Days passed in uneasy silence, with no further demonic incursions threatening Genom. The eerie calm after Raizzen's abrupt disappearance left Kho and his army in an uneasy state of waiting. However, the stillness did little to ease the growing divide among the troops.
The giants in Kho’s army were seething, not only because Kesa, one of their kind, had been killed by Kho but because of the perceived dishonor during the last battle. In Oosa, the land of warriors, strength and unyielding confrontation were sacred. To them, Kho’s use of strategy—tactics that relied on formation and teamwork rather than brute strength—was an insult. Despite the undeniable victory and the almost nonexistent losses in their ranks, the giants saw the fight as humiliating.
Conversely, the Demi Giants were elated. Yholm and many others began to truly respect Kho as their General, inspired by his ability to outthink the enemy and protect his soldiers. Yholm, in particular, was invigorated by the idea that Demi Giants could carve out their own identity, separate from their oppressive ties to the giants.
Yet, not everyone in Kho’s ranks was entirely at ease. Kai, who had always supported Kho, felt a flicker of doubt. While others celebrated, she saw the potential fracture forming. Yholm’s newfound pride in the Demi Giants and his push for independence worried her. Kai believed in unity and wanted the Demi Giants to be accepted in Oosa as equals, not as a splintered faction.
One quiet night, under the glow of a pale moon, Kai approached Kho in his tent.
“Kho,” she began softly, her voice edged with uncertainty, “I need to know... how did you come up with that strategy? That defensive formation? It’s so different from the way giants fight.”
Kho, sitting on a worn stool and sharpening his claymore, paused. His eyes softened as memories stirred. “Dule taught me,” he admitted, his voice tinged with emotion.
“Dule?” Kai repeated, curious.
“Yes,” Kho said, setting the blade down. “Dule is my human servant. He lives in the Three Stones Palace. He’s the one who helped me when I was younger, told me stories of battles and tactics, and pushed me to train. Dule... he’s not just a servant. He’s my mentor, my master, and, in many ways, the father I never had.”
Kai frowned slightly. “But you have Goan... your actual father.”
Kho’s face darkened at the mention of Goan. “Goan doesn’t see me as his son. To him, I’m a mistake, a curse. He’s tried to kill me more times than I can count.” He exhaled sharply, a bitter smile forming. “But I still want his acceptance. Maybe it’s foolish, but I want to prove to him—and to all of Oosa—that Demi Giants aren’t inferior. That we’re not just tools for war or shameful burdens.”
Kai listened in silence, her earlier doubts shifting into a mix of understanding and unease. Kho’s desire for acceptance was noble, but his connection to Goan and his reliance on Dule’s teachings hinted at deeper conflicts.
“I understand now,” Kai said at last, though her tone betrayed her lingering worries. “But Kho, remember this—whatever path you choose, there are people who already respect you. Don’t lose sight of them while chasing those who never will.”
Kho’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Thank you, Kai. I won’t forget that.”
The conversation lingered in both their minds as they returned to their respective duties, the stillness of the night only a prelude to the challenges that lay ahead.
Inside the towering halls of the Moon Palace, the heart of Oosa’s capital, an air of unease hung heavy. Dwarfs crowded outside its gates, their pleas echoing through the corridors. They begged Emperor Rogg for aid to defend their homeland, Memoheim, which was succumbing to the relentless assault of demons.
The dwarfs had long been integral to the empire’s might. It was their expertise that had crafted the Moon Palace itself, a marvel of stone and iron that gleamed beneath the night sky. Their ingenuity had fortified Oosa’s cities and designed its most formidable weapons. Yet now, their homeland was burning, and they were asking for help that Oosa could barely afford to give.
Rogg sat upon his massive throne of black stone, the crescent moon insignia of Oosa engraved behind him. The room was filled with the murmurs of his advisors, but Rogg’s expression betrayed his turmoil.
“Your Majesty,” one advisor urged, “we must act. The dwarfs are invaluable. Without their skills, the Moon Palace itself would not exist. If we refuse their plea, we risk losing their loyalty—or worse, inciting rebellion.”
