The sky above Drakhelm darkened with an unnatural shadow as the remnants of Malachar’s failed assault smoldered in the arena. The smoke from the arena still lingered in the air, curling upwards into a sky that had grown dark, unnaturally so. The sun was blotted out by swirling clouds, thick and suffocating, that had appeared the moment Malachar’s portal opened. The city of Drakhelm was in disarray. Streets that had been bustling with the excitement of the deathmatch now echoed with the screams of panicked citizens. Dark magic clung to the air like a miasma, turning the very atmosphere heavy with dread.

Word of the dark sect, Noctis, had already spread among the people. Noctis—the underground sect feared across the world for its use of forbidden magic—had unleashed its full might on the kingdom. They had been spoken of in legends and warnings, their name whispered only in shadows and fears. Now, they were no longer just a rumor. They were here, their forces tearing through the heart of Drakhelm.

The streets of the capital were in disarray. Screams of panic echoed off the city’s stone walls as terrified citizens rushed to find shelter. Mothers clutched their children, their eyes wide with fear, while merchants abandoned their stalls, leaving behind their wares to flee the impending doom. Soldiers scrambled to form defensive lines, their armor clinking nervously as they hurried to their posts. Drakhelm had been attacked before, but never like this.

From the shadowed edges of the city, a massive figure emerged, crushing everything in its path. The ground trembled as the monstrous demonic creature, towering over the buildings, strode forward with terrifying speed. Its skin was black as midnight, its eyes glowing red like embers, and its four massive, clawed legs tore through the streets, reducing them to rubble with every step. On its back sat a figure draped in dark robes, his cold, calculating eyes gleaming with malice.

This was Zorath, the leader of Noctis, the underground dark sect that had long been whispered of in fear. For years, Noctis had remained in the shadows, known only for its mastery of forbidden magic and the use of forbidden techniques banned throughout the world. But now, they had emerged in full force, and Zorath led the charge. His demonic beast was a living weapon, capable of destroying entire cities with ease. And his destination was clear: the royal castle of Drakhelm.

“Burn it all,” Zorath muttered under his breath, his voice a chilling whisper carried on the wind. With a flick of his wand, he commanded the beast forward. Its roar pierced the air, sending waves of fear through the citizens below. Entire blocks crumbled beneath the creature’s weight, and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its path was crushed beneath its claws or reduced to ash by the dark magic that radiated from its body.

At the heart of the chaos, soldiers of Drakhelm attempted to mount a defense. Captain Raelor, his face grim but determined, barked orders to his men as they tried to hold the line.

“Form up! Protect the civilians! We must hold the gate at all costs!” Valen’s voice cut through the panic, rallying the soldiers.

But it was a losing battle. The beast’s unstoppable force and the dark mages’ relentless assault quickly overwhelmed Drakhelm’s defenses. The soldiers were forced to retreat, pulling back toward the castle as the streets were consumed by fire and darkness.

Far below the castle, Mira Emberheart and Magnus Draymore stood on a high vantage point overlooking the city. The smoke and destruction spread before them, but their focus was on the beast that tore its way toward the royal castle. Both seasoned warriors, they had already recovered from their battle with Malachar, but the sight of Zorath’s demonic creature stirred a sense of urgency.

“Let’s move,” she said, determination hardening her voice.

Together, they leaped from the ledge, moving with incredible speed toward the heart of the city. The streets below were filled with chaos—people screaming, buildings burning, and soldiers locked in desperate combat with the dark mages. But Mira and Magnus pressed on, cutting their way through the madness with precision and efficiency.

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At the heart of all this chaos stood Zorath, the leader of Noctis. Perched atop his demonic beast, he surveyed the carnage with cold satisfaction. The monstrous creature, towering over buildings, moved through the streets like an unstoppable force. Its claws ripped through stone and steel, its glowing red eyes brimming with malevolent energy. With every step, the creature left devastation in its wake, heading straight for the royal palace.

The skies above Drakhelm had never been so dark, nor the hearts of its people so heavy with dread. The once-beautiful capital city was now a warzone, with chaos spreading like wildfire. Dark magic scorched the earth, and towering flames from the city’s burning buildings painted a scene of destruction that few could have imagined. But in the royal palace, King Roderic Drakhelm watched the unfolding terror from his war room with a calm, almost indifferent gaze.

The king, known as the Crimson Sovereign, was the strongest mage in the kingdom, a master of fire magic. Despite the looming threat, despite the devastation in his city, he did not panic. His mana flared around him, gathering like an impending storm as he stood at the window, his fiery eyes tracking the massive demonic beast barreling toward the palace gates.

“Your Majesty,” one of his advisors began, his voice trembling, “the Noctis forces… They are overwhelming our defenses. We must act before the beast reaches the palace.”

He raised his wand, and a surge of mana swirled around him. As the strongest mage in the kingdom, Roderic’s power was unmatched. He had held back until now, allowing his army to engage the dark mages, but he could see that the time for restraint had passed.

The air around the king crackled with energy as he channeled his mana. His wand glowed with a fiery brilliance, and with a single gesture, he summoned a blazing figure, a massive griffin, formed entirely of fire, its wings outstretched as it let out a deafening cry. The griffin, with feathers made of flame and talons of molten fire, soared into the sky, heading directly for Zorath’s demonic beast.

The fire griffin descended from the heavens like a divine judgment, colliding with the demonic creature with a thunderous impact. Flames erupted around the beast, consuming it in a blazing inferno. The citizens below looked up in awe as the griffin tore at the beast, its fiery talons striking with devastating force. The demonic creature roared and staggered back, its massive form momentarily pushed away from its path of destruction.

But as the smoke and fire cleared, the demonic beast remained standing. The flames that had consumed it faded, leaving behind no visible damage. It was unscathed. Zorath, still atop the beast, let out a low chuckle. “Is that all, Crimson Sovereign?” he sneered. “You’ll need more than fire to stop me.”

Mira and Magnus stood on a high hill overlooking the situation in front of the royal palace, the chaos of battle visible from where they stood. Dark magic swirled in the distance, and the earth trembled beneath the heavy steps of Zorath's demonic beast. Mira’s sharp eyes caught sight of the destruction below, and though she remained composed, her heart raced with concern for her family.

“This doesn’t look good, Mira,” Magnus muttered, his voice a deep rumble. “The capital won’t last long if that thing reaches the palace.”

With a wave of his wand, Zorath began casting a new spell, his voice dripping with dark power. The sky darkened further as a massive magic circle materialized above the city, glowing an ominous blood-red. Its size dwarfed everything below, casting a shadow over the entire capital. The very air trembled as Zorath prepared to unleash a spell of catastrophic proportions.

Mira remained silent, her eyes scanning the sky, searching for something—or someone. Her instincts told her to act, to leap into the fray and protect the kingdom, but something kept her rooted in place… Then, it happened.

But just as the magic circle reached its full form, a brilliant beam of light shot through the sky, striking the circle and shattering it into pieces. The dark magic dispersed instantly, as if it had never existed.

Zorath’s eyes widened in shock as he turned his gaze to the source of the attack.

Hovering in the sky, wings of pure light extending from his back, stood the Light Marshal, Lord Thorne Emberheart. His pristine white armor glinted in the sunlight, and his radiant presence contrasted sharply against the demonic chaos below. In his hand, he held a silver wand, glowing with the same divine energy that had destroyed Zorath’s magic circle.

Above it all, the Light Marshal floated in the air, his wings of light glowing brighter than ever. His presence alone was enough to turn the tide of battle.

The battle for the kingdom had begun, and the forces of Noctis would soon learn that they had underestimated the strength of Drakhelm.