Residual energy hummed from the wooden portal as they stepped through, emerging outside the potion shop. Above, a ghostly sun strained to break through thick, brooding clouds, casting a dim and sickly light over the city. Carlin’s streets had transformed into a fortress, barricades marking the onset of an inevitable clash. The air was thick and suffocating, as though the city itself held its breath, awaiting the storm.
Guards, archers, and mages stood in rigid formation, their cloaked figures an impenetrable wall. Each bore the King’s insignia, their faces obscured in shadow save for the steely glints in their eyes.
This was more than preparation for battle—it was an extermination.
At the center, the towering commander of the guard raised a scroll, his voice slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade.
“Akilliz Ashendale, and all who resist the King’s law, are hereby sentenced. You and your families will be executed. Surrender now, and your deaths will be swift and painless. Do you surrender?”
The proclamation lingered, heavy and ominous, seeping into the very stones beneath their feet. The Master Sorcerer stepped forward, his staff now in hand. Behind him, Erazon surveyed the scene—the unyielding ranks of soldiers, the sharp gleam of swords, and the eerie stillness of mages poised for their spells.
Tension choked the battlefield, thick with the promise of violence. The Guard Commander, just moments from giving the attack order, froze as a shadow passed behind him. From the darkness, Monk Kiatsu emerged, his skeletal frame gliding silently beneath a tattered cloak. The faint chime of the bells on his wrist pierced the stillness, sending shivers through those within earshot.
The commander stiffened, eyes widening. "Monk? What brings you here?" His voice wavered, caught between reverence and uncertainty.
His lips twisted into a slow, deliberate smile. "Commander of the guards, is it? Quite the title." His words dripped with a sinister confidence, undercut by something far darker. "Tell me, do you know who founded this city?"
Thrown off guard, the commander stammered. "I... I don’t know. It’s been lost to time."
A soft, eerie chuckle echoed through the air, the sound like the rustling of dry leaves. “Strange, isn’t it? You’ve spoken his name countless times, yet you remain unaware.” Amusement flickered in his gaze as the commander stammered, his confusion clear.
The air shifted suddenly. The smile vanished, replaced by a predatory glare. “This is no ordinary city,” came the chilling rasp. With a slow, deliberate motion, he spread his arms wide as dark energy crackled around him. “This is the city of…DEATH.”
A chill swept over the guards. Shadows gathered at Kiatsu’s feet, deepening as the temperature plummeted. The bells chimed again, their haunting tones now echoing like a death knell.
Before their horrified eyes, Kiatsu began to transform. His frail body twisted grotesquely, skin stretching tight over his bones until he resembled a decayed husk. His fingers elongated into claws, and his eyes hollowed into dark pits. The tattered robes draping his form shifted, morphing into the vestments of a Deathly Apostle. Above him, the sigil of Death flared, pulsing with arcane power.
The guards stumbled back in terror. The Commander’s grip on his sword faltered, his hands shaking.
The Apostate’s voice dropped into a rasp, chilling and ancient. "This city belongs to Lord Death. You...sir…are trespassing."
The words sank into the air like poison. Unease spread through the guards as fear locked them in place. Orlithar, standing at the front lines, couldn’t suppress the savage grin that spread across his face. He watched as their enemies’ courage crumbled.
"Ranged units, fire!" The commander’s voice cracked, desperation clear as he gave the order.
In an instant, the sky darkened with arrows, fireballs, and dark spells. Orlithar reacted swiftly, slamming his staff into the ground. A brilliant wall of white energy flared up, shielding the group from the onslaught. Magic crackled through the air as the projectiles collided with the barrier, shaking the very earth beneath them.
“Take cover!” Orlithar’s voice boomed above the chaos. Explosions erupted harmlessly against the shield, the ground trembling from the impact, but the dwarf’s magic held firm.
Behind him, Godric slipped a ring onto his finger, his skin hardening into stone, transforming him into an immovable bulwark, ready for the clash ahead. Elizza’s brow furrowed in concentration as she summoned her own glowing green shield, its energy crackling with protective power. Nearby, Erazon conjured a golden one, its light shimmering as he frantically flipped through his spellbook, searching for something—anything—that could shift the tide.
But no spell revealed itself.
Without pause, Orlithar launched a counterattack. His staff shot forward, unleashing a shockwave that expanded the barrier, smashing into the guards and flinging them back into their barricades.
