Heavy footsteps shook the ground.
Under the red skylight, Gorath stood before the black metal walls of the Iron Bastion fortress—one of the few cities to survive the destruction, but not out of hope… but out of tyranny.
The faction within called themselves the Order of Chains. They enslaved the weak. Harvested the souls of sinners. Worshipped the chaos they thought they could control.
Gorath had seen enough.
Today, they were defeated.
"Who is that?" asked one of the guards atop the wall, staring at the massive black figure standing alone in the dead wasteland.
"No troops… just him?"
Another guard narrowed his eyes. "Wait… that shape. That size… Oh my. That's—"
"Gorath."
The name spread like poison through the fortress.
Sirens sounded. Troops were summoned. The Soul Mages formed a summoning circle. Their king—the Tyrant Darvok—stepped out of his tower, his golden robes billowing.
"Send everything we have," he said coldly. "If he comes here… he challenges us all."
The troops poured out like a swarm of armed ants.
A hundred armored warriors.
Three iron giants.
Twelve spirit summoners.
Four masked executioners.
A Soul Cannon, a relic of the pre-collapse era.
Gorath did not move.
The wind swirled around him. Shadows stretched from his feet in every direction, alive, like hungry snakes.
"Too much power has been abused. Too long you have hidden behind these walls, sucking the weak."
He raised a hand.
"Your time is up."
First came the iron giants.
They ran like a landslide. Each step shook the earth.
Gorath dropped to one knee. Shadows formed into spears.
"Pierce."
The spear pierced one giant from below, destroying its magical core. The metal body collapsed, crushing the troops behind it.
The second approached—but Gorath was already on the move.
He appeared on its shoulder, his dark claws piercing the giant's eyes, then tore the entire iron head apart in one motion.
The third tried to retreat.
Too late.
Shadows rose from the ground, wrapped around its body like living chains, then pulled it down… swallowed by the earth.
Three giants. Six seconds.
Soldiers attacked from all directions.
Energy arrows. Plasma swords. Fire magic.
Gorath simply walked. All attacks were deflected by the black mist that enveloped his body.
Then he leaped—into the midst of the army.
BOOM.
A dark shockwave destroyed them for ten meters.
Blood, steel, and bone flew.
One of the mages tried to trap him in a seal.
He managed to scream a spell—and then his mouth rotted in an instant. His entire body melted from the inside.
Gorath looked at the others.
"Next?"
They tried to flee.
But the shadows blocked their path. The shadows now took the form of… creatures. Horned. Many-armed. Human-faced, but far from the original.
"Abyssal Spawn."
The creatures attacked.
Slaughtering. Ripping.
From atop the tower, Darvok watched his troops fall one by one.
Fear crept into his bones.
"Bring the Soul Cannon!! SHOOT HIM!!"
The giant tower moved. An ancient weapon, the size of a house, was pointed at Gorath. Energy was gathered. A chant was chanted.
Gorath looked up.
His eyes glowed a deep red.
The Soul Cannon ignited.
DOOOOMMMMM!!!
The blast of soul energy engulfed everything.
Smoke.
Silence.
Then... laughter.
A low laugh.
From within the cloud of destruction, Gorath emerged.
His body burned, but he remained standing.
"A weapon that uses souls... pathetic," he said.
He turned to the tower's guardian.
Then, with just one step—he leaped.
The sky split with his power.
He slammed his claws into the tower's walls. The massive structure collapsed instantly.
Darvok lay in the rubble, gasping for breath, blood everywhere.
Gorath stood over him.
"How many have you killed for this throne?"
Darvok gritted his teeth. "They are weak! This world belongs to the strong!"
Gorath looked down. His eyes gleaming.
"You are wrong."
He lifted Darvok up.
"This world belongs to those who can control it. And you… are just a temporary owner."
CRACK.
Darvok's bones broke along with his body. Discarded like a rag.
Gorath stood atop the ruins of Iron Bastion. Fire burned from all sides.
