The air around the Iron Grotto trembled with power as Soketh raised his abyssal greatsword to the heavens. The dark, twisted spires of his castle groaned and splintered, their jagged peaks bending as if bowing to their master. A deep hum filled the air, the resonance burrowing into the very marrow of the Strike Team.
Then, with a triumphant roar, Soketh slammed the blade into the ground, and the castle erupted in a cascade of crimson energy. The earth itself split apart, and the battlefield was wrenched from its foundation, the ground beneath their feet rising violently into the air.
The Strike Team staggered, the world spinning as the ground beneath their feet surged upward, ripped from its moorings. The Iron Grotto crumbled into rubble far below, leaving only jagged remnants scattered across the battlefield. Now, they stood on a massive floating platform, suspended high above the chaos.
The battlefield stretched endlessly beneath them, its clashing armies locked in bloody combat, their struggles dwarfed by the dark energy radiating from Soketh’s domain. Above, the stars glimmered faintly through the swirling abyssal haze, casting an eerie light on the fractured stage of battle.
“Look at them, Ashra,” Soketh intoned, his voice a guttural growl that carried across the battlefield below. He gestured with one clawed hand, his burning red eyes fixed on Arlan. “Mortals, so fragile, so fleeting… yet they believe themselves the architects of their own destinies. Today, they will learn the truth.”
“What truth, Soketh?” Arlan stepped forward, Starshadow humming in his hand, its radiant energy cutting through the oppressive dark mana. His tone was calm but laced with barely restrained fury.
Soketh laughed, the sound reverberating like a storm. “Oh, no, Ashra. They will see that their fates are but threads in the tapestry of our eternal war. This is not about them—it never has been. It is about us, you and me, locked in this dance of destruction across ages.”
Frej, her golden spear glinting faintly in the dim light, glanced downward. The sight of the countless soldiers below—both allies and enemies—frozen in horrified awe made her grip her weapon tighter. “He’s doing this for an audience,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “He wants everyone to see.”
Lucius adjusted his goggles, his face grim. “This isn’t just a battle. It’s theater. He’s trying to prove something.”
Marie’s fiery wings flared brighter as her voice cut through the tension. “Then we make sure the finale is one he doesn’t expect.”
Soketh raised his arms, and the floating platform shifted, jagged spikes of obsidian jutting from its edges, radiating with crimson and black mana. The swirling energy formed a shimmering barrier around the dais, a wall of impenetrable power that seemed to pulse in rhythm with Soketh’s breathing.
The armies below, watching from the battlefield, began to murmur, their voices a mixture of fear and awe. Even the dark fiends paused their relentless assault, their gazes fixed on their lord.
“Let them watch!” Soketh’s voice boomed, echoing across the battlefield. “Let them see their so-called heroes falter. Let them witness the fall of the Ashra!”
Arlan stepped forward, his posture unwavering despite the oppressive aura emanating from Soketh. “You think fear will win this battle, Soketh?” he said, his voice steady. “You think breaking their spirits will change their fate? You’ll find no victory here!”
Soketh sneered, his abyssal wings spreading wide as he raised his greatsword. “Bold words, Ashra. But we both know this is not a battle for their fate. It is for yours.”
The Strike Team surged to Arlan’s side, their weapons raised, but Soketh laughed once more, the sound dark and triumphant. He thrust his hand forward, and the platform trembled violently. From the jagged ground, the broken and battered forms of the Naraka Lords began to rise, their shattered armor reforming, their dark cores burning with renewed energy.
“What—how?” Chrysta gasped, her frost-touched staff glowing faintly as she instinctively raised a protective barrier.
“He’s reviving them,” Lucius growled, his artifact cannon charging with mana. “And they’re stronger than before!”
The Naraka Lords stepped forward, their towering forms radiating raw malice. Soketh snapped his fingers, and the floating dais split apart, jagged fragments drifting to create isolated platforms. A barrier of crimson energy surged upward, dividing Arlan from his Strike Team.
“No!” Marie’s fiery wings flared as she slammed her fist against the barrier. “He’s cutting us off!”
Chrysta pressed her hand against the barrier, her eyes wide with alarm. “The Monarch’s Regalia—it’s not reaching us!”
On the other side of the barrier, Soketh smiled coldly. “There shall be no more interference, Ashra.” He raised his blade, pointing it at Arlan. “Now… Come at me with all you got.”
Arlan turned to his team, his expression grim. “Focus on staying alive until I can kill Soketh!”
“You’re not fighting him alone!” Savage bellowed, his greataxe raised as he slammed it into the barrier. The impact sent sparks flying but left no mark.
“I have to,” Arlan replied, his tone firm. He turned to face Soketh, Starshadow glowing brighter as he raised the blade. “This ends here.”
Soketh chuckled, his abyssal greatsword crackling with dark energy. “No, Ashra. It never ends. But I will savor your struggle all the same.”
The platform beneath their feet steadied, the arena set. Below, the armies of man and darkness resumed their fight as the showdown began.
The air between Arlan and Soketh grew heavy, charged with the unrelenting tension of two forces destined to collide. Soketh strode forward, his abyssal greatsword dragging against the platform’s jagged surface, sending out a grating sound that resonated with malice.
“Do you feel it, Ashra?” Soketh’s voice was low and taunting, each word laced with venom. “The eyes of your people are upon us. They all wait to see if their so-called hero can stand against a god.”
“A god you say? Imagine needing this amount of power to fight against me.”
Soketh’s laughter rolled like thunder. “How bold. But let us see if your defiance holds against inevitability.” He surged forward with a speed that defied his massive form, his greatsword cleaving through the air with terrifying precision.
Arlan raised Starshadow just in time to parry the strike, the clash of their blades creating a shockwave that sent cracks racing across the platform. The force of the impact drove Arlan back several steps, his boots scraping against the stone. Soketh pressed the attack, his strikes relentless and overpowering. Each blow came faster than the last, forcing Arlan to move purely on instinct, his defenses barely holding.
“Where is the fire, Ashra?” Soketh mocked, his greatsword slamming down with the weight of an avalanche. “Where is the ferocity you once wielded? Did you leave it behind with your memories?”
Arlan ducked under a horizontal slash, using the momentum to counter with an upward strike aimed at Soketh’s exposed side. But Soketh moved with uncanny agility, his greatsword deflecting Starshadow’s edge before driving forward with a brutal thrust.
The tip of Soketh’s blade grazed Arlan’s draconian cuirass, the force behind the attack enough to send him flying backward. He crashed into a jagged pillar, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. Starshadow slipped from his grasp momentarily, its glow dimming as Arlan gritted his teeth, forcing himself to rise.
“You call this a duel?” Soketh spat, his crimson eyes burning with disdain. “This is nothing but a farce. You’re a shadow of your former self!”
