Stormfront cut through the army of Infernals. Goblins disintegrated into ash, their twisted forms crumbling as fire tore through them. Orcs fell with grunts of agony as Enre arrows pierced their thick hides—the ground shaking beneath their immense weight. Wyverns were shot down, one after the other. The battlefield was a scene of controlled chaos, but for Stormfront, it was just another warm-up. It felt too easy—just another fight, like the hundreds they had fought before. But just as victory seemed inevitable, a shift occurred.
Zaire made his move.
He stood at the entrance of the lair, watching the carnage unfold before him with an eerie silence. Shadows began to seep from his body, a thick, viscous darkness that pooled around his feet. Then, his head split down the middle, a grotesque tear that traveled down his body, his form unraveling in a sickening, liquid motion. In mere seconds, Zaire dissolved into two pools of shadow, each one bubbling and writhing.
From the pools, two new figures emerged—identical copies of Zaire. Their hollow eyes gleamed with coldness as they surveyed the battlefield, but neither spoke a word. One of the clones turned and vanished back into the lair’s darkened entrance, disappearing into the shadows like smoke. The other stayed, stepping forward with a terrifying calm, his gaze locking onto Stormfront as they finished off the last of the Infernals.
"Kamari, Malik, go ahead," Byron ordered. "Nia and I will handle this one."
Zaire’s clone spread its massive, shadow-black wings and launched itself into the sky, high above the battlefield. Dark energy began to swirl around it, gathering at its hands as it prepared its attack. Shadowy orbs materialized, crackling with Nether Energy, and without warning, the clone unleashed them in a relentless barrage. The orbs crashed into the ground below, each one exploding with enough force to shake the battleground.
The squad was forced to dodge and weave through the explosions. Byron narrowed his eyes, locking on the clone. He conjured two massive spheres of purple flames and, with a sweeping motion, hurled them forward. The fireballs sliced through the air, homing in on Zaire's clone. Upon impact, they exploded in a fiery burst, engulfing the clone in a roaring inferno, the force of the blast sending tremors rippling across the battlefield.
"Now!" Byron shouted.
Kamari and Malik didn’t need to be told twice. Seizing the momentary distraction, they sprinted toward the lair. Their figures, nothing but blurs of motion, vanished into the shadows of the entrance, leaving Byron and Nia behind to face Zaire’s clone.
The roaring inferno that had engulfed the clone flickered, and from the heart of the flames, a dark silhouette began to emerge. Zaire’s clone floated forward, completely unharmed, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light as they locked onto Byron and Nia.
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Kamari and Malik sprinted through the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the lair, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone floor. Every flicker of light, every shadow that danced along the floor, seemed to carry a threat. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. As they approached the main chamber, a strange green light spilled out from within, bathing the walls in an eerie glow.
Kamari’s breath caught in his throat the moment he stepped inside. There, standing at the center of the room, surrounded by dark machinery and pulsating green energy, was Zaire—and beside him, a figure Kamari never thought he'd see again.
Zion.
Kamari’s mind raced, his eyes widening in disbelief. The man Kamari had believed dead, the Dark Lord, was standing mere feet away.
"Impossible..." The words slipped from Kamari’s lips.
Malik reacted instantly. He grabbed Kamari’s arm and yanked him back behind the nearest wall, his hand clamping tightly over Kamari’s mouth. His eyes locked onto Kamari’s with a clear, urgent message: Stay quiet. Don't move.
But it was too late.
Zion’s smooth, chilling voice echoed through the chamber as if he had known they were there all along. "It seems the young Phoenix has joined us."
Zion didn’t even glance in their direction, his attention still focused on the glowing console before him, his fingers moving with unnerving calm over the ancient runes. "There’s no point in hiding."
Before Kamari or Malik could react, the shadows around them began to shift, writhing like serpents. In an instant, tendrils of darkness sprang to life, wrapping around their bodies, cold and suffocating. The tendrils dragged them from their hiding spot, slamming them onto the cold stone floor at Zaire and Zion’s feet.
With a flick of Zion’s wrist, the shadows lifted them into the air, suspending them like puppets.
Kamari struggled against the tendrils, his eyes fixed on Zion. "You... you should be..."
"Dead?" Zion interrupted. He finally turned his gaze to Kamari. "Not quite."
Zion’s voice dropped low as though what he was about to say carried the weight of a thousand regrets. "Your father—the Great Phoenix—was indeed a formidable adversary. But Fate, it seems, favored me. And now, our mission is nearly complete. Soon, this Realm will be freed from its greatest threat: the Nether Flame."
He gestured toward the Dakr in the center of the chamber, where the Nether Flame flickered. The Phoenix Core glowed faintly, embedded within the infernal device.
Kamari’s heart pounded in his chest as he glared at Zion, his voice laced with defiance. "Do you really expect me to believe anything you say? You created the Nether Flame! You were the one who brought all of this destruction and death to the Realm!"
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Zion’s calm demeanor faltered for a moment. His fist slammed into the console with a deafening crack, causing the Nether Flame to flare wildly, casting the room in a sickly, pulsating light. "Yes, I created it," he hissed. "But not intentionally. I sought to study the Nether Force—to find a way to stop the Incursions before they destroyed everything. But instead... I birthed the Flame. I lost control. And I’ve been trying to fix that mistake ever since."
"You killed millions!"
"You think I don’t know what I’ve done? The lives I’ve taken? The suffering I’ve caused?" His voice cracked, the weight of his sins pressing down on him. "I will carry that guilt for the rest of my days. But I will not let my failure be the end of this Realm."
Zion’s gaze hardened as he spoke. For a moment, dark energy flickered in his eyes. He took a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with bitterness. "I’ve done what needed to be done. Every soul I've taken..." He gestured to the massive vats lining the walls, glowing with the energy of the captured souls. "They are the reason we can breach the Infernal Realm. Their sacrifice will be the key to saving this world."