Laughter, dark and twisted, echoed through the din of battle. The air shimmered with a sudden surge of malevolent energy, and a pentagram etched itself into the ground. From its center, Vicious rose—now a towering death knight in decayed armor, his hollow eyes aflame with malice.
With a thunderous roar, the undead knight charged, his massive sword cleaving down toward Orlithar’s barrier. Cracks spider-webbed across the surface, the ground shaking from the force of the blow. The dwarven mage staggered but did not waver.
“Fall back if ye can’t fight!” Orlithar’s voice rang out as he raised his staff high, bolts of white-hot magic streaking toward the archers on the rooftops. His spell tore through their defenses, sending rubble and shattered bodies raining down.
Beside him, Monk Kiatsu lifted his skeletal hand, summoning a swarm of death bats. The creatures screeched as they swooped into the enemy ranks, ripping into guards and scattering their formation.
Amid the chaos, Erazon stood back, frustration gnawing at him. The whispers of death in his mind grew louder, more seductive, beckoning him deeper into the darkness. "End them, burn them" they urged, and his hands trembled with temptation. Should he draw out his dagger? Should he surrender to the whispers?
At the edge of the barrier, two guards flanked the shield, blades raised for an attack. Panic surged in Erazon’s chest. His magic wouldn’t be enough; their armor was too thick.
Without hesitation, his body moved on instinct. His hand shot out, gripping one guard by the throat. The man’s eyes widened in terror, but the pull of death magic was too strong. In a heartbeat, the guard’s soul was ripped from his body, leaving behind only an empty husk.
Power surged through Erazon, intoxicating in its potency. But horror quickly followed—he had taken a life with a touch. What was he becoming?
The whispers clawed at his mind, relentless. "More," they hissed, coiling tighter around his thoughts. His hands shook under the weight of the stolen power.
A second guard rushed forward, sword gleaming in the dim light. Elizza’s shield flickered, its protective glow weakening as she glanced at him.
If he hesitated, she would die.
A dark glow pulsed from Erazon’s spellbook. “Take his life,” it whispered. His hand ignited with black flames, moving without conscious thought. The Reaper’s Touch gripped the guard, and his soul was torn free, just as easily as the first.
Power surged through him—stronger, darker. The deeper it went, the more it terrified him. “Forge their souls,” the whispers urged, tightening their grip. Erazon felt the energy inside, raw and waiting to be shaped.
For a moment, he hesitated, guilt gnawing at him. What have I done? But with the guards closing in, there was no time for doubt.
“Soul Forge!” The words burst from his lips.
The air shimmered as the stolen souls twisted, reshaping his wand into a blade of death. Black and white flames licked the curved edge, pulsing with a cold, lethal energy. He felt its weight and knew this was no ordinary sword—it was death itself.
From across the battlefield, Elizza’s gaze locked with his. Horror filled her eyes at the sight of the sword, while his face remained etched with grim resolve.
This isn’t you, she thought, her chest tightening. The battlefield roared around them, magic clashing and arrows raining down. She forced herself to focus. You can’t save everyone. Just hold on.
But no matter how much she tried to push the sight from her mind, the image of Erazon’s soul-forged blade, swirling with death, haunted her.
He’s slipping away... and I can’t stop him.
She strengthened her shield, green light blazing briefly, though it was only a matter of time. She could feel the pressure mounting, wondering how long they could hold out. Please... just a little more time.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes met again. Erazon, wielding the sword of death, and her, standing behind her fading green barrier.
Don’t lose yourself. Please... But deep down, she knew. He was already too far gone. In this battle, there was no time for doubt—only survival.
I will protect her, Erazon thought, even as the whispers gnawed at him.
Further down the battlefield, inside the potion shop, Akilliz led the resistance fighters. Spells shot out of windows toward the advancing guards, and one struck a rooftop mage, knocking their hood back to reveal a skull with molten red eyes.
A booming voice cut through the chaos before anyone could react.
“I know who you are now, Mistwalker!” Wild-Wizard’s voice thundered as he leapt down from the rooftops, a crackling scythe in hand. Orlithar, still struggling to hold the barrier against Vicious’s relentless assault, staggered. His staff glowed with white-hot energy, but he held firm, ready for the next strike.
Wild landed heavily, dark magic swirling around him. His skeletal gaze locked onto Erazon, a malevolent grin spreading across his decayed face. “I’ll turn you into my servant and take that artifact!”