Arlan steadied himself, his hand finding Starshadow’s hilt as it flew back. The blade flared to life once more as he took a deep breath, centering his thoughts. “This fate that binds us,” he said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs. “I will destroy it.”
Soketh smirked, his greatsword crackling with dark energy as he raised it high. “You’ve already lost. You just don’t know it yet.”
He lunged again, his blade carving through the air with devastating force. Arlan dodged to the side, Starshadow striking upward in a desperate counter. The mithril blade bit into Soketh’s armored shoulder, sending a spray of dark ichor into the air. Soketh snarled, his wings flaring as he retaliated with a sweeping strike that forced Arlan to retreat once more.
On the fragmented platforms surrounding the arena, the Strike Team fought with unyielding determination against the revived Naraka Lords. The barrier separating them from Arlan and Soketh sapped the aura of the Monarch’s Regalia, leaving them exposed to the overwhelming strength of their opponents. But despite their vulnerability, they refused to give ground.
Chrysta ducked under a massive claw swipe, her frost magic forming a protective barrier just in time to deflect a follow-up strike. “We’re cut off!” she shouted, her voice strained as she fired a series of icy projectiles at her foe. The shards struck the fiend’s armored carapace, slowing it but failing to do lasting damage. “We can’t reach him!” she cried again, her frustration palpable.
Marie soared above, her fiery wings blazing as she unleashed searing flames on the advancing fiends. “[Infernohand]!” she bellowed, a massive wave of fire engulfing several Naraka Lords. “Then we hold here!” she called back, her voice fierce. “He needs us to handle this—so let’s handle it!”
On the eastern side of the fragmented platform, Yanie perched lightly atop a jagged outcrop, her bow drawn and her sharp eyes scanning the chaos below. She loosed an arrow imbued with shimmering energy, the projectile streaking through the darkness to strike a Naraka Lord square in the chest. The impact created a ripple of force, staggering the creature and opening it to further attacks.
“Yuna! Right flank!” Yanie called, her voice sharp as her hands moved in a blur to nock another arrow. She fired two in rapid succession, each finding its mark with pinpoint precision.
Yuna, wielding her intricately carved bo staff, darted into the fray with graceful precision. Her staff glowed faintly as she activated [Fervor Strike], a burst of energy surging with each swing. She spun low, sweeping a fiend’s legs out from under it, then brought the staff down in a crushing blow.
“I’ve got you covered!” Yuna replied, activating [Blazing Momentum], her staff igniting with flame as she twirled it in a deadly arc. The enchanted strikes struck the Naraka Lord like hammer blows, cracking its armor and sending ichor spraying.
Yanie grinned as she leapt down from her vantage point, seamlessly swapping her bow for her dual short swords as she landed behind a reaper. “[Silver Moon Slash]!” she shouted, her blades glowing with a pale light as they carved deep into the fiend’s exposed joints.
Her swift movements danced around the creature’s retaliatory strikes, her agility keeping her just out of harm’s reach. With a sharp pivot, she slashed upward, finishing the reaper with a strike that cleaved through its neck.
“Not bad for a ranger!” Yuna teased, her bo staff pulsing with energy as she deflected a claw swipe aimed at her side. “[Arcane Barrier]!” she intoned, slamming the butt of her staff into the ground. A shimmering shield of energy formed around her and Yanie, absorbing a volley of dark energy projectiles.
Yuna surged forward, spinning her staff with practiced ease. She activated [Harmony Surge], a spell that enveloped her strikes with elemental buffs, shifting between fire, ice, and lightning. Each blow connected with a resonant crack, sending shockwaves through her enemies.
“Behind you, Yanie!” Yuna shouted, slamming her staff into the ground and unleashing a burst of force that staggered a group of fiends attempting to flank her friend.
Yanie responded immediately, vaulting over Yuna’s barrier with effortless grace. “[Piercing Twilight]!” she called, her short swords slicing through the shadows with a luminous arc that tore into the fiends.
“Not bad for a show-off!” Yuna quipped, her grin widening as her staff flared with lightning. She spun low, striking at the legs of a charging Naraka Lord, then flipped backward as Yanie darted in to finish the job.
“Only because I know you’ll back me up!” Yanie shot back, her voice bright despite the chaos surrounding them. Her bow was back in her hands in an instant, an arrow drawn and loose before she even touched the ground.
The pair moved with perfect coordination, their styles complementing each other. Yuna’s on-hit magic buffs enhanced her physical strikes, allowing her to dominate in close quarters, while Yanie’s agility and precision rained destruction from range and dealt decisive finishing blows in melee.
“More incoming!” Yuna warned, pointing with her staff toward another wave of fiends surging toward them.
“On it!” Yanie replied, leaping to higher ground and firing a volley of arrows at the advancing foes. Each arrow hit with precision, weakening the front line and slowing their charge.
Yuna charged forward, activating [Guardian’s Tempo], her speed and strength amplifying with each strike. She carved through the weakened fiends, her staff a blur of enchanted light.
Nearby, Akasha leapt to her side, her twin claws flashing as they sliced through a dark fiend’s exposed joints with precision. The Naraka Lord howled in pain, momentarily staggered by her swift attack.
“I’ll keep them off Chrysta!” Akasha barked, flipping backward to avoid a counterstrike. Her crimson eyes flickered as she activated her [Shadow Step], disappearing from the fiend’s view and reappearing behind it. With one fluid motion, she drove her claws deep into its back, ichor spraying as she twisted them free.
Above, Marie soared, her fiery wings blazing as she rained down searing flames on a group of advancing fiends. “[Infernohand]!” she bellowed, unleashing a massive wave of fire that engulfed several Naraka Lords. The blast reduced them to ash, but for every fiend she destroyed, more surged forward, their malevolence unwavering.
Frej flew in tandem with her, her golden spear glowing with celestial light. “[Aurum Piercer]!” she cried, hurling her weapon. The spear struck the largest Naraka Lord, piercing its chest and pinning it to the ground. A shockwave of kinetic energy exploded outward, scattering nearby fiends. Arcane energy swirled the spear as it was lifted and returned to Frej. Lucius nodded at Frej as he continued blasting a few nearby reapers.
“I’ll bombard from above!” Marie replied, banking sharply to unleash another stream of fire. Her wings flickered, the strain of constant flight taking its toll. “Focus on keeping them at bay!”
Adjacent to Frej, Savage roared as he locked weapons with a towering Naraka Lord. The fiend’s jagged sword scraped against his greataxe, sparks flying with every clash. His muscles bulged as he pressed forward, forcing the fiend back with sheer brute strength.
“I’ve fought mountain trolls easier than this!” he bellowed, delivering a powerful kick that sent the fiend staggering. With a grunt, he raised his weapon high and brought it crashing down on the fiend’s head. The blow cleaved through its armor, ichor spraying as the fiend crumbled.
