In the west, the Kingdom of Roma had once been a small, humble nation, barely a blip on the grand map of Arche. But through sheer willpower, perseverance, and ambition, Roma had grown into a kingdom of formidable power. Their armies were unmatched in discipline, and their economy thrived, bolstered by trade and innovation. For years, they stood as a beacon of hope and prosperity for the human realms, admired by their neighbors, especially the Draconic Empire to the east. The dragons, proud and ancient, had long respected Roma for its tenacity and drive.

The King of Roma, a strong and visionary ruler, had always dreamed of one day rivaling the dragons themselves. With their powerful army, Roma had hoped to carve out an empire of their own, expanding westward and ensuring that their influence would stretch far beyond their borders.

But all that changed when the demons arrived.

The dark forces of the Demon King had first set their eyes on Roma not with the intent of conquest, but to spread their corruption. The demon Marada, who reveled in discord and destruction, arrived in Roma like a plague, slipping into the shadows of the kingdom’s power structures. His dark whispers began to erode the heart of Roma’s king, who once dreamed of glory but now found himself plagued by nightmares, his mind slowly unraveling as Marada twisted his every thought.

Marada’s influence was insidious. The King’s once clear vision turned clouded with fear, jealousy, and ambition turned sour. Under the demon’s guidance, the King began to make terrible choices. His once proud kingdom descended into paranoia, as the King initiated wars with neighboring lands in a futile attempt to assert dominance. The people, once proud of their king, began to whisper in fear. The empire was falling, not to foreign invaders, but to the darkness within their own ruler.

But as Marada sowed discord within Roma, a far more destructive force was already bearing down upon them. Raizzen, the massive demon in the form of a monstrous wolf, arrived like a storm of pure energy. His fury knew no bounds, and the order to attack Oosa had not come from Stolas, but rather from the unbridled rage within Raizzen himself. He cared little for the commands of the Demon King; his only desire was destruction.

Raizzen’s arrival marked the beginning of the end for Roma. The once-proud kingdom, now weakened by its internal strife and Marada’s influence, stood no chance. Raizzen swept through the land, his massive form tearing through the human armies with ease, massacring anyone who dared to oppose him. Cities that once gleamed with prosperity were reduced to rubble under his wrath. The people of Roma, already broken by their king's decisions, now faced the horrors of true devastation.

As Marada watched the destruction unfold, his hatred for Raizzen grew. He had intended to slowly corrupt Roma from the inside out, turning it into a puppet state, one that would be loyal to the demons. But Raizzen’s sheer chaos disrupted that plan. Marada knew that he could not oppose Raizzen’s power directly, so instead, he spread his corruption to other lands. He shifted his focus, turning his attention to parts of Oosa and even the Draconic Empire, hoping to corrupt these powerful realms and bring them to their knees as well.

But even in the midst of this chaos, something changed within the kingdom. The remnants of Roma’s noble spirit, broken but not entirely destroyed, began to rally. What was left of the military, the royal court, and the common people started to form small pockets of resistance. They knew that Roma was on the brink of annihilation, but they would not go down without a fight.

Raizzen, having reduced Roma to ruins, turned his massive form towards the east. His hunger for destruction sated for the moment, but his desire for power ever-growing, he knew that Oosa would be the next obstacle to his plans. Stolas, eager to see the giants brought low, had ordered Raizzen to attack the empire. But Raizzen had other ideas.

The giants, fierce and proud, had proven themselves capable of defending their lands from even the most terrifying of invaders. Raizzen had observed them, knowing they had defeated other demons in the past, even surviving the darkest forces of the abyss. Their strength was not something to be underestimated. However, Raizzen’s true ambition wasn’t to destroy Oosa—no, he wanted to control it. He wanted its power, its might, and he knew that to do so, he would need the giants’ allegiance, not their obliteration.

The vast landscape of Oosa stretched before him as Raizzen stood at the borders of the empire. His monstrous form towered over the mountains, and his eyes glowed with dark energy. With a rumbling growl, he let loose a terrible, world-shaking roar, amplified by dark magic. The sound rippled through the earth like a tremor, reaching the hearts of every giant and the vast expanse of Oosa’s lands. It was a voice that could not be ignored—a voice that commanded all who heard it.

The giants had fought many battles before, but this was unlike anything they had ever faced. A demon of unimaginable size, with a voice that shattered mountains, now spoke directly to them, demanding their attention. Raizzen’s words echoed in the minds of every giant who could hear him.

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"Submit to me. Join me or die like all your neighbors who are nothing but ash. I offer you power, strength, and the chance to rule alongside me. Reject me, and I will reduce your empire to dust, just as I have done with Roma."

Raizzen’s dark magic amplified his words, making them a mental assault on the giants’ resolve. He knew they would not simply bow before him without hesitation—this was a challenge, a test of their pride and power. But Raizzen was certain: the giants would either submit or be crushed. He had given them a choice, one that they could not ignore.

