The portal spat them out with a violent surge of energy, depositing the master and disciple onto the scorched earth just outside the Sundew Kingdom. For a moment, the disciple stumbled, trying to catch their breath, but the heavy stench in the air—an overwhelming mix of blood, decay, and sulfur—slammed into them.
What lay before them was a vision of hell on earth.
Mountains of corpses sprawled as far as the eye could see—mangled bodies of humans and Shadowban warriors alike, their lifeless forms piled haphazardly across the charred plains. Armor and weapons lay shattered, soaked in crimson and black ichor. The twisted, skeletal remains of siege engines jutted out like grotesque monuments to war.
The cries of the wounded and dying pierced the air, their voices barely audible above the cacophony of confusion and despair. Survivors, bloodied and hollow-eyed, stumbled through the carnage, their gazes darting to the horizon where the new, unimaginable terror emerged.
From the portal's residual energy, millions of demons spilled forth, their monstrous forms blackening the sky and darkening the already ruined fields. Survivors screamed as they witnessed the impossible: hell itself had breached their world.
The disciple trembled, his voice caught in his throat as he turned to his master. The usually composed figure now appeared a bit drained, his aura of invincibility waning. As Sweat dripped from his brow, and his breathing was labored.
The disciple whispered, "What... what is this?” his voice cracking as his eyes took in the scale of the devastation.
The master surveyed the scene, his expression grim. “This...” He gestured weakly toward the carnage, the piles of bodies, and the endless demon tide. “This is the price of power. It would seem the realm of mortals was already on the brink before we arrived.”
The disciple’s gaze snapped back to his master. “You’re... you’re not invincible?”
The master smirked, laughing faintly, his voice tinged with dry humor. “Escaping hell is no simple feat. Even I am not beyond the reach of exhaustion.” As he chuckled, his figures gestured to the scene around them. “And yet, we traded one nightmare for another. A wise bargain, don’t you think?”
The disciple’s trembling lips curved into a smile, caught between horrors and hope, Master and Disciple could not help but laugh.
Ahead of them, the battlefield’s horror deepened. Demons of every shape and size turned on one another, their hunger insatiable. Towering monstrosities rent smaller creatures apart with claw and fang, their guttural snarls echoing in the air. Some dragged away still-screaming humans, their cries swallowed by the grotesque sounds of tearing flesh. Others devoured the corpses of their kin, their twisted forms writhing and expanding as they fed.
The disciple clutched at the master’s arm. “Master, they’re eating each other. Even the humans...” Their voice trailed off as they watched a horned demon lift a dismembered human torso, its jagged maw stretching wide to swallow it whole.
The master’s face darkened, their earlier humor replaced by a cold, calculating gaze. “Demons are creatures of chaos. When there is no order, they consume everything—including themselves. This world may already be lost.”
The disciple flinched. “Then why escape hell at all?”
The master turned to them, their expression unreadable. “Because even if this world is doomed, there’s always something worth saving—or fighting for. But we must move. Stay close.”
The two began to move through the devastation, keeping to the shadows where the bloodthirsty demons were distracted by their gruesome feast. Zarman stood cloaked in the shadow of a crumbled battlement, his form shrouded by the haze of smoke and ash that hung over the battlefield. His breath was shallow, his usually sharp composure faltering as he watched from the distance. Though he remained hidden, his body betrayed his unease—cold sweat trickled down his face, and his hands trembled faintly as they gripped the hilt of his blade.
His eyes locked onto the master and disciple, their figures moving through the carnage with a calm that defied the surrounding chaos. His gaze lingered on the master, whose every step seemed to radiate a faint, residual energy—an aura that, even in its diminished state, pressed heavily against Zarman’s chest like a stone.
“Impossible,” Zarman muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible above the distant screams and the guttural roars of feeding demons. “Even that old monster escaped hell...”
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. The master’s reputation preceded him, shrouded in myth and whispered tales of a being who could bend the very laws of existence. Zarman had thought those stories were mere exaggerations—a relic of a bygone era meant to terrify and inspire. But seeing the master here, alive and standing after escaping the deepest pits of hell, made the weight of those legends all too real.
The master paused briefly, his movements subtle but deliberate. Without turning his head, he shifted slightly, his body language betraying the faintest acknowledgment of Zarman’s presence.
Zarman froze. For a moment, the air between them seemed to thrum with silent tension. Did the master know he was there? Did he care?
But then, as if dismissing Zarman entirely, the master resumed walking, guiding the disciple through the gruesome scene ahead.
