Abel leaped from the back of his horse into a storm of gnashing teeth and flashing blades. His axe swung in wide, merciless arcs, cleaving through those who dared to oppose him. Around him, dragons roared, their hatred for the king of man guiding their hearts. They sought to slay the king of man, to devour the father and leader of those they abhorred.
From the sky, wyverns descended like shadows, their claws raking and their jaws snapping with ferocious tenacity. Two dark-green wyverns lunged at Abel, striking with their taloned legs and gaping maws. He met them with steel, his axe carving deep wounds through their scales as if they were as soft as flesh. Blood sprayed in rivers, drenching him in the warmth of his enemies.
The dragons howled, their guttural, deep voices dripping with venom. "Dragon slayer! Murderer." Their large jaws snapped shut.
In the far distance, a frost giant hurled a boulder from his shoulder, sending it hurtling through the soldiers. Before Abel could turn, a colossal red dragon crashed onto the battlefield before him, its sheer presence eclipsing even the giants. Its massive form shimmered in the sunlight, scarlet scales gleaming like molten metal, growing ever brighter around its throat.
Then, the boulder struck. Pain lanced through Abel's hand as his axe was torn from his grip, clattering onto the scorched earth. The dragon's lips curled into a vicious smile. It was a distraction. Abel thought, his eyes still lax.
The dragon lowered its head, unleashing a river of fire, a tempest of searing heat and wrath. The battlefield shifted from a once intense battle to a grim scene of the living being burned alive. Ogres and men alike screamed as they were swallowed by the flames, their flesh burning onto their bones, their very essence reduced to ash.
Yet, in the heart of the fire, Abel stood. The dragon's gaze narrowed in disbelief. Its flames raged around him, but not even a single strand of his hair was touched. Snarling, the beast fed more of its mana into the inferno, the flames intensifying threefold, hot enough to melt stone and steel alike. Still, Abel remained, untouched, unmoved. The flames lashed at his hair like a fierce wind, and vengeance burned in his eyes.
Abel strode forward, unarmed, into the sea of flames. Every step was effortless. His stride determined as his body tensed with anger. His eyes, unblinking and sharp as a blade, locked onto the crimson beast before him, the murderer of his brethren.
He never wavered as he reached up and seized the dragon's massive jaw. Muscles coiled, tendons strained, and with a single, brutal pull, he wrenched the beast's head downward. The ground thundered as skull met stone.
The dragon's jaws snapped shut, cutting off its infernal breath in an instant. A pained rumble trembled through its massive frame, and agony wracked its body, urging it to scream. But before it could part its maw, Abel brought his fist down. Bone shattered like glass beneath the force of his strike. The earth quaked as the dragon's skull caved inward, crimson blood surging through its shattered orifices in a violent eruption. A final shudder wracked the beast's lifeless body before silence fell over its corpse.
Abel straightened, reclaiming his axe from the ground, and turned his attention toward the battlefield. His people were dying, massacred without mercy. Cutting through the tide of bodies was a lone figure, a specter of death itself. The Knight of Orthos, belonging to House Scorpio, moved like a whirlwind of slaughter, his blade carving through flesh as though the men before him were nothing but wheat in a field. Those who dared approach were cut down instantly, their bodies crumpling, the flame of life that Judex had bestowed upon them extinguished.
"Judgment." The King said.
A golden glow overtook Abel's eyes. His mana surged, unseen yet undeniable, radiating heat like the heart of a star. His presence alone was a decree, a silent proclamation of authority that rippled across the battlefield. Then, from behind him, two celestial figures emerged. Angels.
Their very existence was light incarnate, their auras shining like beacons in the smoke-cloaked sky. Flowing white robes draped loosely over their ethereal forms, and from their backs spread magnificent wings, their feathers glimmering as they unfurled. Their arrival did not go unnoticed, monsters turned their heads, their hearts seized by an instinctive, primal fear.
The left angel spoke first, his voice ringing with divine finality.
"You have committed the crime of murder, a vile act that demands retribution. The law calls for the highest degree of punishment."
The right angel placed a steady hand on his brother's shoulder, his tone softer but no less firm.