Only Orlithar’s faltering barrier stood between them.
“Like hell you will!” Erazon’s voice rang out, catching the dwarf’s attention. Orlithar straightened, his staff still glowing with energy.
But even as the words left his mouth, doubt crept in. Can we really stop this? The battlefield was a storm of chaos—flashes of magic, the screams of the dying, and the relentless surge of the undead. He had fought through so much, pushed his limits, yet Wild-Wizard seemed untouchable.
Is this a fight I can win? The uncertainty gnawed at him.
He tightened his grip on his sword, trying to push the doubt aside. No. I can't falter now. Not with Elizza at my side. Not when everything is at stake.
With a grunt of effort, Orlithar slammed the staff into the ground. The earth trembled, and from the shadows, a towering minotaur burst forth, charging through the barrier. Guards were trampled beneath its hooves as it tore into their ranks.
Wild raised his scythe, unleashing a shockwave of magic that shattered nearby buildings, sending debris flying in all directions. The minotaur staggered but continued its assault, undeterred. Wild snarled and struck again, this time sending the beast crashing into the rubble. “Get out of my way!” he spat, turning his fury back toward the dwarven mage.
“Elizza!” Erazon’s voice cracked with urgency as her shield flickered under the relentless onslaught. Exhaustion drained her pale face, and she struggled to hold on.
Gritting his teeth, Erazon charged toward her, slashing through the nearest guard. His sword hummed with dark energy, growing more powerful with each life it claimed.
“Godric!” Erazon shouted, barely cutting through the din of battle. “I need your help to reach Orlithar!”
Godric smashed his hammer into another guard, arcs of lightning crackling from the impact. He turned, eyes locking on Erazon. “Aye!” he called back, but before he could move, Wild’s laughter echoed across the battlefield, cold and mocking.
“Mistwalker!” Wild-Wizard’s voice was laced with derision. “You’ve been hiding from me for far too long.”
Orlithar’s barrier, already cracking under the relentless barrage, flickered weakly. Exhaustion lined the dwarf’s face, yet the fire in his eyes remained unbroken.
"This ends now, lad!" Orlithar roared, his voice booming across the battlefield. The weight of the moment pressed down on all of them, even as chaos raged. There was no turning back.
He gripped his staff tightly, knuckles white with strain. "You want to see death, Wizard?" His shout shook the very ground beneath them, a promise of terrible power.
With a mighty cry, Orlithar slammed his staff into the earth. "NINTH GATE!"
The cobblestones cracked and split apart, and from the earth rose a massive black gate. It towered above the battlefield, a portal to the Underworld itself. Skeletal figures, carved into its surface, clutched enormous keys, their hollow eyes glowing with sinister light as though judging every soul on the field.
Chains of gold and iron rattled ominously as they slid across the gate, unlocking its ancient secrets. A bone-chilling wind swept through the battlefield as the heavy doors creaked open, revealing an abyss of red mist and shadow. The ground trembled beneath their feet as the massive doors groaned wider, the sound like the tolling of a death knell.
From the depths, a flood of wraiths poured forth—hundreds of them, cloaked in shadow and wielding gleaming scythes. They moved with terrifying speed, their hollow eyes glowing with insatiable hunger. Guards, archers, and mages had barely begun to scream before the wraiths descended, slicing through flesh and armor with ease. The air filled with the cacophony of agony—screams, the whoosh of scythes, and the hollow cries of the wraiths.
“We’ve got them!” Godric’s triumphant shout rang out as his hammer crushed another guard. He watched as the wraiths tore through the enemy ranks, hope flaring brightly in his chest for the first time. Victory seemed within reach.
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But the hope was short-lived.
Wild-Wizard stood unmoved in the chaos, his skeletal form shrouded in a dark aura. He remained untouched by the carnage. Beside him, Knight Vicious stood tall, his decayed armor glowing with dark energy. Neither were affected by the death magic ravaging the battlefield.
Orlithar’s grin of triumph faltered as he saw Wild raise his scythe, dark energy pulsing ominously from its blade. “Gate, close!” Wild’s voice boomed, unnatural and resonant.
To their horror, the massive gate began to groan as the chains that had rattled moments before whipped back into place, slamming the doors shut. The wraiths screamed in defiance as they were pulled toward the closing gate, their ethereal forms clawing at the earth in a futile struggle. But Wild’s command was absolute. One by one, they were dragged into the red mist, their scythes vanishing last.
