The sun peeked through the clouds, illuminating the battlefield that was no longer moving. The ground cracked, bodies were strewn about, and the scent of blood was still strong in the air.
Kael woke up.
Pain. That one word was not enough to describe his condition. His bones were nearly all cracked, blood had dried on the sides of his face, and his breath felt like breathing hot coals. But he was alive.
Somehow, he was alive.
Heavy footsteps sounded from the direction of the ruins. A survivor—a young man with torn armor and eyes that looked ten years older than his age—came carrying water.
"Y-You're awake..."
Kael only nodded slowly. His voice did not come out.
"The others... most of them are dead. But... we won, right?"
Kael looked up at the sky.
"Won?" he whispered, then coughed loudly. "Not yet."
Meanwhile, far to the north, in the ruins of an ancient city buried in snow, Gorath stood atop an old altar. His eyes were closed. Shadows covered his body, but he made no move to attack.
He pondered.
"The Warden's death does not erase the wounds of this world."
He opened his eyes. An old statue—a symbol of the God of Light—was shattered at his feet.
"It is not only humans who must be eliminated."
In the human fortress, Kael was treated like a hero.
But he knew it was a lie.
Behind the praise and flowers, he heard whispers.
"He helped Gorath..."
"If he can work with monsters, who can we trust?"
"A hero? Or a traitor?"
Kael sat silently, staring at his trembling fingers.
One night, the commander-in-chief called him.
"We must talk about your actions on the battlefield."
Kael did not respond.
The commander continued, his voice sharp. "You saved us. But with whose help? The enemy who killed thousands of our men?"
Kael finally spoke. "If I had not agreed to the cooperation... we would all be dead."
"Then do you want us to thank Gorath too?"
Kael stood up. "No. But don't think you're winners too soon."
The Commander frowned. "What do you mean?"
Kael looked into his eyes.
"Gorath didn't leave because he lost. He left because he wasn't finished."
That night, Kael stepped out onto the balcony. A cold wind blew softly. In the distance, the shattered mountain still emitted a thin layer of smoke.
He knew… this wasn't the end. This was just the beginning.
And the nightmare wasn't over yet.
In the shadows of his mind, he heard Gorath's voice:
"This world needs destruction… before it can be remade."
Kael clenched his fists.
"I will stop you… or die trying."
Three days after the battle.
In the underground city of Ezzurith, candles burned along the stone corridors. This was once the home of the protectors—now a secret place where Gorath built something darker than an army.
In the center of the great hall, dozens of beings gathered. Some human, some shadow, the rest... unexplained.
They all prostrated themselves.
And Gorath stood before them, his red eyes sweeping the room.
"All of you... are those rejected by the world. By humans, by the light, by falsified history."
"But tonight, I give you a choice. Remain a victim... or become the executioner of a new age."
From the ranks, an old human man stood. His eyes were full of pain. His hands trembled. "I lost my son to the nobles. I no longer care who is in charge. I only want them... to suffer as I did."
Gorath nodded.
"Start from within. Burn their world... from their very belly."
Meanwhile, in the fortress city of Dreston, Kael stood before a silver table. Around him, commanders and military advisors spoke softly. Everyone seemed tense.
The great commander looked at Kael with a faint smile.
"We have good news. You will lead an expedition to the eastern ruins. Protect the area from any remaining threats."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Protection? Or exile?"
The general did not deny it.
Kael chuckled. "You are afraid. Because I once worked with the enemy."
"No," the advisor said. "We are afraid… because you are starting to think like him."
The journey east began two days later. Kael brought only fifty young soldiers. No support. No guarantee of return.
On the way, one of the captains asked, "Are we really just a patrol? Or is this some kind of exile?"
Kael answered quietly, "Perhaps both. But if Gorath does rise again… we will be the vanguard."
Elsewhere, in the frozen north, flames could be seen rising from a small village. Three small towns burned almost simultaneously. No enemy troops. Only... voices.
Voices that echoed in the minds of the citizens before they lost control and burned everything.
"The system is corrupt. Free yourself. Burn its chains."
Each incident... left the same symbol on the walls:
⚫
Behind it all, Gorath sat in a silent room. Around him, ancient paintings from the history of the world that was never told.
He stared at the faded symbol of light above the altar.
"Light... decays faster than shadow."
He grasped an ancient pendant, a symbol of an old age, and crushed it.
And at that moment... a crack appeared in the sky. Small, almost invisible. But enough to send a message to those who could sense it.
Something was coming.
Something not just from the Abyss...
But from within humanity itself.