"Wait. Judgment cannot be passed on law alone. A thief may steal to feed his starving child. Though his crime is undeniable, is it just to impose the severest penalty? Let us see the truth."
His gaze fell upon Scorpio, piercing through flesh and bone to the very essence of his soul. As he looked, his expression twisted with revulsion. A deep, suffocating disgust tainted his voice.
"There is no remorse. No guilt. Only pleasure. He revels in wickedness, cloaking himself in cruelty as if it were a royal mantle, parading his vile acts for the world to see." His voice darkened, sharp as a blade. "Unredeemable."
Abel, along with both angels, turned their judgment upon Scorpio. The angels held their arms outstretched, pointing at the target of their decision. The knight remained oblivious, his blade still carving through helpless bodies, unbothered by the weight of the lives he stole.
"Conviction." The King said.
Power erupted from him in an unseen shockwave, his mana surging threefold. The very air grew heavy, thick with an unbearable presence. Those who stood near collapsed to their knees, crushed beneath the sheer force of righteousness and justice. The verdict had been passed.
Abel lifted his axe, its weight effortless in his grasp. Holy mana surged through the weapon, and the metal roared as silver flames ignited along its edge, condensing into a blinding light of God rays. With a single mighty swing, he brought the blade crashing to the earth.
The battlefield trembled. Its impact split the ground apart, sending jagged ravines stretching outward like the cracks of a shattered world. Those of the human and ogre kingdoms were spared, pushed aside by the force of the shifting soil as the very land chose to shield them. From the abyss between the cracks, a brilliant silver radiance poured as if the heart of the earth had been buried beneath their feet.
Silver light rays lanced into the sky, scorching everything in their path. Dragons that soared above were struck mid-flight, their bodies slashed open and seared beyond recognition. Those unfortunate enough to plummet into the ravine met an instant demise, their forms disintegrating as the light consumed them whole. Asura watched as giants, shadows, and dragons all succumbed to Abel's wrath.
Scorpio tried to flee, his instincts screaming at him to escape. But the devastation unfolded faster than any mortal could outrun. His scream barely left his lips before the light engulfed him, unraveling him at the very essence of his being. He felt every agonizing moment as his body was unravelled, each molecule being torn.
"Mercy." The King said.
A shudder rippled through the enemy ranks. Dragons hesitated in the sky, giants took an uncertain step back. Fear gripped them, cold and undeniable. None among them could face such power. Even the last Knights of Orthos faltered, recoiling from the sight of their comrade being obliterated before he could even raise a blade.
Yet, amidst the wavering enemy, Asura's heart pounded with exhilaration. His lips curled into a triumphant grin. "We won! We pushed them back!" But the dragons had not fled in fear. They had merely fallen back. To make way for something greater.
Asura's elation vanished in an instant. A dreadful realization clawed at his chest as he saw his allies surge forward, emboldened by victory. "Wait! Wait!" He roared, desperation lacing his voice, but the tide of warriors did not stop. They could not hear him over the thunder of battle.
Then, he heard it. A deafening roar of wings tore through the battlefield from the left. Asura's heart clenched as he snapped his head around, a sickening dread coiling in his gut.
There it was, the largest of its breed, a four-horned scarlet dragon streaking across the sky like a crimson harbinger of death. Jagged spines jutted from the towering sails along its back, swaying like serrated banners in the wind. It moved with impossible speed, faster than the eye could follow, a blur of flame and fury. Its massive, leathery wings burned with searing flames, tearing through the air like a screaming war engine poised to unleash its weaponry upon the earth as it dove.
He strained to scream, his throat burning. Yet, his voice was unheard, even in his own ears. His eyes, wide with horror, could see nothing but fire, a colossal blaze that stretched before him like an impenetrable forest fire.
A war horn from the depths of hell, the dragon's roar drowned out the death cries. Flesh melted, and bones crumbled, leaving only the acrid scent of charred remains. Ogres, orcs, cyclops, goblins, and men, once a defiant force, were now silent, smoldering husks.