Lucius joined Savage, his gauntlet charging with a low hum. “I’ll cover your right!” he quipped, adjusting his goggles as the weapon’s runes glowed brighter. “Get down!” he shouted, firing an [Arcane Ray] at a baphomet square in the chest. The fiend exploded in a burst of dark energy, its remains scattering across the platform.
“I hope you’ve got more of those shots left,” Savage said, stepping forward to knock back a squad of reapers.
Lucius smirked, “As long as I draw breath.”
Hovering above the fray, Niren’s Archangel Regalia glowed faintly, its wings trailing radiant light. His face was grim as he unleashed a barrage of golden spears. “[Judgment’s Light]!” he bellowed, the projectiles slamming into the Naraka Lords and forcing them to retreat.
“We won’t fail here!” Niren called out, his voice steady and commanding. “I’ll assist with keeping the Naraka Lords staggered!”
Below him, Savage and Lucius continued to hold the line, while Akasha darted between fiends, her strikes precise and deadly. Chrysta focused on casting support magic and crowd control. Meanwhile, Marie unleashed her devastating fire magic from above. JD and Frej moved around the formation to strike down Naraka Lords in their weak points.
Despite their coordination, the Naraka Lords seemed inexhaustible. Each time one fell, another stepped forward, more ferocious than the last. The fragmented platforms quaked under the strain of battle.
Chrysta’s frost magic wove intricate patterns of ice across the platforms, creating barriers and spikes to stall the advancing Naraka Lords. But even her most powerful spells, like [Nixstorm], began to falter as the overwhelming strength of the fiends pushed through her defenses. Her frost-touched staff trembled in her grasp as she cast another shield, her voice hoarse from chanting incantations. “They’re relentless!” she cried.
“Then we’ll be more relentless!” Savage growled as he deflected another blow from a Naraka Lord, his greataxe flashing in the dim light.
Before he could follow up, a sharp whistle pierced the air, cutting through the chaotic din of battle. JD appeared on the edge of the platform, his twin mithril long swords glinting.
“Looks like you’ve got your hands full, Savage!” JD called out, darting forward. From JD’s form, shimmering clones materialized, perfect replicas of him, each holding identical twin mithril long swords. Five clones burst forward, each moving with the same speed and precision as the original. They spread out across the fragmented platform, targeting the advancing Naraka Lords.
One clone leapt onto the back of a towering fiend, plunging both swords into its exposed neck. The Naraka Lord howled, twisting violently as the clone disappeared into mist—only for another to replace it, slashing at its legs with relentless strikes. The fiend fell to one knee, ichor pouring from its wounds, as JD himself rushed forward, delivering a devastating finishing blow to its head.
“Not bad, huh?” JD quipped, spinning on his heel to face another approaching fiend.
But even as the dust settled, more fiends emerged, their dark energy filling the void. The Strike Team regrouped, battered but unbroken, their determination shining like a beacon in the encroaching darkness.
“We hold the line,” Niren said, his voice unwavering. “Until Arlan finishes this.”
Down below, Erin stood at the forefront of the Banner of the Claw, he shouted, unleashing a flurry of strikes that cut through the fiends like a whirlwind. The Vanguard rallied behind him, their spirits bolstered by his leadership. But even with their combined strength, the fiends’ numbers seemed endless.
“We can’t hold much longer!” one soldier shouted, his voice tinged with panic.
Erin gritted his teeth, refusing to yield. “We hold the line!” he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos.
High above the battlefield, the air crackled with energy as Arlan clashed with Soketh. The abyssal greatsword came down like a thunderbolt, its dark energy tearing through the air with each swing. Arlan met each strike with Starshadow, the radiant blade deflecting the blows but at great cost. Each clash sent shockwaves rippling across the floating platform, widening the cracks beneath their feet.
“You’re strong, Ashra,” Soketh sneered, pressing his attack. “But strength alone won’t save you.”
Arlan dodged a horizontal slash, rolling to the side and countering with an upward swing aimed at Soketh’s side. The mithril edge bit into Soketh’s armor, but the wound was shallow. Soketh retaliated with a backhanded strike, the force of the blow sending Arlan skidding backward.
Starshadow’s glow flickered as Arlan steadied himself, his chest heaving. The draconian cuirass absorbed the brunt of Soketh’s attacks, but even its legendary durability had limits. “I won’t fall to you,” Arlan growled, his voice filled with defiance.
“Fall?” Soketh mocked, his crimson eyes glowing with malice. “You’re struggling to even meet a fraction of my strength!” With a roar, he surged forward, his strikes growing faster and more precise. Arlan struggled to keep up, his movements slowing under the relentless assault.
Far below, amidst the chaos and cacophony of the battlefield, Princess Emmeline stood on a hilltop at the headquarters, her golden standard raised high against the storm of war. The radiant banners of the Royal Army flapped furiously in the wind, defiant against the suffocating aura of darkness radiating from above. Around her, the battlefield churned—a chaotic tapestry of valor and desperation as her soldiers clashed with the relentless tide of dark fiends.
The faint glow of dawn was shrouded by the unnatural haze, casting an eerie half-light across the landscape. Above, high in the swirling maelstrom of black and crimson energy, she spotted the floating platform where Arlan and Soketh clashed. The very air seemed to pulse in resonance with their strikes, a reminder that the true heart of the battle lay far beyond her reach.
Her chest tightened at the sight, a sinking weight of dread settling over her. Her lips barely moved as she whispered to herself, “He’s fighting Soketh…” The name carried a gravity that seemed to echo in her mind. The realization pressed down on her shoulders, but it also kindled a fire within her. She could feel the oppressive energy emanating from that aerial stage, and its effects were palpable on the ground below.
The dark fiends, already monstrous and relentless, seemed to draw strength from their master’s presence. Their movements were sharper, their strikes more precise, as if Soketh’s malevolence had sharpened their instincts. Soldiers she could see staggered under the onslaught, their morale beginning to falter under the crushing weight of the enemy’s resurgence.
“Princess!” a runner called out, his voice hoarse and desperate as he stumbled up the incline toward her. His armor was dented, blood smeared across his helm. “We’re losing ground! The fiends—they’ve become even more monstrous with the appearance of that platform!”
Emmeline turned sharply to face him, her golden standard catching the light of a nearby explosion and casting a fleeting glow over the soldier’s panicked features. Her eyes, fierce and unwavering, locked onto his. “Prepare the Headquarters,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the chaos. “My royal guard unit will spearhead a counter attack, we cannot fail.”