Even the minotaur, which had fought so fiercely beside Orlithar, wasn’t spared. Its hooves dug into the ground as it resisted with all its might, but with a mournful bellow, it too was dragged into the abyss.
Orlithar gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body straining as he poured the more of his waning strength into keeping the gate open. His staff glowed, trembling with power, but the force pulling the gate shut was overwhelming. Sweat poured down his face as he fought the inevitable. “No...” His voice was little more than a whisper, hoarse with desperation.
But it was too late. With a final, earth-shaking thud, the gate slammed shut, sealing the gates of hell once more.
A chilling silence settled over the battlefield. The wraiths were gone, and with them, the magic that had offered them hope. The dwarven sorcerer stood panting, his body trembling from the effort of the failed spell. His staff, still glowing faintly, felt like a lead weight in his hands.
Wild-Wizard’s grin stretched wider, his skeletal face twisting into a grotesque mockery of a smile. “Did you think you could defeat me with death itself?” His voice dripped with disdain. “I am death. You have already lost.”
With a sudden lunge, Wild struck, his scythe slicing through Orlithar’s weakened barrier as if it were nothing. The barrier shattered, shards of glowing energy scattering across the cobblestones. Orlithar stumbled back, his breath ragged. The crushing weight of failure bore down on him. His defenses were gone.
Erazon saw the opening and felt the rush of dark energy surge through him.
This is it, he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. His hands tightened around the hilt of his soul-forged sword, blazing with black and white flames. The power, once intoxicating, pulsed through his veins, but with it came the gnawing whispers of death. He had cut through everything in his path so far. Surely, this would be enough to end Wild.
But as he prepared to strike, doubt clawed at him. Am I strong enough? The battlefield spun around him, dust rising with every step he took, the chaotic storm of magic and death swirling in the air. He could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet as though the very earth protested his next move. Wild stood before him, unmoved, untouched, the dark aura around him a suffocating force.
No more hesitation, he told himself. No more fear.
He had to act.
With a cry that echoed his resolve, he charged forward, gripping the hilt tightly as he swung the blade with all his might. Dust kicked up in his wake as the ground quaked beneath him. The blade struck true, sinking deep into Wild-Wizard’s skeletal form.
For a fleeting moment, triumph surged through his chest. He had done it. He had struck Wild down.
But the moment passed.
The sword embedded in the undead mage’s shoulder didn’t draw a wince of pain, only a smile—a cold, terrifying twist of satisfaction. He glanced down at the blade with molten red eyes, completely unfazed.
"Again." His voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a command that sent ice through Erazon’s veins.
Erazon froze. The thrill of victory drained from him like water from a broken vessel, replaced by cold dread. His hands trembled on the hilt of his sword, the power he had felt moments ago evaporating. I’ve underestimated him... It’s too late.
Before he could react, Wild raised his hand, dark energy crackling at his fingertips. A blast of necrotic magic exploded from his palm, slamming into Erazon’s chest. The impact was like a hammer to his ribs.
His body flew across the battlefield, tumbling like a ragdoll. Pain flared through every bone as he crashed to the ground. The world blurred around him, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. Gasping for breath, he fought to stay conscious, but the whispers of death clawed at his mind, dragging him toward oblivion.
“Elizza!” The name formed on his lips, but before he could call out, her scream pierced the air.
She sprinted toward him, her hands glowing with healing magic. Desperation laced her voice as she pressed her palms to his chest, channeling everything she had into him. “Please, Erazon, we need you!” But his breathing remained shallow, slipping further from her grasp.
No time to recover.
Wild’s gaze shifted away from him, his smile growing as cruel satisfaction crept into his expression. His scythe tapped the ground, the sound reverberating through the battlefield. A moment of eerie stillness followed.
Then, with a sickening groan, the bodies of the fallen began to stir.
His ruby eyes gleamed with triumph. “Rise.”
All around them, the slain guards, mages, and archers twitched and jerked, their lifeless forms rising under his command. Glowing with undead energy, they turned, weapons raised, marching toward Erazon and his allies. The dead were ready to fight once more.
In the distance, Orlithar’s trembling hands struggled to lift his staff. Vicious loomed above him, sword poised for the final blow. Nearly every ounce of strength had drained from Orlithar—he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.