When it all subsided, screams rang in Asura's ears, but he could not dwell on the horror. The dragons struck again, diving into the battered ranks and colliding against the surviving warriors in a one-sided attack.
Yet, if the dragons expected fear, they were mistaken. The sight of their kin burning did not break the ogres' resolve, it only hardened them. Rage burned in their hearts, turning sorrow into fury. A thundering cry rose from all of throats in a chorus of brotherhood. They charged into the fray with reckless abandon, their grip on their weapon ever stronger.
The dragons learned, with a dawning horror, that they had not instilled fear, but a vengeance that would not be denied. Among the chaos, Ullrac became a storm of bloodshed. He cut through dragons and giants alike, his blade carving a path of merciless slaughter. But then the sky darkened above him.
A massive form descended like a falling star.
The four-horned dragon slammed into the battlefield with the force of a meteorite, flames overflowing off its titanic body. Its very presence warped the air, the sheer heat distorting the world around it. Ullrac did not falter. His eyes and smile shining ever bright. He lifted his weapon, his resolve unshaken as he faced the greatest of their foes.
Asura sprinted toward Ullrac, desperate to aid his brother-in-arms. But a familiar voice cried for him far behind, gentle, broken, and tinged with softness. "Brother!"
He turned, spotting a red-skinned cyclops forcing his way through the battlefield. His large, muscular frame, thick with both strength and bulk, staggered forward in heavy, unsteady steps. Clad in the same expertly crafted leather armor as the others, it fit him like the work of a master artisan. His blade, though swung with force, lacked conviction, hacking down anything that stood in his path with a reluctant, almost apologetic motion.
"Brother!" The cyclops cried again, his eye soft as he stared at Asura.
From the carnage behind the cyclops, a drake leaped. Its jaws gaped wide, ready to clamp down on the cyclops' exposed throat. The cyclops' eye widened in shock, and he staggered back as he desperately pulled his blade up. There was no time to react. He squeezed his eye shut, bracing for the end. But it never came.
An arrow pierced the drake's skull, lodging deep between its eyes. The beast gave a shuddering jerk before crumpling lifelessly at the cyclops' feet. Its blood pooled into the dirt as the light faded from its gaze. Asura's scream tore through the battlefield. "Bronty!"
Driven by a desperate need, Asura tore through the battlefield, blades and fists a deadly dance. Blood, a stark crimson, splattered across his face with each kill, his eyes fixed on his friend.
"Run, brother, go!" Brontes's voice, strained and broken by pain and desperation, rasped out as he forced himself to move.
Confusion flickered across Asura's face. There was no one chasing Brontes, no enemy pressing from behind. Yet, sheer terror filled his friend's single eye as he sprinted forward, pushing his body past its limits. Asura opened his mouth to question him, but the answer came not in words, only in the quaking of the earth.
The land trembled. Armor clattered, and corpses rattled. But this was no ordinary tremor. This was something far worse. The ground split apart. It devoured soldiers, ogres, men, and beasts alike with equal indifference. Friend or foe, it didn't matter. Then, the gates of hell seemed to open.
A monstrous head burst from the earth, shattering the battlefield. Boulders the size of houses flew in all directions, crushing everything in their path. Blood splattered across the churned soil as thousands perished in an instant. Their bodies were crushed into paint. It was the end of days, the apocalypse given form.
A serpent rose, its body stretching skyward, its sheer mass eclipsing all. It was larger than Jörmungandr himself, its form clad in ancient stone armor as if the earth had cradled it since time began. Moss draped its jagged spines, a relic of an age long forgotten. Its hide bore the unmistakable hues of Jörmungandr's kin, brown and gray, hardened as the very mountains. Apophis. Asura whispered.
The sound of thunder rippling continuously through the clouds shook the living, sending them to their knees. It was more than a roar, it was an unnatural sound, the earth itself screaming, an earthquake made vocal.
The sound rumbled through the air, thick with raw power. Its quotidian mana blanketed the entirety of the field, burning the lungs of all within its grasp in a thick purple miasma. Abel's mana, once a commanding force over the battlefield, now clashed violently with the serpent's own, igniting the sky with unseen tension.