Her tone was not one of mere reassurance but a command that brooked no argument. She raised the golden standard higher, the shimmering emblem of Midland catching the eyes of her nearby soldiers. “Stand strong!” she bellowed, her voice carrying over the din of battle like a clarion call. “We will charge forth for our country and for our fallen!”
Her words hit like a hammer, driving the faltering soldiers to action. A cheer erupted from those within earshot, spreading like wildfire through the ranks. The soldiers, inspired by their princess’s defiance, closed their ranks and surged forward. Swords clashed against claws, shields locked in defense, and spears found their marks in the darkened forms of fiends.
The battlefield roared with renewed vigor as Princess Emmeline’s words galvanized the weary troops. The golden standard of Midland glinted in the dim, unnatural haze, a beacon of defiance against the oppressive darkness that sought to consume them. The soldiers around her—once faltering under the relentless onslaught of the dark fiends—now rallied with a unified cry.
“For Midland!” the soldiers shouted as they closed ranks and surged forward. Their blades, shields, and spears caught the flickering light of the battlefield, gleaming with hope despite the odds.
Emmeline moved to the forefront, her presence a rallying point for the Royal Army. Her royal guard formed an impenetrable phalanx around her, their shields gleaming as they deflected clawed strikes and jagged weapons.
“Push them back!” Emmeline commanded, her voice ringing out like the peal of a bell amidst the chaos. “Do not give them an inch!”
Just as the Royal Army’s counterattack began to gain momentum, a resounding horn cut through the air, its deep, melodic tone unmistakable. From the northern flank, a tide of crimson banners crested a small hill, their vibrant hue defying the dim haze that blanketed the battlefield. At the head of the charge was Katalina herself, her presence commanding and fierce.
“Galdo Banners!” Katalina bellowed, her voice carrying over the clash of steel and the guttural growls of the fiends. “We will ride out alongside the Royal Army, follow me like you followed my father!”
Her troops responded with disciplined precision, their formations tightening as they advanced in perfect unison. Their crimson banners fluttered defiantly, and the soldiers surged into the fray with renewed determination.
Katalina’s magic was the spearhead of their assault. She raised her left hand, and the air around her shimmered with energy. “Onward with me!” She shouted, her voice imbued with the weight of her power. She continued while casting [Arcane Lance], a massive, mana spear materialized in her grasp, its edges crackling with heat. With a powerful thrust, she hurled the spear into the densest cluster of fiends.
The explosion that followed was a blinding cascade of mana. Dozens of fiends were vaporized in an instant, their howls of agony swallowed by the roar of the blast. The ground where they had stood was scorched and cratered, the fiends’ dark essence dissipating into the air.
The battlefield shifted as Katalina’s arrival bolstered the Royal Army’s counterattack. Emmeline caught sight of her ally and felt a surge of hope swell within her.
“Your timing was impeccable!” Emmeline called out.
Katalina grinned, a fierce glint in her eye as she dispatched another fiend with a slash of her blade. “We both had the same idea, Your Highness. Shall we turn the tide together?”
Emmeline nodded, her resolve hardening. “Together.”
The two women stood at the forefront of their units, their standards stood beside them. Emmeline’s golden banner exuded an aura of morale, while Katalina’s crimson banner gave hope.
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Katalina unleashed another devastating spell, her hands glowing with mana as she chanted. “[Infernal Rain]!” she cried, and fiery projectiles rained down upon the enemy ranks. The dark fiends shrieked as the flames consumed them, their forms crumbling into ash.
Seizing the momentum, Emmeline directed her royal guard unit in a wedge formation. The combined might of the Royal Army and the Galdo Banners became an unstoppable force, driving the dark fiends back step by step.
At the center of the battlefield, amidst the swirling chaos of war, the Banner of the Claw stood resolute. Their position was critical, guarding the entrance of the Iron Grotto. The soldiers, seasoned and disciplined, moved like a well-oiled machine under the command of Erin, their lieutenant and the Banner of the Claw’s commander in place of Arlan.
Erin’s twin blades flashed as he moved through the battlefield, cutting down fiends with precise, calculated strikes. Despite the relentless pressure, his voice remained calm and commanding as he shouted orders. “Shift the heavy shields forward and have Company C fall back! Don’t let them breach the line!”
The soldiers responded with unwavering discipline, their shields locked tightly as they pushed back against the fiends’ savage assaults. Yet, even as they held their ground, Erin couldn’t shake the oppressive feeling that something had shifted. The fiends were different—faster, stronger, more coordinated than before.
From his position atop a small rise, Erin’s sharp eyes caught sight of the platform high above, suspended in the maelstrom of black and crimson energy. He clenched his jaw as he recognized the figures clashing there. “So, that’s where he is,” he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din of battle. “Arlan.”
A young scout stumbled toward him, his face pale and his breathing ragged. Blood streaked the edges of his dented armor. “Lieutenant!” he panted, struggling to stand upright. “The fiends—they’re adapting. It’s as if Soketh’s presence is empowering them directly!”
Erin’s gaze flicked back to the platform, his expression grim. “They’re drawing power from him,” he said, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. “Soketh isn’t just fighting Arlan; he’s feeding his army. Every second he stands, they grow stronger.”
The Banner of the Claw fought valiantly, their formations holding despite the relentless onslaught. Archers unleashed volleys of arrows imbued with essence, each shot finding its mark, but the fiends seemed unfazed by the losses. The frontline warriors held firm, their shields and swords flashing in the dim light, but even they began to tire under the sheer weight of the enemy.
Erin’s strategic intuition activated instinctively. He thought of every movement, every opening, and directed his men with precision. “Push toward the Royal Army! We no longer need to hold this position” he shouted, unleashing a devastating series of strikes that tore through a cluster of fiends. His soldiers, inspired by his prowess, surged forward with renewed determination.
But the dark fiends were unrelenting. A sudden surge of them broke through the southern flank, their claws raking through armor and flesh alike. Erin spun on his heel, rushing to reinforce the breach, but by the time he arrived, several squads had already been decimated.
“Fall back to the secondary line!” Erin commanded, his voice firm even as his heart sank. He knew the cost of retreat, but losing the entire flank would doom them all.
A young sergeant ran up to him, blood staining the torn sigil of the Claw on his armor. “Lieutenant!” he shouted, his voice filled with grief. “We’ve lost four Squads—they were overrun near the southern ridge. The dark fiends are relentless, sir.”
Erin’s jaw tightened as the news settled in. The loss of men stung deeply; they had been some of the Banner’s most dependable soldiers. He nodded sharply, hiding the pain behind a mask of composure. “Rally whoever’s left from the southern flank,” he ordered. “Have everyone regroup here and we will push west back towards the Royal Army!”
As Erin rallied his men, he cast another glance toward the platform above. The sight of Arlan locked in battle with Soketh filled him with a mixture of pride and dread. “Kill that son of bitch, Arlan,” he muttered under his breath.