Beside Erazon, Elizza knelt, encircled by the relentless dead. Her green shield flickered under the weight of their attacks, the glow dimming as exhaustion overtook her. A jagged gash on her arm bled freely, staining the purple dress beneath her cloak.
Teeth clenched, she fought to keep the shield intact, but it was dangerously close to shattering. Her face, streaked with ash, was a mask of panic. Her usually flawles, light blue hair had fallen into disarray, strands clinging to her sweat-soaked skin. “I can’t hold them!” she cried, her voice tight, strained with effort.
Nearby, Godric’s hammer smashed into the undead with all his might. But for every one he destroyed, two more pressed in. The sheer weight of bodies bore down on him, forcing his legs to buckle. “They’re everywhere!” Panic edged his voice as the swarm closed in.
At the heart of the battlefield, Monk Kiatsu fought with fierce intensity. His skeletal claws ripped through the enemy ranks, but the endless waves of undead began to overwhelm him. The eerie chime of the bells around his wrist echoed like a final warning, a reminder of his fading strength.
Wild strode confidently toward Erazon, his scythe humming with lethal energy. His cold gaze settled on the fallen Mistwalker. Erazon, barely clinging to consciousness, felt the whispers of death growing louder, pulling him deeper into the void.
“It’s over, Mistwalker.” Wild’s voice oozed triumph as he raised the scythe for the final blow.
Erazon’s vision blurred. His limbs felt impossibly heavy. He could do nothing but watch as the blade descended. This was the end.
But then—
A roaring inferno erupted beside Wild-Wizard, casting a blinding light over the battlefield. The heat surged so intensely that Wild froze mid-strike, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the source.
Through the wall of fire, a figure emerged.
It was Solena.
The sight of her standing beside Wild-Wizard shattered Erazon’s heart. Flames coiled around her like a living force, her auburn hair glowing, but her eyes—those eyes he had fought so hard to see freed—were hollow, distant.
No... not her. Not again.
A thousand questions tore through his mind. Was the curse back? Had she chosen this? He had done everything to break her free from Wild’s control—fought through hell, watched over her as she slept, believing she would have her life back. He had trusted in her strength, her goodness.
But now, seeing her like this... the thought clawed at him. Was it all a lie? The betrayal stung, twisting in his gut.
Wild’s command echoed in the air, “Finish him,” his voice dripping with triumph.
His eyes met Solena’s. His chest tightened with the weight of it all. What have I done wrong? Did I fail you?
He wanted to believe she was still in there, somewhere, fighting to break free. But the flames crackling at her fingertips, the power she wielded now—it felt like she was lost to him.
Please, Solena... not you.
Not far off, Godric’s knuckles tightened on his hammer, his face grimacing in disgust. The sight of Solena at Wild’s side reignited the bitter memory of the fire that had destroyed his home in Mistwood—the fire she had set. “I knew it,” he growled, his voice thick with anger and grief. “I knew she couldn’t be trusted.”
Elizza, kneeling beside Erazon, felt her heart twist with painful betrayal. She had believed Solena could be redeemed, that beneath the curse Wild had inflicted on her, there was still good. Now, seeing her at Wild’s side, Elizza felt like a fool. “I should have seen it,” she whispered, stepping protectively in front of Erazon, her shield sparking with defensive energy. “She was always one of them…”
Orlithar, his face etched with shock, could only stare. He had broken the curse on Solena, freed her from Wild’s control. “No… I freed her,” he muttered, his voice trembling with disbelief. “I broke the curse. How could this be?” His grip tightened on his staff, but his hands shook. Is Wild’s power truly this strong?
The heat intensified as Solena’s hands ignited, flames curling up her arms like serpents. The energy around her was dangerous, lethal, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed she would strike Erazon down. But in her eyes, a flicker of hesitation betrayed her true intent—things were not as they seemed.
Then it happened.
Chains of fire erupted from the ground, shooting up and wrapping around Wild-Wizard’s skeletal form. His eyes widened in shock as the fiery bindings tightened, glowing with searing heat. His dark magic flickered.
“What?” He snarled, struggling against the chains, but the more he fought, the tighter they grew. His once-formidable power faltered. “You dare—?”
The flames around Solena burned hotter, her voice trembling with long-suppressed rage. “I’ve broken the curse you placed on me.” Her eyes, blazing with fury, reflected the memories of years under his control. “You took everything from me!” The ground beneath her scorched as her power surged out of control. “You will burn!”