The portal gate rumbled, its ancient stone structure trembling as dark energy continued to swirl within it. At that moment, Malik spoke.
"I’ve heard enough."
In a burst of blue flames, Malik shattered the shadowy tendrils binding him. Without hesitation, he launched a concentrated stream of fire directly at Zion, the force of the blast sending him hurtling backward into Zaire.
Zaire, with inhuman speed, caught his father mid-air, his feet skidding across the stone floor as he came to a halt just inches from one of the massive vats. Kamari, using the momentary chaos to his advantage, broke free from his own restraints.
Zion staggered to his feet. "I didn’t want it to come to this. But you leave me no choice."
Darkness oozed from Zion’s body like a living entity, spilling across the floor in thick, roiling waves. The shadows crept up the walls, engulfing the room in an impenetrable blackness. In seconds, Kamari and Malik were swallowed by the shadows, their flames barely piercing the suffocating darkness.
Kamari’s heart raced as he and Malik found themselves back to back in the oppressive void. They could no longer see the portal gate, the vats, or even Zion and Zaire. Everything had vanished into the blackness.
Then, from the shadows, an assault began.
Tendrils of darkness lashed out from every direction, followed by shadowy orbs. Kamari and Malik dodged and parried, but the relentless onslaught quickly forced them apart, isolating them in the void as the shadows closed in on all sides.
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Back at the Void Rift, Jermaine groaned as his Enre was rapidly drained. His body hovered unsteadily in the air, dipping closer to the ground as exhaustion clawed at him. The Rift seemed to snarl back at him, its jagged edges tearing reality apart, with cracks stretching out like hungry claws, swallowing everything within reach. Jermaine's blue tendrils of energy continued to strain desperately to hold back the ever-expanding void, but it was futile. The Rift slowly devoured his power—its insatiable hunger was endless.
His body began to show the toll—the once-radiant glow that surrounded him dimmed, and cracks formed across his skin like shattered glass. His face, too, began to splinter as the pressure mounted with each passing second. The relentless pull of the Rift was overpowering, threatening to rip him apart piece by piece.
Suddenly, a burst of energy erupted nearby. Standing a few meters beneath him was the same figure he had encountered during his previous visit—clad in a state-of-the-art mechanized suit unmistakably from the Eldran Empire. This time, however, the individual was not alone. A second figure, also wearing sleek armor, accompanied them. The two moved with purpose.
Without saying a word, one of them placed a strange, shimmering device on the ground, its surface glowing with embedded multicolored crystals. They inserted their hands into four slots along the sides of the device, activating it. As it powered up, the air hummed, vibrating as a beam of pure energy shot toward the Rift’s core. The effect was immediate—the Void Rift recoiled, its vicious cracks in reality retreating slightly, curling back toward its center.
Jermaine felt the shift and seized the opportunity. With every ounce of strength he had left, he summoned his Enre one final time. His muscles tensed, and he let out a roar, his body erupting with crackling blue lightning. More energy tendrils shot from his fingertips, lashing out at the Rift and wrapping around its core, compressing it, forcing it inward.
For a moment, hope flickered. The Rift shrunk, its jagged edges pulling inward as if their own force was swallowing them. The cracks in the sky retreated, and the chaotic storm above slowed.
But then, disaster struck.
Jermaine’s body faltered, his energy flickering like a dying flame. His glow vanished entirely. He plummeted from the sky, crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Every bone in his body felt as though it were being torn apart. His strength was drained and his body barely held together.
The Rift surged forward with renewed fury. Its jagged cracks shot out again, faster and more aggressive than before, consuming the ground in front of it. The sky above trembled violently, the very heavens themselves seeming to scream in protest as the Rift’s chaotic energy threatened to devour the world.
The two armored figures, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift, activated a force field around themselves. The shimmering barrier deflected the Rift’s assault, but the strain was evident. Beneath their visors, their faces were tense, their bodies bracing against the immense pressure threatening to crush them.
Jermaine, lying on the ground, groaned in agony. Every movement sent waves of pain through him, but slowly, with a force of will that defied the limits of his body, he began to push himself up. His arms trembled, his legs barely responding, but he stood. His body was marred with cracks, his glow barely visible. Blood dripped from his mouth, but he wiped it away, a defiant smirk tugging at his lips.
"You’re a stubborn one," he muttered, glaring at the Rift. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but filled with determination. "But you see, there are people in this Realm I care about—a lot. And you’re a threat to their lives. I can’t have that."
Images of Eli, Nia, and the rest of Stormfront flashed through his mind. Their faces—his family—pushed him forward. Despite the overwhelming pain, Jermaine’s glow flickered back to life, faint at first but growing stronger with every heartbeat. The cracks in his skin began to close, and his body regained its strength, the thunderous energy inside him awakening once more.
With a final surge of will, Jermaine began to levitate, his feet leaving the ground as he rose into the sky once more. His body wasn’t as radiant as before, but the power was there. The crackling lightning danced around him, the energy vibrating through the air as he locked his eyes on the Rift’s core.
He raised his arms, blue lightning arcing between his hands, and his voice echoed across the battlefield, booming with newfound strength.
"I am the Thunder God of Meiyr! Respect the name!"
With that, he unleashed a final blast of energy, the force of it tearing through the air with a deafening roar. Hundreds of lightning tendrils shot forward, wrapping around the Rift’s core, squeezing it tight once again. The Rift trembled under the assault, its chaotic energy fighting back, but Jermaine’s resolve was unbreakable.
This wasn’t just a fight for survival—this was a fight for the people he loved. And he wasn’t going to let anything, not even The Void itself, take that away from him.