When the negotiations ended, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. Within two days, Amanécerian forces melted into the desert haze, their positions seamlessly overtaken by the soldiers of Erebus. Once sworn enemies, their blades now pointed in the same direction—toward annihilation, not just of the demon army, but of the three monstrous entities that loomed like gods of destruction over the battlefield.
Under Draco's command, the demons retaliated with ruthless precision, their counteroffensive striking like a viper coiled in the dark.
"General Draco! Reports from our scouts—an unidentified army is advancing through the northwestern mountains!"
Draco's crimson eyes flared. "What?" His voice was low, laced with venom. "Are you telling me the army we've been battling wasn't the real enemy?"
"The coordinates are northwest, eleven!"
Draco's grip on his weapon tightened. If they withdrew now, his troops would be crushed between two merciless forces. A death trap.
"Who the hell is behind this?" he snarled, raking his mind for an answer. But none came.
Meanwhile, Erebus moved like a phantom through the chaos, his strategies coiling around the battlefield like an unseen hand twisting a knife. The demon ranks crumbled beneath his brutal efficiency. There was no mercy, only methodical devastation.
But victory came at a cost.
Despite their numbers—one hundred thousand strong, backed by a cavalry regiment of five thousand—the alliance forces found themselves beset by the demons' terrifying advantages. Their technology was far beyond human craftsmanship, their warbeasts monstrous amalgamations of science and sorcery. Each one tore through soldiers like wheat before the scythe.
The alchemists fought to even the odds, deploying their inventions in desperate countermeasures. Explosions of arcane energy crackled through the smoke-cloaked battlefield.
Blood stained the sands. Steel screamed against steel. The air was thick with the scent of burning flesh and the distant thunder of warbeasts roaring in the twilight.
Erebus led the charge, his dark form a blur of relentless strikes. Lu Yin and Zeraf flanked from the heights, raining destruction upon the enemy ranks. In the rear, Alessio commanded the reserves, holding their ground against the demon onslaught.
And then, through the blood-drenched haze, Draco emerged.
Seated atop his monstrous warbeast, he was a nightmare clad in steel and shadow. His fanged grin glistened as his beast charged.
Erebus moved first—an obsidian blur against the battlefield's carnage. With a single precise strike, he severed the beast's tendons. The monstrous creature bellowed and collapsed, throwing Draco to the ground.
He landed in a crouch, unshaken.
Octavius stiffened. He recognized that face—the same one that had leered as Luciana was ripped from his grasp, the same one responsible for Leila's misery. The sight of him ignited something primal, a rage that burned hotter than the battlefield flames.
Draco's laughter rang like a death knell.
"Well, well," he mused, his blade glinting like a fang. "The war hound and the rat. Together at last."
Erebus's expression darkened. Draco's power was legendary—his speed, his strength, unmatched. Charging in recklessly meant death.
"Don't take the bait," Erebus warned, sensing Octavius tense beside him.
Octavius exhaled sharply. "Then tell me—what's his weakness?"
Erebus's mind raced. "He's a vampire. Sunlight and holy water are his bane."
Octavius's fingers brushed against the small vial at his belt—the holy water he always carried. A weapon against the dark, meant to heal, yet capable of destroying.
Draco's smirk widened. "I know what you're thinking."
And then he moved.
Faster than thought.
His blade screamed through the air, crashing against theirs with bone-shattering force. The impact sent shockwaves through their arms.
The battle began anew.
But beneath the bloodshed, one thought plagued them both:
Why must I fight beside him?
---
The Awakening of the Earth's Doom
Far beyond the battlefield, Helios led his army into the belly of the mountains.
Dashret's Veil stretched before them, a realm carved from nightmares. The land trembled underfoot, its volcanic veins restless beneath a barren wasteland where nothing thrived but the occasional thorned agave and skeletal remains of forgotten travelers.
The path was treacherous. Landslides rumbled without warning, sending jagged rockslides crashing into the valley below. Every mile forward felt like a march into the underworld.
They had no choice but to press on.
Until the tremors worsened.
The earth groaned.
And then, as they crested a crumbling ridge, Helios saw it.
Where once stood the city of Nubia—with its grand sand-carved structures and towering pyramids—now lay ruin.
And within the ruin, it stirred.
A shape, impossibly vast, rose from the depths of the earth. The very mountains seemed to break and bend around its emergence. A being that looked like mountain itself and was not a mindless beast bending on others' will.
The wind carried Helios's whispered horror.
"It can't be…"
A shadow fell across the land as the beast of the prophecy turned its many eyes toward them.
Dabbah had awakened.
The tremors became a deafening roar as the ground cracked beneath their feet. Soldiers faltered. Some stumbled back in sheer terror.
The Earth Devourer. The Doom of Realms.
And it was heading straight for them.
Helios's breath came in ragged gasps. His mind raced, torn between two impossible choices.
Retreat—or fight?
His fate, his realm's fate, teetered on the edge of annihilation.
But one truth was certain.
This was no random disaster.
Iblis had aimed for Amanécer.
And now, doom marched toward it.