Asura ran, his heart hammering in his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as the wind lashed against his face. He leaped over wreckage, vaulting from fallen horses and dragons alike.
"Bronty, keep running!" Asura said, screaming to the point of his head becoming light.
Brontes staggered with fearful steps, casting a glance over his shoulder. He knew there was not a possibility in any world that he could outrun such a dragon. His one eye widened at the sight of the monstrous serpent. "Oh Lord, forgive me," Brontes whispered.
His heavy steps were clumsy, lurching forward across the uneven ground. Watching him stumble sent a sharp pain through Asura's chest.
"Run faster damn it!" Asura said, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced across the field, a speed fueled by the desperate love for his friend. His legs felt sluggish, the distance between them stretching unbearably. Until this moment, he had never hated his lack of mana. Now, he despised it. "Useless!" He snarled at his patheticness.
The word echoed in his head like a curse. His heels pounded against the shattered ground. "Come on, Bronty! Buddy!" Spittle flew from Asura's lips as he roared. His breath came in short, brutal bursts.
Then, Brontes smiled. Asura's heart plummeted. The serpent descended. Its enormous head crashed into the battlefield, devouring everything in its path. Its jaws scooped up men, ogres, dragons, and every living being caught within its reach.
Asura's eyes never left Brontes. He watched, helpless, as his brother was swallowed by the beast's maw. But not whole, Brontes had reached the side of the mouth, where the serpent's jagged teeth lay in wait.
"Jump, Bronty!" Asura cried, tears streaming from the sides of his eyes as the air whipped them away.
The jaws slammed shut, and Brontes's blood spilled onto the soil. His scream tore through the air as the monstrous fangs cleaved him in half. His lower leg and a portion of his stomach vanished into the void. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, landing against the corpse of a fallen frost giant.
Asura ran, his mind blank with fury. He didn't care about the serpent, about the chaos, about the war. Nothing mattered except reaching his friend. He slid to his knees beside Brontes, his hands trembling as he grasped him.
"Bronty, you're fine. We'll get Abel. I—" His voice broke, snapping as if he lost it. Brontes's hand weakly found Asura's, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. His eye fluttered open, his smile faint but warm. "No… don't waste… on me," Brontes said, exhaling with every word.
"ABEL! ABEL!" Asura bellowed. "Bronty, do you hear me?" Brontes let out a weak chuckle, his voice strained. "Yes… I hear… brother. Do not… fret. I could never help. I am… crafter, forger, carpenter. I do not belong—" His eyes faded, struggling to grasp onto life. A sharp wheeze cut through his words.
"Silence! Save your strength! ABEL!" Asura said, desperately screaming with anger.
Brontes shook his head, his grip on Asura's hand growing weaker. "Go… fight. Fight for our brothers… You waste time… more may die."
"You might die, Bronty!" Asura cried. His face blurring in Brontes's eyes. Brontes coughed, his chuckle barely more than a breath. "I hate that name." The cyclops smiled. Asura cradled his brother's head, his thumb brushing away dirt and tears from his red skin.
"Brother… my only regret… is leaving you alone in war…" Brontes' voice grew softer, a whisper carried by the wind.
Blood poured from his torn body, his organs slipping free, staining the earth beneath them. Asura turned away, unable to watch. Brontes exhaled a final, shuddering breath. "I wish… we forged one last blade together…" His voice faded. His body stilled.
Asura clutched his brother's lifeless hand, his own shaking. He bit his lip until blood spilled, his fury simmering into something cold, something final. His voice wavered as he whispered,
"Brontes… brother… may Judex love your soul." Then, Asura rose. Blades in hand. Resolve carved into his heart. The beast would pay. The war would end. And he would ensure that none who called his family an enemy would leave this battlefield alive.
Wain's voice pierced through the fog of memory, jolting Asura back to the present. His vision sharpened, pulling the world into focus once more. Yet his eyes trembled, flickering with unspent fury as rage continued to coil tightly around his heart.