The townspeople emerged from their hiding places, trembling. Staring at the figure who had killed all their rulers in a matter of minutes.
He did not smile.
He did not greet.
He simply said:
"From now on… you are under my control."
And no one dared to refuse.
Three days after the fall of Iron Bastion, the world began to stir.
Word of Gorath's return spread like a disease: from the frozen north to the burning south. Some welcomed it. Many feared it. And one name echoed back after a long absence.
Kael Varion.
A former general of the human army. The only one who had ever driven back Gorath during the "Black War" four decades ago. And now… he was alive.
And he was angry.
The footsteps of the troops marched on dry ground, carrying banners bearing the symbol of the winged lion. A disciplined army. Not like the hordes of Iron Bastion. Uniform. Trained. Organized.
In their midst stood Kael.
His hair was partly gray. His body was covered in old wounds. But his eyes were as sharp as ever.
"So he's back," he murmured. "The monster… has risen again."
A lieutenant approached. "Are we waiting for orders from the Grand Assembly, General?"
Kael shook his head. "They only talk. The world has run out of time for discussion."
He mounted his horse. His eyes were fixed westward—toward Iron Bastion, now a fortress of shadows.
"If the world is to live… we must kill Gorath now. Before he truly becomes the Dark Lord."
Meanwhile, in Iron Bastion…
Gorath sat in a new throne room. Not grand. Not golden. Just a black iron chair in the middle of a circle of shadows. All around him—the building was being reshaped by Abyssal power, changing slowly.
The watcher appeared, coalescing from the mist.
"Movement from the east," he said quietly. "Army. Organized. Large."
Gorath stared into the distance. "Who?"
"The one who nearly killed you."
Gorath was silent. For a moment. Then he stood.
"Kael."
The watcher nodded.
"He wants to stop you before you become a god."
Outside the city, thousands of Kael's troops began to approach.
The ground shook. Shadows began to roil. The atmosphere shifted to that of a great storm.
Gorath stepped out of the main gate. Alone.
In the distance, Kael dismounted from his horse, walking forward.
They stood face to face in the middle of a dry, hot wasteland. There was no greeting. No nostalgia. Just two beings who had once stood as symbols of hope—and destruction.
"Forty years ago, you failed to destroy this world," Kael said.
"Forty years ago, I was not strong enough," Gorath replied.
"Do you think the world will be silent when you conquer it all?"
"I do not care who is silent. I only care who submits."
Kael raised his sword—an ancient weapon, but enhanced by technology and magic.
"I will not let you become a god."
Gorath smiled faintly. "And I will not let you live twice."
BOOM!
Kael moved first. In a single bound, he was upon Gorath—his sword slashing through the shadow that enveloped his old enemy's body.
His slash grazed Gorath's chest—black blood poured out, evaporating into the air.
Gorath retaliated with a claw swing, but Kael had already retreated five paces, his speed inhuman.
They fought in the midst of a storm of energy.
Kael's steps shattered the ground. Gorath's attacks split the air. Each impact sent shockwaves that destroyed nearby buildings.
The troops could only watch from afar, not daring to approach.
Gorath began to attack in earnest.
Shadows extended like spears, striking from all directions.
Kael spun his sword—creating a protective field of light that reflected the attacks. Then he merged with the light, dashing, stabbing Gorath in the stomach with a single shining slash.
"Holy Severance!"
Gorath was thrown back. For the first time since his return… he coughed up blood.
Kael approached. "You are not invincible."
Gorath stood slowly.
His eyes glowed deep red.
"Neither are you."
He opened his arms.
The shadows on the ground began to gather.
The air grew cold.
All living things around them began to feel… small.
"Abyssal Dominion: Rise."
From underground, creatures emerged. Human-shaped, but without faces. Covered in wounds. Their voices were like the screams of souls.
Kael stiffened.
"Creatures… from the Abyss?"
Gorath stared at him. "Do you think I came with just any old power?"
The creatures surrounded the battlefield.
Kael clenched his fists.
"Then let us end this."