, unarmored, short range or long, it mattered not to her. If she wanted you, she'd have you, it was as simple as that.

Last, but certainly least, was the staggering steps of your finest creation, the constructed body for the creature Gren. They wore a heavy cloak, little more than a tarp, though said attire was loose by intent. Gren was a thing you had managed to contact from beyond more reasoned points of time and space. They agreed to join you, to provide you with their knowledge, their understanding, their expertise, in exchange for one mildly complicated thing: they wanted a body that could experience all a mortal life could offer. They were not a finite creature by design, they could not understand what the living want, need, or desire, but they were open to finding out.

It took years of work, and more than a few other failed experiments, to finally create a form for them, one that could be anything and everything as need be. They could form eyes, ears, mouths, tentacles, anything that they so desired or that you asked of them. More than one foe had discovered what they thought to be a disheveled sage on the battlefield was little more than a mass of teeth and claws that could suck the meat from their bones. More than one ally had requested your "advisor" be sent to them, time and again, after nights of fancy that had left them unsatisfied with all other lovers. That ally became foe, often in little time, showed the true shortsightedness on their part.

As the trio approached, you a smile cracked your face, your mind wandering as to what to do next.