Zellrid watched the scene unfold, regret evident in his face. There was no mistaking the look of satisfaction on Aerovind's face as he wiped his blade clean.

The village erupted into chaos. Warriors poured from huts, brandishing crude weapons. Women snatched up children, fleeing into the night. The air filled with screams of rage and terror.

Aerovind moved like a whirlwind, his sword a blur of deadly precision. A burly warrior charged, roaring a battle cry. Aerovind sidestepped at the last moment, his blade finding the gap between ribs. The man's eyes widened in shock as the cold steel slid between his bones, puncturing his lung. He coughed, blood spraying from his lips, before collapsing to the ground.

Nearby, Zellrid fought with mechanical efficiency, each movement lethal.

A group of warriors had him surrounded, but their numbers meant nothing against his skill. He ducked under a wild swing, his own blade lashing out to open a deep gash across a man's thigh. As the warrior stumbled, clutching his leg, Zellrid's sword found his heart.

Ordeon's massive body cut through the crowd like a battering ram. His hammer rose and fell, each impact accompanied by the sickening crunch of bone. A woman rushed at him, a crude spear in her hands.

The hammer caught her in the chest, the sound of shattering ribs audible even above the din of battle. She flew backward, her body limp before it hit the ground.

Zellrid caught sight of Aerovind, surrounded by a group of warriors. To his horror, he saw his friend laughing, a manic gleam in his eyes as he danced between his opponents.

Each strike was precise, calculated for maximum pain and suffering. Aerovind wasn't just killing; he was reveling in the slaughter.

A woman clutching a child ran past Aerovind. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, something flickering in his eyes. Then the moment passed, and his blade flashed once more.

"Aerovind, no!" Zellrid cried, fighting to reach his companion. But he was too late. The sword arced through the air, catching the woman across the back. She screamed, stumbling forward and shielding the child with her body as she fell.

Zellrid watched in Anger as Aerovind stood over the fallen woman, his sword raised for the killing blow. He tried to call out again, but his voice was lost in the chaos of battle. The blade fell, and the woman's cries were silenced forever.

"Bastard!" Zellrid's voice finally cut through the din. "Behind you!"

A big figure emerged from an ornate dwelling. The village chief stood nearly seven feet tall, his body a canvas of intricate tattoos. In his hands, he wielded a gigantic obsidian axe.

"Well, well," Aerovind grinned, rolling his shoulders. "The main event."

The chief's eyes narrowed. "You dare," he growled, his voice like a grinding stone. "TO bring death to my people!"

As they clashed The chief's strength was immense, each blow threatening to shatter Aerovind's guard. But Aerovind was quicksilver, always just out of reach, his blade finding chinks in the chief's defense.

The flaming sword carved through the chief's axe handle, sending the obsidian head spinning away. The massive warrior stumbled back, genuine fear in his eyes for the first time.

"What... what are you?" he gasped.

Aerovind advanced slowly, the flames casting his face in demonic light. "I'm the God slayer, my friend. The last face you'll ever see."

The chief fell to his knees, his eyes roaming over the destruction. "Please," he whispered, his voice broken. "I am the last of my kind. Our ways, our stories, they'll die with me."

Aerovind paused, standing over the kneeling chief. For a moment, something like Madness flickered across his face. Then his features hardened once more.

"I know," he said softly, raising his flaming sword.

The blade fell, and with it, the last of an ancient lineage was extinguished.

As dawn broke, Aerovind stood atop a hill overlooking the ruined village. His companions joined him, their faces etched with exhaustion and something deeper, more haunting.

"It's done," Zellrid said, his voice hoarse.

Aerovind nodded, his eyes distant. "Yes, it's done. And now, my friends, we build our empire from the ashes."

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Without warning, Zellrid's fist connected with Aerovind's jaw. The force of the blow sent him staggering backward, nearly losing his footing on the hillside. Aerovind looked up, shocked, to see Zellrid standing over him, anger evident on his face.

"What have we become?" Zellrid spat, his hands trembling with rage. "What have you become?"

Aerovind touched his split lip, looking at the blood on his fingers with a mixture of surprise and something darker, more primal. He met Zellrid's gaze, and for a moment, the mask slipped. What Zellrid saw in those eyes chilled him to his very core.

