The battlefield was a sea of fire and death. The banners of Brawlmanica's Great King Helmsley fluttered in the wind, stained with the blood of countless soldiers. Smoke choked the sky, and the air crackled with residual energy from shattered cultivation techniques. The Fighting Brawlman Cultivation Sect, self-proclaimed Hegemons of Desert Star Red, stood at the center of it all, fewer in number but radiating an overwhelming presence.
King Helmsley, a man of iron will and ambition, stood atop his war beast, his golden armor battered but his gaze unyielding. His army stretched for miles—knights, warriors, and magic users of every kind, each fighting to break free from the sect's stranglehold over the country. Yet, for every dozen of his men, one Brawlman Sect cultivator stood, cutting through their ranks like gods among mortals.
Across the battlefield, at the heart of the storm, stood Sect Leader Bartholomew Qin, a titan draped in a black and gold robe, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was unreadable, his aura suffocating. Around him, his elders and disciples crushed opposition effortlessly.
"You were foolish to think you could defy us, Helmsley," Bartholomew's voice boomed over the battlefield, laced with cultivation energy. "Your rebellion ends today."
Helmsley's grip on his sword tightened. "Then I shall make this a battle worth remembering!" With a roar, he raised his hand, signaling the activation of his trump card—The Sacred Star Shattering Radiation Gem.
A deafening explosion erupted from the depths of the battlefield. The sky turned crimson as the forbidden energy surged outward in an uncontrollable wave. Screams filled the air as warriors and cultivators alike were swept away, their bodies disintegrating or mutating into grotesque, mindless creatures. The very land trembled as fissures tore through the battlefield.
Amidst the chaos, a small boy clung to his mother's robes. Elton Solman, barely eight years old, stared wide-eyed at the horror before him. His father, Gerald Solman, a powerful warrior of Brawlmanica, stood alongside his comrades, their swords and spears clashing against the sect's cultivators. But it was hopeless.
"Mom! Where's Dad?!" Elton cried, his tiny hands grasping his mother's trembling fingers.
His mother, Elena Solman, knelt before him, forcing a trembling smile. "Your father is protecting us, sweetheart. We have to go now, okay?"
Tears brimmed in Elton's eyes, but he nodded. His mother lifted him into her arms and ran. Behind them, the battlefield descended into madness.
One moment, there was fire, and the next—light. A blinding golden explosion expanded in all directions.
The explosion that consumed the battlefield left a void of silence, shattered only by the occasional crackle of distant flames. Elton's mother, still clutching him tightly, had been running, her steps frantic and desperate. But even as she tried to shield him, a second, far more devastating blast sent shockwaves through the air. The ground beneath them quaked, throwing them off balance. Elton barely registered the force of it before he was tossed to the side, his tiny body colliding with the cold, hard earth. His mother's scream cut through the chaos, but it was brief—abruptly cut off as the blast surged through the air like a tidal wave.
He blinked rapidly, his young mind struggling to grasp what had happened. When he pushed himself up, a cloud of dust swirling around him, he saw nothing but smoke and the mangled remains of warriors who had once stood proudly in defense of their homeland. The battlefield had been reduced to a scene of utter devastation.
And his mother...
Her lifeless form lay at a distance, just beyond his reach, her body crumpled beneath the remnants of a shattered tree. Elton crawled towards her, but his limbs were weak, trembling. His voice was hoarse as he called out her name, again and again, but there was no response. His tiny hands reached out, and for a moment, he thought he felt her warmth... but it was fleeting.
A cold gust of wind swept through the remains of the battlefield, carrying with it the smell of burning flesh and the iron scent of blood. Elton's heart twisted in his chest, but the young boy's eyes remained dry. He had already learned not to cry. His father had always told him to be strong—there would be no time for tears. Yet now, in the wake of all this destruction, Elton felt that strength slipping through his fingers like sand.
His world, once so full of promise and laughter, had crumbled before his very eyes.
Alone and trembling, Elton stood in the ruin of what had once been a battle for freedom, now a tomb for the fallen. His mother was gone. His father, he could only imagine, had been claimed by the carnage as well. There was no one left.
The smoke curled around him, and for a moment, the wind seemed to carry away every trace of what had been. The distant sounds of battle, the screams, and cries for help faded into an eerie silence. Elton stood frozen, his body shaking not just from the cold but from the overwhelming weight of the reality that had crushed him. All he had left now was the aftermath of a war that had taken everything from him.