Lightning and flame clashed against the dark curses of hell as the red sky shook and shuddered over the footsteps of awakened ancients.

The armies of hell poured into the realm with great haste, literally raining down from the sky as mountains of draconic ancestry burned, froze, squashed and devoured them just as fast.

Spirit Beast and Xilfir guarded the gate to Faetera, holding their ground no matter how many demons befell them. No matter the blades which pierced their armor, or the magic which seared their flesh.

Bound by vengeance over having their world enslaved, the Spirit Beasts fought with the surety of a storm, bending the elements to their very will and causing absolute chaos amongst the demonic ranks.

The Xilfir stood like a wall, alongside their general and first Dragon Elf, Makaela Xilfir.

No matter how many of them were felled, their hearts wavered not.

For they fought for a cause much greater than vengeance, much greater than reason itself.

The Xilfir gave their lives willingly, for their people, for their children’s future.

Only the elders had come, parents, grandparents and greater. For the next generation, for the very survival of their race, to them, their lives were worth the cost.

And although she hadn’t found them to say her goodbyes, Makaela too was willing to give up her life, for both her sons and step-daughter.

As crystal-like aethereal blades swirled like a hurricane all around her, nothing more than sprays of demonic blood reached her.

“We will hold, worry not child.” She told herself.

As in the sky above the Dragon King also fought, Devils of all kinds escaping his wrath as he filled the air with raw draconic energy. A flock of birds escaping a hungering wyvern, Devils dropped like flies before his fury.

His fangs ripping apart any that survived the shredding winds his wings blasted forth, said wings slicing to halves and thirds any that escaped his aura of lightning.

And those who found themselves too quick for either were quickly met with a rain of fire which put hell’s very flames to shame.

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“I know, you will find your way.” Erik growled, pausing briefly to glance at the violet sun, “Not because you are royal, not because you are Dragon.” Pure white lightning crackled across his entire body then, “Wherever you are, whoever your enemies be, and whomever your allies become. I know, you will survive my child. For, after all, you are her daughter.”

The surge of energy emanating from Erikathyr’s body intensified tenfold, spreading across the entire sky and casting off the colours of hell.

“With my blood’s power, and her stubbornness, I know you will find your way…Until then, I…We will hold.”

Across the rift into hell, hordes of demons descended upon Draconia like an apocalyptic wave. Men and women held them back, soldiers with their blades, mages with their spells and simple civilians with their chains of supply.

Like ants the demons climbed the walls which just as quickly repelled them back, as over the walls and beyond the rifts they came from…the world of Faetera struck back.

An armada of dwarven warships rained down uncaring alchemy and mechanical power upon many a rift, decimating the demons much akin to lighting an ant-hill ablaze with gasoline.

Elsewhere Elven elites cut through demonic lines with the holy keenness of their blades, arrows and superior minds. Turning the very land Hell assaulted against it, Nymphs, Lizardfolk, Fishfolk, Treants and all beasts fought tooth, tail and fin.

All over Faetera, the land was at war.

And all over Faetera, one banner solely waved through the air.

The same banner Thea wore over her back as she faced the end of the world. Her golden gunblade searing through scores of demons before clashing with the masters who whipped them.

“We will hold!” She bellowed out to her men before telling herself, “I…Will hold, such as that you have a home to return to!”

All over Faetera war raged, all but one rift…one rift the armies of men, dwarf and elf could not account for.

One rift, faced with two boys.

Two brothers, faced with the 5th hell’s hordes.

A goliath of violet ooze stood lumbering over them, exhuming power beyond anything they had ever felt before.

“You two…little insects” The giant asked, as it and the entire horde paused before them, “Where is my traitorous daughter?” Kurzan’s voice shook the very air as the Devil King spoke.

“We should ask you the same damn thing!” Erael exclaimed, raising his sword to the otherwise apocalyptic menace.

“Where is our sister…Answer you fiend…” Ziethael growled, as both their draconic wings then spread out of their backs. “Or face two Dragon Elves’ wrath.”

“Hah, the runts take from their father.” Kurzan mused, “Very well then, I shall find her myself, and stomp you to a pulp while I’m at it.” The Devil King slammed down with both his fists, the two brothers all too slow and inexperienced to avoid the attack…

When two other fists rose to meet the monster’s, pitch black and made of pure shadow, the fists held the Devil King firmly in place.

Kurzan raised his gaze to find another rift had opened before them.

And out of it, several figures appeared, the arms of shadow seemingly to be protruding from one of them…One who’s voice came out in a chant.

“Kage no kōkei.”