Close to Arlan’s platform, Erin noticed movement—Marie’s fiery wings soaring through the air above another part of the floating platforms. He could see the Strike Team was also fighting for their lives.
Erin took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Banner of the Claw!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We will drive into the enemy and regroup with the Royal Army!”
The men and women under his command raised their weapons high, their cheers defiant even in the face of overwhelming odds. Despite the losses, despite the exhaustion etched into their faces, they continued to fight with everything they had.
Erin’s resolve burned brighter than ever. The Banner of the Claw would not give in—not because they were invincible, but because Arlan ordered them to.
Just three hundred meters north of Erin’s position, Edgar and his Stormriders had just finished trampling through a company size unit of reapers when a specific signal horn blew through the air. “Captain!” commented to Edgar, “That’s Erin and the signal to push west!”
“Aye, it likely has to do with that platform above where the General is fighting,” answered Edgar, “Stormriders, change directions west! We are now riding parallel to the Vanguard along their north!”
“By your command!” shouted his Stormriders, acknowledging the orders. As on cue, they all maneuvered their direction to a sharp left turn. Their charger horses obeyed their movement with ease.
As the entirety of the Banner of the Claw changed from a defensive formation into a more offensive formation, the enemy began to chase after them but the efficiency of the movement was so precise and practiced that the dark fiends couldn’t keep up.
Along the southern edge of the Banner of the Claw’s formation, chaos reigned. A Vanguard platoon was locked in brutal melee, their swords clashing against the relentless tide of dark fiends. Among the embattled soldiers, a familiar trio—Kristopher, George, and Michael—fought side by side, their camaraderie their only solace in the storm of blood and shadow.
“Kristopher! Behind you!” George bellowed, his voice cracking as he struggled to keep a group of imps at bay. Their clawed hands tore at his shield, and his arm burned with the strain of holding them back.
Kristopher’s longsword was locked against the serrated scythe of a reaper fiend. The creature’s glowing eyes bore into him. Cold sweat beaded on Kristopher’s brow as he realized he wouldn’t be able to turn away from the opponent before him to dodge the one behind him.
Before the fatal strike could land, a loud clang rang out, followed by the guttural cry of a reaper. “I got your back!” yelled Michael, his broadsword cutting into the creature’s side. The reaper screeched in agony before collapsing. Then striking down the reaper before Kristopher.
Kristopher exhaled in relief, his grip on his sword tightening as he nodded gratefully to Michael. The trio fell into formation, covering each other’s blind spots as their squad maneuvered to counter the dark fiends’ relentless attacks. Around them, the other soldiers in their platoon fought with precision, finishing off the remaining imps and reapers in swift, practiced motions.
“Regroup and move now!” came the voice of their squad leader, Viktor, his tone sharp and commanding.
“By your command!” the soldiers replied in unison, their voices steady despite the chaos. They moved swiftly, reforming their lines and falling in with the rest of their platoon, which was already retreating westward toward the main body of the Royal Army.
As they reached their company, the platoon leader, a veteran named Sergeant Lyle, barked out orders. “The dark fiends have become more vicious with the appearance of the floating platform above us! All squads, tighten your formations! Fight cohesively, or we’ll suffer catastrophic losses!”
The soldiers muttered prayers to Numen under their breath, their eyes darting nervously toward the ominous platform that hung in the sky. The battle there seemed to radiate power, each clash of Arlan and Soketh’s weapons sending ripples of energy through the battlefield below.
George wiped a streak of blood from his face, his hands trembling slightly. “Thank Numen,” he said quietly. “We’re all still standing. Lightly injured, and not a single man lost.”
Michael shot him a grim look. “Don’t get your hopes up, Georgey. The other two platoons haven’t been as lucky. They’ve already taken losses.”
Kristopher sheathed his sword briefly, his eyes scanning the chaotic horizon. “Where are we heading, anyway?” he asked, the question more rhetorical than practical. His instincts told him the answer even as he asked it.
“We’re pushing back toward the Royal Army’s lines,” Michael replied. “It’s probably tied to the Iron Grotto’s collapse and that damnable platform in the sky. I saw Baroness Marie up there earlier.”
Kristopher nodded, his expression hardening. “If she’s there, then the Strike Team is too. They must be fighting Soketh.”
George crossed himself briefly, a gesture of hope in the face of despair. “May Numen guide them to slay that Naraka Lord…” His voice trailed off as he gripped his shield tighter.
As if summoned by his words, the horizon darkened with another wave of dark fiends. This wave was unlike any they had faced before—larger, faster, and seething with malevolent energy. Their grotesque forms shimmered with the crimson glow of Soketh’s presence, their snarls echoing like thunder across the battlefield.
Viktor turned to face his squad, his face grim but determined. “Prepare yourselves!” he shouted. “We’re going to hold against that onslaught!”
Orders rippled through the formation as soldiers readied their weapons and adjusted their shields. The dark fiends surged forward, their claws raking the earth as they charged. Despite the discipline and strength of the Banner of the Claw, the sheer size of the approaching wave was enough to make even the bravest soldier’s stomach twist in fear.
George glanced at his two closest friends, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a rare solemnity. “I’ve always considered you both my best friends,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with an unusual vulnerability. “And I had hoped that maybe one day, I’d be married. Settle down after all this fighting…”
Michael turned on him sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. “Don’t say things like that, Georgey. It’s a bad omen.”
“Yeah,” Kristopher added, his tone firm despite the tightness in his throat. “We’re not dying here. Arlan will defeat Soketh, and we’ll win this fight. I’ll see to it that you find a wife, Georgey.”
George chuckled weakly, his grip on his sword tightening as he nodded. “Thanks… but just in case, you two had better not leave me to fight alone.”
The trio watched the encroaching wave, their expressions grim but resolute. Death loomed over the battlefield like a shadow, but even in the face of overwhelming odds, they clung to hope.
The dark fiends roared as they closed the distance, their forms blotting out the dim light. Around the trio, the Banner of the Claw braced for impact. Shields locked, weapons raised, and prayers whispered to Numen. Despite the despair creeping into their hearts, they stood as one, prepared to fight to the last breath.
“Hold the line!” Sergeant Lyle roared, his sword raised high.
The soldiers echoed his cry, their voices rising in defiance as the wave crashed into their formation. Amidst the chaos, the trio fought with everything they had, their bond was just as unbreakable as the steel in their hands.
High above the battlefield, Arlan and Soketh clashed in a spectacle that seemed to warp reality itself. Every strike of their blades sent shockwaves that reverberated through the air, shaking the floating platform and echoing across the chaos below. The lives of thousands hung precariously on Arlan’s shoulders.