"We've become survivors, Zellrid," Aerovind said quietly. "Next time, I'll make sure you’ll get more than a punch, if you dare to touch me again."

"Aerovind," Zellrid growled, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of the slaughter. "Your actions today crossed a line."

Aerovind's lips curled into a grin. "Come now, old friend. Don't tell me you've developed a conscience. We're not exactly here for a tea party."

"There's a difference between survival and sadism," Zellrid countered.

Aerovind's fingers twitched, eager to draw his own blade. "Semantics, my dear Zellrid. In the end, we all become monsters. Some of us just embrace it sooner."

Before their hostility could boil over, Ordeon stepped between them. "Enough," he commanded, his deep voice reverberating through the stillness. "We can’t afford internal strife. The real enemy lies beyond these ruins."

Zellrid's eye narrowed, but he took a measured step back. Without a word, he turned and strode away, snatching up a blood-stained cloak from a fallen warrior. The garment settled over his shoulders.

As if on cue, their wrist devices chimed in unison. A holographic scoreboard materialized, bathing their faces in an otherworldly blue glow. Names and numbers scrolled past…

||Alaric - The Unyielding

Bryndis - The Frostfire

Calantha - The Spellweaver

Draven - The Nightblade

Elda - The Silent Whisper

Fenris - The Direwolf

Garrick - The Bastion

Helvia - The Oracle

Idris - The Stormcaller

Jorunn - The Thunderstrike||

Aerovind's eyes widened as he scanned the list. "Well, well," he mused, genuine surprise coloring his voice. "It seems we have an unexpected frontrunner."

At the top of the list, a name burned bright: Zonarc, the Blind Nightstalker.

Zellrid's head snapped up, his lone eye fixed on the scoreboard. "Zonarc," he muttered, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "Should've known he wasn’t joking about participating in this madness."

Ordeon frowned, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "A sightless warrior leading in the purging games? There's more to this Zonarc than meets the eye, it seems."

You've never seen him fight," Aerovind said, a rare solemnity in his voice. "Sight is the least of his weapons, I can confirm." The hologram flickered, transforming into a lattice of images.

A booming voice, like the death rattle of a thousand souls, filled the air. "Congratulations, players. New realms await your... particular talents."

Visions assaulted their senses, each more diverse than the last:

A sprawling medieval kingdom materialized, its architecture majestic.

Onion-domed cathedrals and sturdy stone walls spoke of a civilization built to last. In the central square, a bustling market teemed with life, colorful stalls and the chatter of merchants creating an almost welcoming atmosphere.

The scene shifted to a mist-shrouded forest. Ancient trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches reaching out like grasping fingers. Shadows danced between the trunks, hinting at unseen horrors lurking just out of sight. A distant loud howl echoed through the fog, shaking them to the next world.

Next came a tropical paradise, its pristine white beaches marred by crimson stains. Crystal-clear waters lapped at shores littered with bodies and broken weapons, eyes gleamed from the undergrowth, promising swift death to the unwary.

The lush greenery gave way to a barren wasteland of ash and bone. A hot, sulfurous wind whipped across dunes made not of sand, but of pulverized skeletons. In the distance, great beasts of living stone lumbered across the desolate landscape, their footsteps sending tremors through the ground.

Then water rushed in, revealing an underwater metropolis. Massive domes of some unbreakable material barely held back the crushing ocean depths. Within, creatures both humanoid and monstrous swam through submerged streets.

Finally, reality itself seemed to bend and twist. They found themselves gazing upon a nightmarish funhouse, its mirrors reflecting angles and horrifying distortions of themselves. Cackling laughter echoed from everywhere and nowhere, promising madness to any who dared enter.

"Choose wisely," the voice intoned. "Your next hunting ground may be your last."

As the hologram faded, Zellrid's eye widened in recognition. "That kingdom," he murmured. "It's from Nivana."

Aerovind quirked an eyebrow. "Nivana? You mean..."

"Another world entirely," Zellrid confirmed, his voice grim. "It seems our puppet master can tear holes between realities."

Ordeon's tensed as he processed this information. "What manner of being are we truly up against?"

Before anyone could respond, the hologram flickered back to life. This time, it showed a familiar figure atop a castle battlement. Zonarc, the Blind Nightstalker, his sightless eyes somehow managing to convey a sense of anticipation.