With his declaration sent across the lands of Oosa, Raizzen turned his gaze back to the smoking ruins of Roma, the once-great kingdom now a wasteland. He would wait there, in the shadows of the destroyed city, biding his time for the giants’ response. He wasn’t concerned with their initial reaction—whether they cowered or resisted would not matter. If they dared to oppose him, he would burn Oosa to the ground and add its strength to his army.

Raizzen knew that if he could bend the mighty giants to his will, he would have the power to overthrow Stolas and take the throne of the abyss for himself. He would be the new king, ruling not only over the demons but over all of Arche.

But he was patient. The giants would either submit or perish, and in the meantime, he could enjoy the destruction of what remained of Roma. The stage was set. The pieces were in place.

Now, he would wait. And when Oosa answered, he would either have an army or a graveyard.

The lands of Xavu, Dalmask, and Rajina were in chaos. Ob, the cunning demon sent by Stolas, descended upon the human nations with an army of horrors. His forces were not comprised of brute demons but an endless tide of skeletal warriors and humanoid beings cloaked in fire, their charred forms radiating oppressive heat. Unlike Raizzen or Marada, Ob relied not on raw strength but on guile and manipulation, turning fear and distrust into weapons far deadlier than any blade.

For the humans of Xavu and Dalmask, the situation was dire. Their armies, trained to wield magic as their primary defense, found themselves powerless against the unrelenting tide. Spells fizzled, wards collapsed, and the weapons enchanted to pierce through magical foes were nothing more than ordinary steel. In their desperation, leaders panicked, and chaos spread throughout their ranks.

Ob’s haunting voice echoed through the minds of Dalmask’s leaders. He whispered of betrayal, of secret alliances, and of imminent threats. His words were poison, twisting their thoughts and stoking paranoia. Under his influence, Dalmask’s king declared war on Rajina, a neighboring country that had long been a bastion of peace and humility. Soldiers marched toward Rajina not as defenders of their homeland but as aggressors, manipulated into striking down an innocent ally.

Rajina, unprepared for such a betrayal, reached out desperately for aid. Their pleas found their way to the Lands of Elim, a place shrouded in mystery and isolation. The elves of Elim were divided into two distinct races: the dark elves, fiercely loyal to the enigmatic entity Elim, and the wood-dwelling elvian, who lived in harmony with nature. The king of the elvian, Wohre, heard Rajina's cries and, against tradition, chose to act.

The elvian elves, swift and precise in their movements, descended upon Rajina. Their arrows, imbued with nature’s essence, struck true against Ob’s flaming warriors, their magic untainted by the demons’ presence. But more than their martial skill, it was their ability to resist Ob’s manipulative voice that proved crucial. The elves, guided by their innate connection to the earth and stars, heard Ob’s whispers and countered them, unraveling the web of deceit he had spun around Dalmask.

In time, the truth became clear to Dalmask’s leaders. They saw the strings that Ob had pulled, and their rage turned from Rajina to the demon who had played them for fools. The armies of Dalmask halted their assault on Rajina, and a fragile alliance began to form. Together, Dalmask and Rajina turned their combined forces against Ob’s army. However, they were not alone in their fight.

From the west, monks from the nation-state of Eros arrived in Xavu, bringing with them a philosophy of balance and discipline. Though their numbers were few, these warriors wielded a unique form of combat that combined physical prowess with an unyielding spiritual strength. They led the charge against Ob’s forces in Xavu, their chants filling the air as their techniques cut through the skeletal legions.

In the east, the elves of Wohre stood alongside the armies of Dalmask and Rajina, their magic bolstering the humans where it had otherwise failed. Arrows rained down like divine judgment, and the natural world rose against the demons—vines ensnaring skeletons, roots shattering flaming warriors, and storms washing away the ash and fire that plagued the land.

Despite their unity, the coalition forces could not defeat Ob outright. His power, cunning, and seemingly endless army of the undead ensured that every victory came at a great cost. Villages burned, countless lives were lost, and despair lingered on the horizon. Still, the alliance of Eros, Xavu, Rajina, Dalmask, and the elves of Wohre managed to hold the line, refusing to allow their lands to fall as the Dwarves and Roma had.

For now, they endured. But survival came at a steep price. Ob, ever the tactician, seemed almost amused by their resistance. He withdrew his forces slightly, not out of defeat but to prolong the suffering. His whispers still lingered in the minds of the leaders, planting seeds of doubt and division even as they fought together.

Ob’s retreat offered a brief respite, but all knew it was only temporary. The coalition forces had managed to push back the tide for now, but the storm loomed ever closer. They could only hope that their unity would hold, and that somehow, against all odds, they might find a way to rid their lands of the cunning demon.