His smile was defiant, even as blood trickled down his face. Yet the smirk belied the pain coursing through his body—pain that not even the regenerative powers of the Monarch’s Regalia could completely undo. Soketh's blows carried a corruption that lingered, gnawing at his essence.
Soketh’s deep voice cut through the din, his smile sharp and mocking. “Allow me to make this even more interesting.” With his offhand, he began to weave a spell, black tendrils of mana swirling and coiling like serpents.
“My liege, I can’t identify the nature of the spell,” Sophia warned in Arlan’s mind, her voice tinged with concern. “But it’s likely a mind curse. Be cautious!”
Arlan adjusted his stance, gripping Starshadow tightly. The blade thrummed with essence as he prepared to deflect the incoming attack. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he muttered, bracing himself as Soketh unleashed the torrent of dark mana.
The spell struck with terrifying force, slamming into Starshadow and Arlan’s draconian cuirass. The sword and armor absorbed much of the dark mana, their runes glowing with the strain. But it wasn’t enough. The remaining dark mana lashed at Arlan like a storm, wracking his body and mind with excruciating pain. He dropped to one knee, Starshadow acting as his only support. His breaths came ragged and shallow, sweat dripping freely down his face.
Before he could recover, Soketh appeared in a blur of motion, his greatsword already mid-swing. Arlan barely raised Starshadow in time, the impact driving him back several meters. His boots scraped across the jagged stone, blood trailing from his lips.
“Is that all?” Arlan taunted, his voice ragged but still laced with defiance. “You’re a god, for fuck’s sake.”
Soketh’s laughter rolled across the platform like thunder. “Ah, there it is—that ego. I’ve missed that side of you, Ashra.”
Arlan’s grin widened, though pain tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I mean it did take you becoming a god just to stand a chance against me. I’m actually quite flattered.”
Soketh lunged, his greatsword cleaving through the air with devastating precision. Arlan held his ground, Starshadow intercepting the blade in a clash that sent sparks and raw energy spiraling outward. But before Soketh could press his advantage, a blinding tornado of fire erupted around Arlan.
Soketh reeled, his sword recoiling as the flames forced him back. “What—?” he growled, shielding his eyes from the inferno.
From within the firestorm, Arlan’s voice emerged, deeper and resonant, layered with an almost otherworldly tone. “Did you think that was all I had?”
The flames dissipated, revealing a transformed Arlan. Metallic dragon wings unfurled from his back, their scales shimmering with an unbreakable sheen. His draconian cuirass had expanded, covering him in dragon-like armor adorned with glowing runes. His eyes burned with an intense crimson light, locking onto Soketh with predatory focus.
“Tenth-tier gold core,” Soketh muttered, his tone laced with begrudging respect. “So this was your plan. You’ve been holding this back to wear me down.”
Arlan smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. “And you fell for it.”
Soketh’s lips curled into a grim smile. “A pinnacle of power I’ll never reach… even with the Disk of Absolution. Impressive.”
Arlan’s reply was cold and unyielding. “Let’s finish this.”
The Dragonlord vanished, moving faster than Soketh’s eyes could track. Starshadow struck with blinding speed, forcing Soketh on the defensive. Blow after blow rained down on the Naraka Lord, each one pushing him closer to the edge of the platform. Soketh barely managed to parry, his once-overwhelming strength now faltering against Arlan’s relentless assault.
“When did you…?!” Soketh gasped, his movements slowing as Arlan’s attacks intensified.
In a final, decisive moment, Arlan found his opening. He gathered all of his essence into Starshadow, the blade glowing brighter than ever before. Using [Titanstrike], Arlan unleashed a horizontal slash that cleaved through Soketh’s greatsword with terrifying ease.
The kinetic force tore through the Naraka Lord, splitting him in half. The shockwave ripped apart the platform’s surface, shattering the crimson barrier that had separated Arlan from his allies. Soketh’s upper body hit the ground, his core exposed and flickering.
“This… How…?” Soketh rasped, his voice weak and fading.
Arlan stood over Soketh’s mangled upper half, Starshadow gleaming faintly in his grasp. Blood and ichor stained the shattered platform, remnants of the devastating battle. Without hesitation, Arlan thrust his greatsword into Soketh’s head, piercing the core that resided within. A final pulse of dark energy dissipated as the Prime Naraka Lord let out a soundless cry, his essence fading into the abyss.
“Enough out of you,” Arlan growled, his voice low and resolute. “I won this time, and I’ll win every fucking time.”
Arlan had finally defeated Soketh. He was relieved that he managed to do it. The crimson barrier encasing the battlefield shattered, its oppressive aura lifting from the air.
A wave of silence followed, heavy and unnatural. Arlan straightened, his breaths steadying as he looked out across the platform. Something felt off. His [Heraldic Vision] instinctively, scanning the surroundings.
He froze.
His Strike Team—Marie, Chrysta, Niren, Savage, Lucius, and Akasha—stood motionless on the fragmented platforms. Below, the Royal Army and the dark fiends alike were frozen in mid-battle, locked in a tableau of suspended time. Even the wind seemed still, the crackling remnants of Soketh’s dark mana eerily silent.
“Sophia,” Arlan said, his voice echoing in his mind. “What’s happening?”
Her reply came fragmented, as though something was interfering with her presence. “Something… coming… my… liege…” Her voice crackled, fading to static.
A cold chill swept over him, deeper than any physical wound. Arlan turned sharply, his senses heightened, every nerve in his body screaming danger. There, in the distance, he felt it—a presence ten times more powerful than Soketh. It was oppressive yet calm, a storm held in perfect stillness.
“Show yourself!” Arlan bellowed, Starshadow raised. His metallic wings unfurled as he prepared for whatever might come next. “I know you’re there!”
The stillness was broken by a low, otherworldly laugh, reverberating like distant thunder. A dark purple ripple of mana materialized before Arlan, twisting and expanding into a swirling portal. The void within shimmered like a starless night, and from it emerged a figure that made even Arlan’s godlike form feel small.
The being stood tall, humanoid in shape but distinctly unnatural. His dark fiendish features contrasted sharply with the pristine white tunic he wore, its simplicity unsettling amidst his malevolent aura. His eyes, glowing faintly with violet energy, met Arlan’s with an unsettling calm.
“You’ve become even more powerful than I ever imagined, Ashra,” the being said, his voice resonant and smooth. “Stronger than Soketh, stronger than even I anticipated.”
“You’re not Soketh,” Arlan said, his grip tightening on Starshadow. “Who are you?”
The figure offered a faint smile. “We’ve never met, yet I know you well. I am Nithala, the Void King of the dark planes. The creator and ruler of my world.”
Arlan’s eyes narrowed, his stance unyielding. “Is all of this your doing? The frozen time? The dark fiends?”
“The frozen time, yes,” Nithala replied, his tone even. “The dark fiends, no. That chaos was Soketh’s doing, not mine.”