The fiery chains brightened, their intensity warping the air around them. Her hands burned, her skin shimmering and cracking under the heat, but she didn’t care. Her dress ignited, her hair became a crown of fire. Her once-kind eyes now blazed like twin suns, unyielding and fierce.
Amid the chaos, Solena felt herself momentarily consumed by the flames—her flames. Years of helpless rage, fueled by the curse that had shackled her, now stoked the inferno. Her entire body ached from the intensity, but it felt righteous. For the first time in years, she was free—free to exact her revenge.
Even as her skin cracked and evaporated under the searing heat, she didn’t hesitate. Fueled by anger, vengeance, and sheer will, she drove the chains tighter, forcing Wild-Wizard to his knees. The sound of his bones creaking under the strain was loud and horrific.
Barely conscious, Erazon looked up, heart pounding with awe and confusion. Was this truly Solena, or had she become something far greater? The figure before him, burning with untouchable fury, seemed almost divine.
A surge of guilt washed over him. He had doubted her, feared she had been lost to darkness. But as he lay battered and weak, watching her now, a flicker of hope stirred within him. Solena was still fighting—not just for herself, but for all of them.
Across the battlefield, their allies shared that disbelief, but as the tide shifted, hope began to flicker in their hearts.
Seizing the moment, Orlithar’s eyes brightened with renewed purpose. “Now’s our chance!” he roared, his voice cutting through the din of battle. He raised his staff to the sky, the air around him crackling with power. The earth trembled beneath his feet, raw energy surging through him, fissures spreading through the ground.
“Heavenly Seal!” His voice thundered, as if the Nine themselves answered his call. A glowing diamond of energy began to form around Wild-Wizard, its edges shimmering with unearthly light. The ancient barrier flickered and pulsed, slowly encasing Wild, designed to imprison even the mightiest of foes.
Across the battlefield, the monk sensed the end was near. With a guttural roar, he ripped a bone from his necklace and crushed it in his skeletal hand. “Femur!” The word echoed with primal power as his body twisted grotesquely. His legs lengthened into monstrous limbs, transforming him into an undead werewolf-like behemoth. He thundered across the battlefield, trampling the undead in his path, his claws ripping through decayed flesh. With unstoppable momentum, he collided with Knight Vicious, tackling the armored figure to the ground. “I will devour you!” he snarled, tearing the knight apart with raw, primal power.
Above them, the sky answered Orlithar’s call. The heavens split open, and bolts of white-hot energy rained down like spears of divine judgment. Each bolt tore through the air with deadly precision, striking the undead and reducing them to ash in brilliant explosions of light.
In the midst of this divine onslaught, Godric’s fury ignited. His heart ached as Elizza’s shield flickered, straining under the relentless assault. Desperation fueled him. “No!” he roared, his voice thick with anguish. His hammer crackled with electricity, arcs of lightning dancing along its surface. With a primal scream, he slammed it into the ground, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. The earth exploded beneath him, chunks of stone and dirt flying as the undead were torn apart in flashes of light and destruction.
Elizza, her teeth gritted in determination, whispered a desperate prayer. Her hands glowed with purifying light as she renewed the shield around Erazon, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “I won’t let you take him,” she vowed, pouring every ounce of strength into the barrier. The holy light seared through the undead, crumbling their bodies into dust.
Her concentration faltered, her thoughts drifting as the shield around Erazon pulsed faintly. Failure wasn’t an option—not now. The bond they shared, forged in battles, anchored her as the darkness threatened to overwhelm them. Her gaze flicked toward Godric, watching as he gave everything he had. Pride welled up in her chest for just a moment. Godric wouldn’t stop fighting. Neither would she.
Chains of flame constricted tighter around Wild-Wizard, his scythe trembling in his grip. Infernal fire burned through him, and his dark magic flickered under the unrelenting pressure. Solena’s rage surged with each fiery pulse, her power threatening to consume him. For a fleeting moment, it seemed Wild-Wizard might finally fall.
Orlithar’s hands trembled as he poured every ounce of his strength into maintaining the Heavenly Seal. The glowing diamond shimmered, nearing completion, and victory felt just within their grasp.
But then, the earth shuddered violently. A deep, ominous rumble echoed across the battlefield, cracks splitting the cobblestones beneath their feet. Orlithar’s breath hitched, dread seeping into his voice. “No... this can’t be happening.”