Another advisor, a towering giant with a scarred face, shook his head. “And what forces do you suggest we send, fool? Oosa is bled dry. The war with Venadyl left us weakened, and now we face demons. We’ve barely enough strength to defend our borders. To send troops to Memoheim is to doom us all.”
Rogg raised a hand, commanding silence. His gravelly voice carried over the room like distant thunder. “Enough. I know the stakes.”
The emperor leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he stared at the floor. The Moon Palace, a testament to the dwarfs’ unparalleled craftsmanship, was a constant reminder of their value. Yet the truth was unavoidable: Oosa was not in a position to send reinforcements to Memoheim.
“We cannot march to their aid,” Rogg said, his voice heavy. “To do so would leave our own lands vulnerable. I will not gamble Oosa’s survival.”
The gathered advisors exchanged uneasy glances.
“But I cannot allow the dwarfs to leave Oosa either,” Rogg continued. “If they return to Memoheim to die, we lose their expertise and their work here.”
The emperor’s gaze turned cold and calculating. “There is one option. The Demi-Giants. They are not as vital as our full-blooded warriors, yet they could be useful in this fight. I will consider sending them to Memoheim as an... experiment. If they succeed, the dwarfs are satisfied, and Oosa retains its strength.”
The room stirred at his words, but Rogg’s tone hardened. “However, the Demi-Giants are still valuable. I will not make this decision lightly.”
In truth, Rogg’s mind churned with doubts. Sending the Demi-Giants would risk alienating their loyalty—especially Kho, whose growing influence troubled him. Yet keeping the dwarfs in Oosa without aid would cause resentment to fester.
For now, Rogg allowed the dwarfs to remain within the Moon Palace’s shadow, their pleas unanswered. He would bide his time, weighing the survival of Oosa against the bonds of its fragile alliances.
Beyond the borders of Oosa, the landscape of Arche was changing. The dragons, ancient and unmatched in power, had begun their assault on lands overrun by demons. Majestic and terrifying, their arrival brought swift destruction to the demonic hordes. The skies turned red as dragons unleashed torrents of fire and raw magic, their roars echoing across the lands.
The dragons did not merely defeat the demons; they eradicated them in a way that defied understanding. Stolas, the Demon King, felt the disturbance even from his throne in the heart of Memoheim. His connection to his legions, a tether to the abyss, allowed him to sense every soldier under his dominion. Normally, death was inconsequential; his demons would return, their essence regenerating in time. But this was different.
When the dragons attacked, the summoning circles anchoring the demons to Arche were shattered, their very essence banished back to the abyss. It was as if the dragons tore through the threads binding the demons to this plane.
From his makeshift throne of twisted iron and broken stone, Stolas let out a low, guttural chuckle. The sound grew louder, echoing through the ruined halls of the dwarven capital. His laugh was sinister, laced with genuine amusement.
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“So, they dare,” he murmured, his voice carrying an otherworldly echo. “At last, a foe worthy of my attention.”
Stolas rose, his owl-like visage illuminated by the unholy glow of the abyssal energy coursing through the room. His glowing eyes, red as molten fire, narrowed with a mixture of delight and fury.
The dragons’ power was unmatched, even in the long history of Arche. Few dared to challenge them. Their strength had crushed countless empires that underestimated them, and their dominion over their own lands was absolute. Even the giants of Oosa, for all their pride and ferocity, never dared to provoke the dragons.
But the dragons’ decision to interfere in this war had set a new stage.
“They believe themselves invincible,” Stolas hissed, his talons tapping rhythmically on the armrest of his throne. “Fools blinded by their own might. But they have made a grave error.”
The Demon King’s abyssal magic flared, casting unnatural shadows that danced across the broken stone walls. He reveled in the challenge, not with fear, but with a hunger for conflict that stirred the very essence of his being. The dragons had disrupted his plans, but in doing so, they had also drawn his focus.
“I will wait,” Stolas declared to the abyss. “Let them come. Let them bring their arrogance and fire. They will know the wrath of the abyss. They will know me.”
The demons around him stirred uneasily, sensing the dark power emanating from their master. Stolas was not merely planning a defense; he was strategizing a counterstrike that would not only challenge the dragons but test the very limits of their supremacy.