“Why are you here?” Arlan demanded, his voice sharp. “What do you want?”
Nithala’s gaze fell to the remains of Soketh. “I’ve come to collect what remains of my champion.”
“You’re not getting him,” Arlan said, stepping forward. Starshadow glowed faintly, ready to strike. “He dies here. I’m not letting him resurrect to fight me again.”
Nithala raised a hand, not in defense but in a gesture of patience. “Arlan, I am not your enemy. Allow me to explain before you make me one.”
Arlan hesitated, the weight of Nithala’s presence forcing him to listen. “Talk.”
“If Soketh’s soul is left here, it will corrupt the flow of mana in your world,” Nithala explained, his tone calm but insistent. “Althea will become like my realm—shrouded in darkness forever.”
Arlan’s jaw tightened. “And I’m just supposed to trust you?”
“If I meant to harm you, Ashra, I would have already done so,” Nithala said, his voice unwavering. “You’ve felt my power. You know this to be true.”
Arlan couldn’t deny it. Nithala radiated an aura that dwarfed even Soketh’s. There was no reason for the Void King to lie—his presence alone was proof of his dominance. Still, Arlan wasn’t ready to concede. “Why do you care what happens to Althea? It’s not your world.”
Nithala sighed, his gaze distant. “Because my world wasn’t always a realm of darkness. Soketh was once like you—a champion brought from another world to save mine. But he was corrupted by a rogue Ethereal, driven to madness, and destroyed everything I was meant to protect.”
“Ethereal? Soketh was like me?” Arlan’s voice softened, the revelation sinking in. “You’re saying he wasn’t born of your world?”
“No,” Nithala confirmed. “He was an Arusan Union soldier from Terra. His real name was Garret Blackburn, a man summoned by the Council of Ethereals to combat a great threat. Us Ethereals, are what you know as Gods.”
“What the hell? He was from my home, Terra?” Arlan whispered, the name pulling at old memories. “How did he end up like this?”
“He defeated the catastrophic threat sent by the rogue Ethereal, but it was a trap,” Nithala explained. “The battle corrupted him, twisting his soul into the Naraka Lord you know as Soketh.”
“And you allowed him to cross into Althea?” Arlan asked, his tone accusatory.
Nithala shook his head. “I did not. Soketh mastered the ability to travel between planes, drawn here by the Disk of Absolution—and by you.”
“By me?”
“You killed him once before, didn’t you?” Nithala said, his violet eyes sharp. “On Terra. That act wove a web of fate between you. He seeks you out across worlds, bound by vengeance.”
Arlan stared at Nithala, the pieces falling into place. Soketh’s obsession, his relentless pursuit—it all traced back to that fateful moment on Terra. “Alright then… Take him,” Arlan said finally, his voice heavy. “And make sure he stays dead.”
“You have my word,” Nithala replied. He knelt, gathering Soketh’s remains. “You’ve given my champion the peace he could not find in my realm. For that, I thank you.”
“Wait, before you go,” Arlan said, his voice cutting through the tense stillness. He stepped forward, Starshadow still in his hand, its glow now dim. His crimson eyes locked onto Nithala. “Is that what will happen to me? Was I brought here by the Council of Ethereals?”
The Void King paused, his expression unreadable as though weighing what to reveal. After a moment of silence, he nodded slowly. “You are this world’s champion,” Nithala said. “Though champions are not unique—many worlds have more than one. You were brought here with a singular purpose: to be Althea’s defender. And you have fulfilled that purpose… time and time again.”
Arlan’s brow furrowed. “You’re avoiding my question. Is that what will happen to me?” as Arlan nodded at Soketh.
Nithala’s violet gaze darkened. “You are the greatest weapon this world has ever known, Arlan. Your power eclipses anything this realm could muster. But because of that, you are also the rogue Ethereal’s primary target. The more you ascend, the more likely he’ll try and corrupt you with dark mana.”
“I see,” Arlan’s voice was sharp now. “I can… become another Soketh?”
“Yes,” Nithala said simply. “The rogue Ethereal thrives on turning champions like you into Naraka Lords. Your strength, your willpower—they are safeguards, but they are not impervious. Should you become corrupted, Althea will suffer devastation it cannot recover from.”
Arlan’s grip tightened on his blade, his voice quieter now. “Does that mean I’m bound to Althea forever?”
The Void King hesitated before speaking again. “You are tied to this world, yes. But not irreversibly. There is a way for you to go home—to Terra. To the exact moment you were taken.”
At Nithala’s words, a ripple of green mana formed in the air beside him, swirling into a large portal. Its emerald light reflected on the shattered platform, bathing Arlan in its glow.
“This portal can take you back now,” Nithala said, his tone neutral but weighted. “It is within my power and jurisdiction to send you. You have fulfilled your contract to the Council of Ethereals countless times over.”
Arlan’s heart quickened, the sight of the portal stirring long-buried memories. “This… this will take me back to Terra?” he asked, a flicker of hope in his voice.
“Yes,” Nithala confirmed. “But know this, Arlan. You’ve been given this choice before. Multiple times. And every single time, you chose not to leave.” His tone softened. “I don’t think I need to tell you why.”
Arlan’s hope wavered, replaced by a knot of uncertainty. “If I leave,” he said slowly, “what happens to Althea?”
Nithala’s expression grew somber. “Ruin will come, yes. But it is possible—however unlikely—that the denizens of Althea may find a way to prevail without you. Until the rogue Ethereal is vanquished, no one—not even the Council—can know for certain what fate awaits this world, with or without you.”
Arlan’s gaze dropped to the ground, his thoughts churning. “How many times… how many times have I been resurrected here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“This is your fifth life,” Nithala replied. “Your soul and core were collected by one of the Ethereals of this world. Your original body died long ago—over four thousand years ago, when you first arrived.”
Arlan’s breath hitched, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. “All of this time… this body… it isn’t even mine.”
Nithala inclined his head. “No. But the original Arlan willingly surrendered it for you. It is yours by right. You owe it to the soul of that body to see it through.”
Arlan looked up at the portal, its swirling light reflecting in his crimson eyes. “All of this…” he muttered. “And I still don’t know if I’ve done enough.”
“It is much to bear for a mortal,” Nithala said, his voice gentler now. “But before I leave, heed this. Do not speak of this meeting or these truths to anyone in Althea until the Ethereals of this world come to you again. Focus on what you must do. The rogue Ethereal’s threat will rise when the time demands it. Until then, stay the course. I believe you were about to journey east, to the Firane Kingdom.”
Arlan nodded faintly, though his mind was far from settled. “Thank you… Nithala.”
