WAR
The sky was torn.
A chasm of writhing shadow yawned open across the horizon, and from it poured terror — beasts in droves, claws raking ice, howls splitting the night. Rank 5, Rank 6, masses of them — an avalanche of monstrous hunger that swallowed the snow in darkness.
And then it came.
The Warlord.
A thing of nightmare.
Towering, colossal — shadow-wrought flesh bound by jagged bone, eyes burning like twin furnaces deep within a skull that should not exist. Its breath came in ragged, shuddering gusts, hot enough to melt the ice beneath its feet.
And its presence crushed the world.
Even veterans flinched. Knees buckled. The weight of its aura was suffocating, a pressure that distorted sound and space. Some men broke without a scream, falling forward onto trembling hands, unable to raise their heads.
But Solace stood.
The ring on his finger twisted, metal liquefying, stretching — until the katana sat heavy in his palm, its black blade whispering in a voice only he could hear.
He breathed. Slowly.
Beside him, Night descended from the storm-wracked sky. His wings beat once, sending ripples through the snow, breath steaming, scales gleaming like molten obsidian. The dragon's gaze met Solace's for only a moment.
No words. Only understanding.
The generals moved.
General Francis advanced first, each step leaving molten footprints in the ice. His greatsword blazed — white-hot lines of searing light coiling around the steel, hissing against the snow as if the sword itself despised the cold.
David followed, his war axe humming with thunder, arcs of lightning crackling up his arms, wreathing him in raw force.
The clash was instant.
A wall of beasts surged toward them — but Francis's sword fell like a hammer from heaven, carving molten trenches through their ranks. Beasts disintegrated in fire and ash.
David's axe struck next — each swing a concussive burst that shattered bone and frost alike, rippling shockwaves across the battlefield.
But the warlord remained still. Watching.
Its maw opened. The shriek that followed split stone.
The battle erupted into chaos.
Soldiers screamed. Beasts roared. Arrows streaked through the dark, magic flared, elemental power colliding with claws and hide.
Kyle froze. His first war. His hands trembled on the bowstring. Breath shallow.
And then he saw them — Solace and Night moving.
The two of them cut through the battlefield like a storm. Night's flames seared the flanks, incinerating beasts that sought to encircle Solace. Solace's blade flashed, carving clean lines of death through beast after beast, each step measured, each swing silent.
They fought as one.
The warlord finally moved — a blur of impossible speed for something so massive. Its claw crashed down like a falling mountain.
Solace met it mid-strike.
Blade against claw. The impact split the ground beneath their feet.
Night roared, breath igniting a column of fire straight into the warlord's flank. It staggered — but only for a heartbeat. Regeneration rippled across its form, shadows knitting flesh with a sickening squelch.
The warlord's hand slammed into the ground, and the battlefield ruptured. Beasts surged forward in greater numbers, riding waves of dark energy.
Francis and David dove into the storm.
Francis's sword cleaved through the heart of the swarm, molten waves searing flesh and snow alike. David's axe met muscle and bone, breaking lines of beasts as easily as twigs beneath a boot.
Still not enough.
The warlord's aura thickened, pressing down on the entire field, crushing lungs and rattling bones.
Solace could feel it.
And yet — he stepped forward.
He vanished.
A flicker of shadow, and he reappeared above the warlord, both blades in hand, descending like judgment.
Steel met flesh. Shadows howled.
The warlord retaliated, a spike of black tendrils stabbing toward Solace's chest — but Night intercepted, flames spiraling into a barrier that turned the tendrils to cinders.
Below, the lieutenants struck.
Cass unleashed a storm of lightning, arcs of blue light dancing between beasts. Riva's chains ignited, wrapping around the neck of a Rank 6 beast before ripping its head clean off. Lyra blurred between shadows, her fists breaking jaws and shattering ribs, moving with lethal grace.
And then — the warlord roared again.
Gravity collapsed inward, the battlefield twisting. Space rippled. Soldiers fell to their knees, choking on air too dense to breathe.
Kyle gasped. His vision blurred.
Move.
His arrow nocked itself before he realized. The wind gathered around him — eager, sharp. He released.
The arrow became a blade of air, slicing through the neck of an oncoming beast before continuing on, carving a line of death through three more.
Kyle exhaled.
And still, the center roared.
The warlord struck at Solace, faster, heavier — claws like razors, each blow enough to level a fortress. Solace dodged by inches, his blades finding openings where none existed, carving gashes in flesh that tried — and failed — to heal fast enough.
The generals joined him.
Francis's greatsword fell with the force of a falling star, smashing into the warlord's shoulder, driving it back. David's axe struck low, shattering its knee.
The warlord staggered — but roared, regenerating faster, shadows seething.
Riva's chains ignited white-hot, Cass's lightning charged along them, and Arlen's wind compressed the storm until it howled in a singular focus.
A combined strike.
The elemental blast detonated against the warlord's core, shadows shrieking as they tore apart.
The beast stumbled.
Francis and David struck together, blades biting deep into exposed flesh.
And then — Solace rose.
Both swords gleamed, his artifact blade pulsing darkly, the military katana crackling with deadly force.
He descended, both swords crossing in an X, carving through the warlord's chest.
The warlord convulsed.
But it lived still.
And then — Kyle.
He saw it. The final opening.
The wind whispered to him, gathering around his last arrow.
He whispered back.
"Wind's Fury."
The arrow became a comet, a line of silver tearing through the black. It struck the warlord's heart.
And detonated.
A cyclone erupted from within, slicing the beast apart from the inside out.
The warlord's scream was a death knell.
Solace drove his blades deeper, twisting until the shadow core cracked — and shattered.
The warlord fell.
Black blood stained the snow.
The battlefield went silent.
Solace straightened, his breath ragged. Night landed beside him, wings folding, eyes locked on the Rift.
Kyle lowered his bow.
Solace met his gaze — and nodded once.
The Rift pulsed still in the distance.
The night was not yet over.
But for now — they had won.