"Provoke him and hit him hard," Wain said, his eyes determined as if he knew what Asura had seen. Asura turned, meeting his friend's steady gaze. He silently stared as Wain exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, shaping it into a slow-rising ring. With a grunt, the ogre tossed Kane beside him onto the street, freeing his massive arms before turning toward the serpent.
"That's what I do best." The ogre's muscles swelled, blood pouring throughout in raging rivers. Asura wiped the lingering tears from his eyes and stepped forward, pointing at the colossal serpent as its blood seeped into the earth from its open wound. Its gaping ribcage left Asura with a smirk, a small taste of satisfaction as if a piece of his grudge had been paid back.
"Hey, fucking worm!" Asura said, his voice dripping with venomous anger. "Your father's corpse was carved up like a feast and taken as spoils by the victors." He spat out every word with bared teeth. "His scales were melted down and reforged into weapons, now wielded by the very people you hate. His eyes? Plucked from his skull, stolen by the King of Shadows. His legacy has been reduced to scraps and tools."
"Like father, like son." He taunted, watching the serpent shiver with hatred.
Asura planted one foot forward and drew his arms back, assuming a battle-ready stance. Holy mana surged within him, rushing through his veins like an unstoppable river. The sacred white runes etched into his skin flared to life, and from them, holy white flames erupted in rhythmic bursts along all four of his arms. Each spark of white flame intensified, growing brighter with every pulse, like pistons firing in perfect harmony. The white blaze spread outward, bathing the buildings and streets in a brilliant glow, consuming all color and leaving nothing but a world of blinding light and deep shadows.
"The Lord despises all that is evil," Asura said, voice steady with conviction. "Through Uriel, let me be your blade against the wicked."
Behind him, the fire twisted and coiled, taking the form of a towering figure with six great wings, clad in armor known to all. Rose and Mel, perched atop a rooftop, could only stare in awe.
"That's…" Rose breathed, unable to finish. They had seen statues, paintings, depictions in holy texts, but never him. Never the Archangel himself. Mel clutched the metal roof beneath her, barely whispering, "An Archangel only manifests when his true heir has been found…"
A fire-crafted image of Uriel stood in silent majesty behind Asura, his right hand gripping a radiant spear. His power flooded into the ogre, more than mortal flesh was ever meant to bear. Asura's skin fractured, revealing golden caverns that snaked across his body.
"Behold, my chosen," Uriel's voice resounded. "An untamed sun."
Jormungandr reared back, purple fire churning within its vast throat, ready to erase everything in its path. The city trembled as the serpent struck, unleashing its infernal breath upon Asura. The large maw opened wide, giving way to the flames. Its power was absolute, a force against which all Paladins would be utterly helpless.
But Asura did not flinch. Rage burned in his chest, not just for the battle, not just for victory, but for every fallen soul that still echoed in his mind. You let him kill us. Your inaction doomed us all. You tried to save Brontes, but we all died anyway. Through every war, every fight, you failed.
Asura bared his teeth, a snarl ripping from his throat. Not this time. "This is for Bronty." Uriel's wings flared, bursting into jets of fire from his back. The flames filled the street, enveloping Wain and Kane in their warmth, yet neither was burned.
As Jormungandr's fire came crashing down, Asura lunged. His fists thrust forward through unseen resistance that weighed down his fists, and from his knuckles, two spearheads of white flame erupted, spiraling together in perfect unison. The sheer recoil burned Asura's flesh, forcing him to one knee. Yet, he kept his gaze firm, steady on the target.
The twin spears shot forth, twisting like celestial arrows, propelled by explosive jets that carried them forward. They spiraled together in a harmonious dance before coalescing into a singular, drilling flame.
It met the serpent's fire head-on. A purple tide of quotidian energy surged from Jormungandr's jaws, colliding with the twin spears in a blinding flash. Mana clashed, sending visible shockwaves radiating outwards, the air shimmering like a mirage. Heaven and hell met at their borders. Within the serpent's maw, the conflict raged, a crucible of searing heat and raw power.
The clash of white and purple flames, a spectacle of godly proportions, held them captive, awaiting the victor. No one could tear their gaze away, yet the blinding light grew unbearable, forcing them to shield their eyes as the scorching heat burned their skin.