Memoheim, once the proud kingdom of the dwarfs, had become a battlefield unlike any other. Now, it would be the stage for a clash of titans—dragons against demons, an ancient force against a timeless scourge. And Stolas, seated on his dark throne, would be ready.
The uneasy stillness of Genom stretched on, broken only by the distant, unholy sounds of the demonic war far beyond the horizon. Kho, alongside his Demi-Giant forces, remained stationed as ordered, their vigilance unyielding. Yet, the oppressive silence was unsettling. No new threats came, but the heavy air seemed to thrum with tension.
One day, a commotion spread through the camp like wildfire. News arrived that reinforcements had come—Oosa's warriors. As the figures approached, the banners of Goan’s army fluttered in the wind, their arrival a force of sheer power and dominance.
When Kho heard of Goan’s presence, his heart leapt with anticipation. This was his chance to prove himself, to finally earn his father’s approval. With hurried steps, he ran toward the arriving forces, his expression a mixture of eagerness and pride.
But as Kho approached Goan, his excitement was met with a storm of rage.
“FATHER—” Kho began, only for his words to be cut short by a thunderous roar.
“Do not call me that!” Goan’s voice bellowed across the camp, silencing everyone in the vicinity. His massive figure loomed over Kho, his eyes burning with disdain. “I am no father to a living curse like you!”
The words struck Kho like a physical blow. His breath hitched as the weight of Goan’s hatred bore down on him. For a moment, all he could do was stand there, frozen, unable to respond.
Goan’s fury did not wane. He turned to his soldiers, his voice sharp and commanding. “Take him! Bring him forward for execution. I’ll see his cursed blood spill today.”
Chaos erupted in the camp. Kho’s soldiers, loyal and confused, stood frozen as Goan’s warriors surged forward to seize their general. Kho instinctively reached for his claymore but stopped, realizing the futility of fighting against the overwhelming force of his father’s army.
As he was dragged forward, a new voice cut through the tension.
“Enough!”
Durr stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate respect. The Great General of Oosa surveyed the scene, his sharp eyes darting between the trembling Kho and the seething Goan.
“Goan,” Durr said, his voice firm and steady. “What is the meaning of this?”
Goan turned to Durr, his expression unrelenting. “This thing,” he spat, gesturing at Kho, “fled from battle in Bara like a coward. And here in Genom, he’s done nothing but cower behind walls, using weak, dishonorable tactics. He is a disgrace to Oosa and to my name. He deserves to die.”
Durr’s gaze hardened. He glanced at Kho, who remained silent, his head bowed under the crushing weight of his father’s accusations. “Goan, these are serious claims. But we do not execute one of our own without the emperor’s judgment. Have you sought his word on this matter?”
Goan’s face twisted in frustration. “There is no need for judgment! His actions speak for themselves—he is unworthy of mercy or consideration!”
Durr stepped closer, his tone unyielding. “You will not act without the emperor’s sanction, Goan. Stand down and wait. I will speak with Rogg myself.”
The tension between the two generals was palpable. For a moment, it seemed as if Goan might defy Durr’s authority, but after a tense silence, he relented with a growl.
“Fine,” Goan spat. “But mark my words, Durr—he’s a curse that will doom us all.”
Kho remained on his knees, his mind a storm of emotions. The words of his father echoed endlessly in his ears, louder even than the distant sounds of the battlefield.
Durr turned to Kho, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Stay here and do nothing until I return.” He then addressed the surrounding forces. “No one touches him. This matter is not yet decided.”
As Durr walked away, Kho’s heart sank deeper. He had believed that his efforts in Genom—his tactics, his leadership—would earn him even a sliver of approval. Instead, he faced nothing but hatred and accusations.
And now, his fate rested in the hands of an emperor who had never cared for him.
In the dim light of the war tent, Durr unfurled the communication scroll, its runes glowing faintly as he channeled his will into it. The visage of Emperor Rogg appeared, his calm yet cold demeanor palpable even through the magical link.
“Durr,” Rogg’s deep voice resonated. “Report.”
Durr bowed slightly before explaining the situation in Genom. He detailed Kho’s accomplishments—how he held the line, minimized losses, and outmaneuvered the demons—but also emphasized the accusations leveled by Goan. The tension between father and son had reached its boiling point, and Goan demanded Kho’s execution.