Zarman let out a shaky breath, his relief short-lived. He wiped his face, trying to steady himself. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his curiosity rooted him in place.
“What is your game?” Zarman murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing as he watched the pair disappear into the swirling chaos. “Why now? And why bring the child?”
He tightened his grip on his blade and melted deeper into the shadows. For now, he would watch. Observe. But one thing was clear: the escape of the master from hell was a harbinger of something far worse to come.
As they walked, the disciple’s thoughts churned. This new world was no refuge—it was a battleground between hell and earth, with no clear victor in sight.
----------------------------------------
The grand council chamber of the Sundew Kingdom was a sanctuary of wealth and history, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the kingdom’s victories over the centuries. Golden light poured through towering stained-glass windows, casting fragmented patterns onto the marble floor, but the beauty of the room felt hollow amidst the heavy atmosphere.
King Aldric sat at the head of the council table, his face set in a grim mask. The weight of his crown, an intricate band of gold studded with emeralds, seemed heavier than usual. He leaned forward, hands clasped tightly, his knuckles white against the polished wood of the table.
“Reports from the front lines continue to pour in,” a grim-faced advisor began, his voice trembling slightly. “The casualties are... immeasurable. Entire villages are gone, Your Majesty. The fields are soaked in blood.”
“Gone?” Princess Elara’s voice cut through the chamber, soft but laced with disbelief. She sat to the king’s right, her emerald-green dress flowing around her like water, a stark contrast to the somber mood. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled tightly against its edge as though bracing herself. “What do you mean ‘gone’? Are there no survivors?”
“Few,” the advisor admitted, his gaze falling to the floor. “And those who have made it back speak of horrors. Monsters unlike anything seen before, ripping through men, women, and children alike. They move in waves, consuming everything in their path.”
Elara’s lips parted, her composure faltering. The other advisors exchanged uneasy glances, murmuring amongst themselves. The words “demons” and “unnatural” slipped from their lips like a curse, and the air in the room grew heavier.
King Aldric raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. “We’ve fought Shadowban forces for decades,” he said, his voice steady but low. “I refuse to believe they have unleashed something we cannot defeat. These so-called ‘monsters’ are merely tools of war—a desperate act of a failing kingdom.”
“Father,” Elara interjected, her emerald eyes locking with his, pleading. “What if it isn’t Shadowban? What if—”
“Enough,” Aldric cut her off, his tone sharper than intended. The room fell silent, the tension palpable. He softened slightly, his voice lowering. “Elara, I understand your fears. But we cannot afford hesitation or doubt. The kingdom must stand united, or we will fall.”
A loud crash from somewhere distant in the castle shook the chamber. The advisors flinched, their fear visible now. Elara’s heart skipped a beat, her hands tightening on the table.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“It’s nothing,” Aldric said firmly, though his jaw tightened. “The defenses will hold.”
But even as he spoke, the faint echoes of screams began to rise, carried through the air like ghostly wails. They were distant at first, then grew louder, closer. The advisors looked at one another, their fear spreading like wildfire.
“Your Majesty,” a guard burst into the chamber, his armor scuffed and his face pale.
“It’s not Shadowban forces... it’s something else—monsters! The castle is breached! The demons... they’re inside!”
Gasps of horror erupted from the council. King Aldric rose from his throne, his face pale but determined, while Elara shot to her feet, her calm composure shattering.
“What do you mean ‘demons’?!” Aldric demanded. “What madness is this?”
But before the guard could answer, a deafening crash echoed through the chamber. The golden light flickered as a towering beast burst through one of the chamber’s stained-glass windows. Its grotesque form was unlike anything the humans had ever seen—twisted horns jutted from its head, and its slavering jaws dripped with black ichor. Its glowing red eyes scanned the room with predatory hunger before it let out an ear-splitting screech.
The chamber erupted into chaos. Advisors scrambled to flee, guards rushed forward only to be torn apart, and Elara clutched her chest, her emerald dress stained with blood spatter as the beast slashed its way through the room.
----------------------------------------
A distant scream echoed from the castle. It tore through the battlefield outside, cutting through the roars of demons and the wails of survivors like a dagger to the disciple's ears. It was high-pitched and unmistakably human—a woman’s cry of terror.
The disciple froze and turned, his face grim. “Hear that, Master?”
The Master nodded, “Someone’s alive in the castle.”
The master’s eyes darkened as they glanced toward the fortress, now swarming with demons. “Alive for now. But not for long ...”
“Master, we have to save them!”
He urged, already quickening his pace toward the chaos, while the master followed with a faint, resigned sigh.