The sky, already thick with storm clouds, shifted into an impenetrable blackness. The last remaining light was swallowed by an all-consuming void. Silence fell, as if the world itself had stopped to witness what was coming.
Reality twisted and buckled. With a single, devastating roar of energy, the heavens tore apart.
Nox, the God of Shadows, had arrived.
A suffocating darkness enveloped the battlefield as Nox’s colossal figure materialized, his form cloaked in shadow. His twisted horns rose like a crown, his mere presence crushing the air. The ground trembled under his weight, and even the magic in the air faltered before the overwhelming force of his power.
A strangled whisper escaped Orlithar’s lips, laden with terror. "Nox... the God of Shadow... What have we done?"
The god’s towering form dominated the battlefield, casting the town into an unnatural twilight. The very earth beneath them groaned, struggling under the weight of his presence.
“This… can’t be,” Godric muttered, his voice shaking.
Yellow eyes, burning through the shadows, locked onto Orlithar. Nox’s voice, heavy with divine authority, reverberated across the battlefield. "Break."
With that single word, Orlithar’s staff splintered like fragile glass. The Heavenly Seal, exploded into shards of light, disintegrating in a burst of raw energy. The battlefield convulsed as the group was flung through the air, their bodies crashing hard into the ground.
The impact knocked the breath from Orlithar’s lungs. Pain rippled through him, the destruction of his staff tearing at his very soul. “No…” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. His gaze fixed on the shattered remnants of his staff, feeling the last flicker of hope die within him.
Wild-Wizard stood untouched, the destruction of the seal fueling his power. His skeletal face twisted into a grin of malicious triumph. “It is over,” he sneered, surveying the broken bodies of his enemies scattered like discarded toys.
From the swirling shadows, Nyxis descended, his blood-red robes billowing like a storm. His arrival was the final, crushing blow. He landed beside Wild-Wizard, the weight of their combined presence making the air feel suffocating.
“Grab the girl, leave the artifact.” Wild-Wizard commanded coldly, as if giving a trivial order.
A scream tore from Elizza’s throat, raw and desperate. She tried to summon her shield, but her power flickered weakly. Nyxis' acolytes moved faster. In a flash of crimson light, they descended upon her, their movements unnaturally swift. In seconds, they had her in their grasp.
“No!” Godric’s roar echoed through the battlefield, panic and fury filling his voice. His eyes widened in horror as he saw his sister being ripped away. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered toward her, heart pounding with helpless rage. But it was too late.
Erazon, still unconscious from Wild’s earlier blast, lay unmoving. His chest barely rose with each shallow breath as Elizza was taken into the shadows. Solena, kneeling beside him, her body bloodied and burned from the battle, tried to stand. Her eyes, dimming from the remnants of her fiery magic, were filled with despair.
But it was too late.
Nyxis and Wild-Wizard vanished into the impenetrable darkness, taking Elizza with them. Her scream echoed faintly, haunting the silence left behind. As the darkness lifted, the battlefield felt hollow, as if it too mourned the loss.
The once-roar of battle had been replaced by a crushing silence. Orlithar lay sprawled on the cobblestones, his chest heaving with labored breaths. The shattered pieces of his staff lay beside him, the shards scattered like the remnants of their shattered hopes. His hands trembled uncontrollably, the weight of what had just happened sinking into his bones.
Staring up at the sky, Orlithar could barely summon the strength to speak. His voice shook, barely a whisper. “That was... Nox... the God of Shadow. What have we done?”
His words hung in the air, a heavy realization that the presence of a God had not only broken their hope but had left them quaking in the aftermath of their failure.
Panting, Godric stumbled forward, his eyes scanning the battlefield, frantic and wild. “Elii... they took her... they took my sister!” His voice cracked as he called out, searching for any sign of her.
Erazon, still lying unconscious, remained battered and broken as the others gathered slowly around him. Solena, her fiery power now reduced to a faint glow, gently touched his face, her expression heavy with guilt and anger. Her earlier triumph had dissolved, replaced by the crushing weight of their defeat.
Bruised, bloodied, but alive—just barely—the group pulled themselves from the rubble, gathering in the shattered remains of what was once the proud town of Carlin.
The battlefield, now eerily quiet, still echoed with the devastation that had unfolded. Carlin lay in ruins, its buildings shattered, its people broken. The light that had once guided them, the hope they had fought for, had been completely extinguished.
They had survived the battle, but with their hope shattered and their hearts heavy, the war loomed darker than ever before.