The night wind carried the scent of death. Silence enveloped the plains leading to Elhar City, as if the world was holding its breath.
In the distance, the city's golden towers still stood majestically, reflecting the sacred light of the magic crystals set at their peaks. But for Gorath, the light was not a sign of hope. It was a challenge.
He stood on a cliff overlooking Elhar's fortress, his silhouette dark under the dim moon. Behind him, the shadow army stood like a living wall, soundless, motionless, like the night that would consume the light.
"It's time." Gorath's voice was soft, but it was felt in the chest of every creature that followed him.
A bell rang in the city. Three chimes. A warning signal.
The human army had spotted them.
Within the city walls, panic began to spread. The holy priest walked quickly through the temple halls, holding a prayer book as his mouth muttered. The army was alerted. Arrows were enchanted. The walls were reinforced. But everyone knew...
This was no ordinary war.
Elhar's General, Ser Alloran, stood in the main tower. His gaze fell on the dark figure in the distance.
"Gorath… you have truly come."
Gorath lowered his hand.
Silently, his army began to move.
Shadows spread across the ground like a black mist. With each step they erased grass, melted stone, made the air hiss. As they reached the city walls, magical arrows were released.
But the shadows did not fall.
The arrows pierced their bodies as if they were smoke. Some creatures vanished, but twice as many reappeared from the darkness.
Gorath himself stepped forward. The city walls loomed before him. He looked up, staring expressionlessly.
"Open."
There was no answer.
He raised his hand.
The darkness from the ground rose like a vortex. It formed into a spear. The spear shot out, striking the wall—and destroying it.
A blast of black light shook the entire city.
One side of Elhar's wall collapsed in dust.
The shadow army charged in, and screams began to ring out.
Ser Alloran drew his sword. "Defend the central shrine! Don't let him reach the altar!"
But deep down, he knew... no shrine could save them tonight.
Gorath strode into the city, darkness following every sweep of his robe. In the streets, people ran. Some prayed. Some begged. Gorath simply passed by.
Those who resisted, burned by a power they could not even comprehend.
In the center of the city square, a holy altar stood. Holy light from the sky descended upon it, forming a protective shield. Several priests stood around it, offering final prayers of protection.
Gorath stopped in front of the altar.
He stared at the light for a long moment. Then he raised his hands to the sky.
The world fell silent.
Then a voice was heard... the whispers of thousands of dead souls. The voice of darkness entered the light, tainting it, cracking it.
One by one, the altar's protective covering crumbled.
And as the last light shattered, the last priest screamed... then froze, turning to ash.
Gorath climbed onto the altar, and stood at its center.
In front of his entire army, he opened both hands.
"The city of Elhar... has fallen."
And the night won.
The morning sky above Elhar was gray. The sun was covered by a thick haze that had not receded since the night of conquest. The city once called "The Last Jewel of Mankind" was now a charred shell of its former pride.
Walls crumbled. Golden towers snapped, falling to the streets and crumbling. Bodies lay scattered. Some burned, some frozen in a final expression of terror. There was no prayer. No hope.
Amid the ruins of the sacred altar, Gorath sat on a stone throne he had recently fashioned from the rubble. It was crude, not majestic, but there he dwelt. Silent. Commanding by his mere presence.
Shadow creatures stood around him. They did not speak, did not move, awaiting orders like living statues.
Someone approached. Not a shadow. Not human.
A woman with silver hair, a slender body, eyes burning a cold blue. She bowed deeply.
"Lady Aelira, emissary of the Northern Sea Legion," she introduced herself. "We heard that Elhar had fallen. I come not to fight... but to offer an alliance."
Gorath did not answer.
Aelira continued cautiously. "Many oppose you, but many more fear you. If you desire a kingdom... we can help you form one. But your enemies will not remain silent. Heaven and Hell are making their moves."
Gorath stared at her.
"A kingdom?" His voice was deep, hoarse, but powerful. "I am not interested in a kingdom. I am rebuilding the world."
Aelira held her breath. "Then you need more than an army of shadows. You need a world that believes in your cause."
Gorath stood. Tall, dark, intimidating. He stepped slowly, approaching Aelira. Around him, shadows moved without command.
"I do not need them to believe. I only need them to choose: submit... or burn."
Aelira bit her lip, then smiled thinly. "The answer I expected. But there is still time. When that time comes, I will choose the side that stands."
He bowed again, then left, his shadow lengthening across the blood-stained streets.
Meanwhile, atop the Northern Mountains, the armies of men and celestials began to gather. Old flags were raised anew. Holy warriors, once forgotten, were called back to battle.
Beyond the gray skies, something watched.
And a greater war was stirring—not just between light and dark, but between those who would destroy the world... and those who would remake it.