The Void King paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And one last thing. The title, Ashra, was not bestowed upon you by the demons of this world. It was given to you by the Ethereals. It doesn’t mean ‘the blessed one,’ as some believe. You are the blessing itself, Arlan. Until we meet again.”
With that, Nithala stepped through his dark portal, carrying Soketh’s remains with him. The ripple of mana vanished, leaving Arlan alone with the green portal still glowing before him.
Arlan stared at the portal, his heart aching with indecision. Images of Terra filled his mind—his brothers-in-arms, the Te’Vau, their laughter and camaraderie. Despite the passage of time, his love for them had never faded. He could return to them, to the world he left behind. He could go home.
And yet, as he looked toward the sight of the Strike Team frozen in time—Marie, Chrysta, Niren, Savage, Akasha, Lucius, JD, Yuna, and Yanie. Their faces, locked in expressions of battle and determination, tugged at his heart. He had come to love them, just as much as he loved the Te’Vau.
“I may be the reason this world dies,” Arlan muttered to himself. “What if I leave now, and it’s better for them? What if I actually do end up bringing destruction?” He clenched his fists. “But what if they have no chance without me?”
He looked down at his hands, scarred and bloodied from centuries of battle. His very existence felt foreign, a borrowed vessel carrying the weight of countless lifetimes. “Have I loved others in these past lives?” he wondered aloud. “Did I choose to forget them? And if I stay… Will I forget them too?”
The portal hummed softly, its light beckoning him. Arlan took a step forward, then another, until he was just a breath away from entering. He stared into the swirling green mana, his thoughts a maelstrom.
“But if I…”
Moments later, the dark fiends surrounding the Strike Team began to fade, their forms dissolving into motes of ash that drifted aimlessly on the wind. On the battlefield below, soldiers of the Royal Army and the allied banners began to cheer, the realization of their victory spreading like wildfire. The oppressive aura of Soketh’s presence was gone, and with it, the endless waves of dark fiends.
High above the battlefield, Marie hovered, her fiery wings flickering with exhaustion as she scanned the scene. Relief flickered in her chest as she saw the enemy ranks thinning, but her attention quickly turned upward, to the shattered remains of the platform where Arlan had faced Soketh.
“Arlan,” she breathed, her voice soft. She beat her wings hard, propelling herself toward the floating ruins. As she ascended, her heart raced. Something felt wrong. She didn’t feel his presence—not the steady, overwhelming essence that always reassured her, even in the darkest moments.
She landed on the platform, her boots scraping against the jagged stone. The air was heavy with the remnants of battle, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the acrid scent of scorched mana.
Rubble was strewn everywhere, and deep gouges in the stone marked where Soketh’s greatsword had clashed with Starshadow. The platform was eerily silent, save for the faint whistle of the wind.
“Arlan, you did it!” Marie called, her voice carrying across the desolate space. “Where are you?”
She waited for a response, straining her ears for even the faintest sound, but there was only silence. Her fiery wings flared slightly as she stepped forward, searching the wreckage with growing desperation. “Come on, you bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her hands clenched into fists. “Don’t you dare pull something stupid now.”
Marie began to search more frantically, pushing aside chunks of debris and scanning every shadowed crevice. Her breaths came faster, a lump forming in her throat as each moment passed without finding him. “Arlan!” she shouted again, louder this time. “You hear me?! You promised! You promised you’d win and come back!”
Her voice cracked on the last word, the overwhelming dread tightening around her chest. She leapt onto a higher fragment of the platform, her fiery wings flaring to give her a boost. From the vantage point, she looked over the expanse of ruins. Her vision blurred with tears as she saw no sign of him.
“No, no, no…” she muttered, shaking her head as she refused to accept what her eyes were telling her. “You’re here. I know you’re here.”
Marie landed hard back onto the lower level, her knees buckling slightly as she stumbled forward. Her voice grew raw as she called out once more. “Quit fucking joking, you piece of shit! Come out!” Her hands trembled as they reached for another piece of debris, tossing it aside with reckless abandon. “There’s no way… there’s just no fucking way…”
Her breaths became uneven, catching in her throat as the realization began to take hold. Her fiery wings flickered, their glow dimming as her strength faltered. She dropped to her knees amidst the rubble, her body shaking as tears streamed freely down her face.
“You promised,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hands clenched into fists, pressing into the cracked stone beneath her. “You said you’d beat him… so why?! Did you… sacrifice yourself…?”
Her anguish ignited around her, demonic fire flaring uncontrollably from her body. The flames swirled in the air, reflecting the depth of her despair and rage. The platform beneath her cracked further, small pieces crumbling away into the void below. The fire burned hotter, licking at her surroundings as her cries grew louder.
“You selfish, arrogant bastard!” she screamed, her voice raw with emotion. “You said we’d win together! You said you’d never leave us!” The fire reached its peak, surging outward in a violent burst that sent a wave of heat rippling across the platform.
And then, just as quickly as it had risen, the flames began to subside. Marie’s mana drained away, leaving her trembling and hollow. She collapsed forward, her hands catching on the jagged stone as she sobbed openly. Her voice was soft now, a broken whisper. “Please don’t leave me…” Her shoulders shook as her tears fell onto the stone, her pain laid bare for the empty battlefield to witness.
As Marie knelt there, consumed by grief, a warmth spread across her shoulder—gentle and steady, a sensation that cut through the cold emptiness of the moment. Her breath hitched, and her tear-streaked face shot upward.
A shadow fell over her, and her wide, tear-filled eyes met a familiar face. Arlan stood before her, his armor battered, his draconian wings folded tightly against his back. Blood streaked his face, and his posture was weary, but his crimson eyes shone with life. He gave her a faint, tired smile.
“Sorry I made you cry,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “I just needed a moment to myself. High above the platform.”
Briefly, Marie stared at him in disbelief. Her mind struggled to reconcile the sight of him with the grief that had consumed her moments before. Then, with a strangled cry, she threw herself at him, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso.
“You asshole!” she choked out, her voice muffled against his chest. “You scared the hell out of me! Don’t ever do that again! Ever!”
Arlan winced slightly, his battered body protesting the force of her embrace, but he let out a soft chuckle. “Noted. I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”
Marie pulled back just enough to look up at him, her tear-streaked face etched with relief and anger all at once. “There better not be a next time,” she said, her tone sharp despite the tremor in her voice.
Arlan reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his smile softening. “I’ll do my best. But you know me… always in the thick of it.”
Marie punched him lightly in the chest, her strength returning as her anger flared briefly. “Idiot,” she muttered, though her voice was gentler now. She rested her forehead against his chest, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. “You really are the worst.”
“And yet, here you are,” Arlan said, his voice light but filled with affection.
For a moment, they stood there amidst the ruins, the world around them forgotten. The fires of the battle had burned out, but the embers of their bond glowed brighter than ever.