Rogg listened silently, his expression inscrutable. When Durr finished, there was a long pause before the emperor finally spoke.
“Killing Kho would be wasteful,” Rogg said. “We need every warrior, especially now. But I cannot ignore Goan’s demands. If I do, he may stir unrest among the giants, and Oosa cannot afford internal strife.”
Durr nodded, waiting for Rogg’s decision.
Rogg’s eyes narrowed, a hint of cunning glinting in them. “The dwarfs have been begging for aid in their kingdom. Their petitions are incessant, and while they are valuable to us, I cannot spare our forces to defend their lands. Still, I must appear to act, if only to pacify them.”
The emperor leaned closer, his face filling the frame of the scroll. “Kho will be punished, but not executed. His army will be fractured. He will remain a general, but I will send him on a mission—a suicidal one. Kho and a small force of his Demi Giants will go to the Dwarf Kingdom to eliminate the demons. This will soothe the dwarfs and keep Goan placated.”
Durr frowned but nodded. “Understood, Emperor. I will deliver your decision.”
Rogg’s visage faded from the scroll, leaving Durr alone in the tent. The general sighed heavily, knowing this decision would not sit well with many.
When Durr returned to the gathered forces, all eyes turned to him. The tension was palpable as Kho knelt in chains, Goan standing proudly nearby, arms crossed in triumph.
“The Emperor has spoken,” Durr announced, his voice steady and commanding. “Kho will not be executed.”
A murmur of relief rippled through Kho’s forces, though Goan’s face twisted in outrage. Before he could speak, Durr raised a hand to silence him.
“Kho’s punishment has been decided. His army will be fractured. He will remain a general, but he will command only a small force—1,000 Demi Giants. His task will be to lead them to the Dwarf Kingdom and destroy the demons there. This mission will demonstrate his worth to Oosa and repay the debt we owe to the dwarfs.”
Goan sneered but said nothing, knowing that Rogg’s word was final.
Kho rose slowly, his expression unreadable. The camp was silent, all waiting for his response. Finally, he nodded and spoke.
“I accept the Emperor’s judgment,” Kho said. His voice was steady, though it carried a weight that betrayed the turmoil within.
That night, as the Demi Giant camp prepared for departure, Kai approached Kho. Her eyes were filled with a mix of worry and determination.
“Kai,” Kho began before she could speak, “I know what you’re going to say. But you can’t come with me.”
“Why not?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “I fought by your side in Bara. I can fight with you now.”
Before Kho could answer, Goan appeared, his presence imposing. “She will stay,” he declared. “I see the bond forming between you two, and I will not allow it. The Demi Giants belong to Oosa. You will leave alone, Kho, as commanded.”
Kai’s face fell, but she said nothing.
Later, Yholm approached Kho, his face a mask of barely contained fury. “Kho,” he said, his voice low, “we won’t let them send you to your death like this. The Demi Giants are ready to fight for you—all of us. Say the word, and we’ll take on Goan’s army right here, right now.”
Kho shook his head. “No, Yholm. That’s not the way.”
“They’ll kill you!” Yholm snapped. “They want you dead, Kho. We can’t just let this happen.”
Kho placed a hand on Yholm’s shoulder, his gaze firm. “We fight for a reason, Yholm. Not to rebel, but to prove our worth. If we attack now, we’ll only confirm everything they already think about us.”
Yholm clenched his fists, but Kho continued. “I’ll return with glory. I’ll save the Dwarf Kingdom and bring honor to the Demi Giants. We’ll show them we’re more than curses—we’re warriors of Oosa. Trust me.”
Kai, standing nearby, nodded silently, her faith in Kho unshaken. But Yholm’s anger simmered beneath the surface.
As Kho turned to leave with his small army, Yholm called out after him, his voice filled with determination. “You’d better come back, Kho. And if you don’t… I’ll make sure the Demi Giants rise on your name. I swear it.”
Niga and Niger stood by, their faces calm but resolute. “Goodbye...” Niga said with a faint smile. “We’ll follow you, no matter where this leads.”
Kho nodded, his heart heavy but his resolve unbroken. Together, he and his small force marched into the unknown, the shadow of the Dwarf Kingdom looming ahead.