THE AWAKENING STORM
Icarus 12th, the first day of the sixth month of the ancient Celestial Dragon calendar, 13th year of the reign of the Paragon Emperor.
The oppressive heat of summer had finally subsided, and a sigh of relief echoed through the lush greens. The continent had endured scorching days, but now it embraced the refreshing breeze of autumn.
“Autumn represents the cycle of life and death. Just as the flame of a candle dwindles, my own lifespan is waning. The Empire I once built, akin to my own child, was stealthily snatched away from me,” murmured Emperor Julien with a heavy heart.
“Strength...” he paused momentarily, clenching his fist. “It is such a common word, yet it encompasses everything and anything.”
“They may have taken everything from me, but my wisdom remains. I yearn for strength, but in this lifetime, I fear I shall never attain it.”
Emperor Julien stood atop a crimson podium, encircled by five towering obelisks representing the five reincarnation values.
Gazing upwards, he inhaled the gentle autumn wind. The eastern breeze coursed through his veins, infusing him with ethereal energy that swirled around his form.
With a single thought, the five obelisks radiated a soft glow. In one final act, Emperor Julien cast his gaze upon the sky, whispering, “I’m sorry.” He outstretched his arms wide, and a crimson haze enveloped him, shaking the entire continent with its terrifying arcane force.
In the blink of an eye, the figure on the podium dissipated, merging seamlessly into the heavens above.
...
Present moment.
“Sage of herald, the infamous Vel’Krim! You are already surrounded. Cease your cowardly hiding!” The words escaped the lips of a man donning golden armor, his chest adorned with the crest of a pendulum. Laughter filled the air, echoing through the soldiers behind him, clad in black gold-plated armor, their eyes betraying their fear.
Radiating an aura of ferocity, the armored man contemplated his next move. Observing the soldiers’ dwindling morale behind him, he sighed and muttered, “What a bunch of imbeciles.”
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Clenching his armored fist, he chanted silently in his mind, [Battle Set - Fist of Argaddon]!
Raising his fist, the scorching heat of Helios himself seemed to descend upon the battlefield. The Royal Guards, aware of the impending danger, understood that this attack knew no distinction between comrades and foes. The mere force of the resulting explosion would reduce them to ashes.
“The Commander’s power is formidable,” whispered the soldier on the left.
“But...” the soldier on the right began, only to be silenced by a fierce glare from the soldier in the center. “Shut your mouth if you value your life!” he warned.
Startled, the soldiers continued their retreat, their steps heavy with trepidation. Meanwhile, the Commander focused the scorching aura within his clenched fist. Heat saturated the air, and after a brief moment, he propelled himself forward, delivering a mighty punch.
“Now feel my [Fist of Argaddon], Vel’Krim!” he bellowed.
Inside the spatial crack he had created, Vel’Krim observed the unfolding scene, a cold smile playing upon his lips. Murderous intent flashed in his eyes. “These Royal imbeciles... they persist, never learning.”
“They throw their meaningless lives at me,” he sighed deeply, revealing himself as he leisurely stepped forward, as if walking upon flat land.
Vel’Krim’s robe fluttered in the wind, the pressure of the impending attack palpable.
As the giant fiery hand, the embodiment of Argaddon’s wrathful might, drew closer, Vel’Krim’s voice resounded, laced with a chilling undertone:
“By now, you should know that all your attacks are futile,” Vel’Krim rasped, his black robe billowing. With a cold smile, he conjured a scepter into existence—plain gold-plated with a verdant handle.
A wisp of black smoke emerged from his body, merging with the scepter. Its previously dull surface began to emit a green aura.
With a graceful movement, Vel’Krim aimed the scepter at the raging giant hand hurtling toward him.
All of this occurred in an instant, too swift for mortal eyes to perceive.
With a mere thought, Vel’Krim activated his ultimate defense: [Tremo Set - Seismic Shield].
The Commander, locked in a counter-offensive stance, sensed impending doom, and his premonition swiftly became reality.
Vel’Krim, pointing his scepter, emanated a pale gray-white flow, causing the aura surrounding him to tremble.
The mighty punch, which carried the fiery incarnation of Argaddon’s rocky fist, began to fracture. Moments before it reached Vel’Krim, it dissipated into thin air, as if it had never existed.
A cold smile curved Vel’Krim’s lips. “Never underestimate the power of tremors.”
Once more, he waved his arms, and a series of tremors cascaded through the area. Spatial cracks tore open, prompting cold sweat to bead upon the Commander and his army. Fear of impending death gripped them all.
...
As the night’s shadow enveloped the city, Julien, making his way from the train station, sensed an unusual atmosphere in the air. Gazing skyward, he noticed the impending storm clouds.
“It appears heavy rain will fall later. I must hurry home!” he muttered to himself. Julien quickened his pace, arriving at his apartment a few minutes later.
After preparing a meal and taking a refreshing shower, he remarked, “A good shower after work is the best,” while drying his head with a large white towel.
Checking his phone, Julien realized it was growing late—11:00 PM. “Damn, I still have work tomorrow.”
Hurriedly entering his room, he prepared to sleep. But as he lay down on his bed, he sensed a tremor—a looming earthquake!
Instinctively, he leaped out of bed, seeking refuge beneath it.