Author:
Ahmadreza Khairollahi
Pen Name :
A .R. Khairollahi
Twenty Thousand Years Before Christ…
In an age where the boundary between legend and reality had blurred, there existed a vast and mythical realm known as Swordland—the Land of the Sword.
This land was not only the most powerful and expansive kingdom of its time, but also one where fate was forged by those who danced like sharpened blades upon the battlefield.
At the heart of Swordland, a great and unmatched king sat upon the throne—a man whose name had become immortal in the scrolls of time.
The King of Swordland.
Merely hearing his name was enough to send tremors of fear down the spines of his enemies. He ruled from a golden throne, seated in the heart of a magnificent fortress whose walls stretched high into the heavens. Banners bearing the emblem of the Golden Simurgh—the mythical bird symbolizing power and eternity—fluttered in the wind.
With its wings spread wide, the Simurgh soared in every breeze, a shining sigil of Swordland's eternal reign.
His rule echoed like a mighty sword across all realms.
His strength was so immense, no force could stand against it.
Each of his victories burned like a flame through the annals of history.
But amidst this grandeur and glory, a dark wind began to blow.
Far away—in the depths of the black forests and the silent mountains—a wicked song began to whisper.
Ominous signs of doom emerged on the horizon.
And in the dead of night, as the moon wept blood, the ancient demons stirred from their slumber, lurking within the shadows.
The fate of Swordland could no longer remain unshaken.
Dark clouds gathered. And from distant lands, murmurs grew louder—whispers of a merciless, rising threat.
Darkness was coming.
And no power could stop it.
Somewhere beyond the seas and mountains, an evil force began to awaken.
And Swordland… could do nothing but await its fate.
At the height of its splendor, something hidden in the darkness was growing—
Something even the greatest king in history had not foreseen.
In a forgotten corner of the world, deep within a cemetery untouched by human feet for ages, stood a decaying structure made of shadows.
Inside that house, an ancient man—with wrinkled skin and eyes that shimmered with the secrets of galaxies—took a quill into his trembling hands.
He was the last seer of the world—a man who could see the destinies of kings with but a glance.
His shaking hands carved words onto a piece of ancient hide—words that could change the fate of the world.
He sealed it with a stamp and a strand of hair woven from blood and magic.
That letter… was a warning.
A prophecy of what lay in wait within the darkness.
He handed the letter to an unknown traveler and, in a voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the earth, said:
"Take this letter to the King of Swordland.
But know this—if it arrives too late, the fate of this realm will be changed… forever."
The Gates of Greatness
The gates of Swordland—like twin metallic beasts—had been carved from the heart of the mountains.
Upon them stood watchmen clad in gleaming armor.
Every movement that approached the gates was scrutinized by the sharp eyes of the King's knights.
The messenger, gasping for breath, reached the gate.
Before he could speak a word, a cold, gleaming sword was drawn before his face.
A knight in shining armor, with a long blade and a gaze filled with contempt and mockery, looked him over and scoffed:
"Do you think every filthy wanderer gets to pass through these gates?"
The messenger, enraged by the humiliation, said nothing of the letter's importance.
He simply pulled it from within his robe and angrily hurled it toward the knight.
With the reflexes born of years of training and war, the knight caught the letter in his iron grip just before it struck him.
He paused, gazing into the distance—
Toward the place where the messenger had vanished into the shadowed, cobbled streets of Swordland.
He did not pursue him.
Not out of weakness—
But out of weariness. Indifference.
Just another peasant's plea, he thought.
A complaint.
Some petty words against the crown.
He scoffed, eyes full of scorn, and flung the letter carelessly into the stream that flowed beneath the gates of the grand palace.
The letter… drifted in silence.
But the weight of the thick package in which it was wrapped caused it to sink deep into the stream.
However, a corner of the paper, swollen by the moisture, protruded and caught the knight's eye.
Moments later, his gaze locked onto a single word—dark and glistening—etched upon that protruding edge.
A word that carried a shadow, even under the light of day: "Extinction."
A strange feeling sprouted within the knight—a mix of curiosity, fear, and perhaps a foreboding sense of imminent danger.
Slowly, he reached into the water, pulled out the package, and let his eyes drift across the black letters carved into the paper.
He could no longer remain indifferent.
This letter was no longer just a piece of paper—it might be a message that could alter the fate of the entire realm.
Without hesitation, he strode toward the palace, his armor echoing loudly against the stone floors of the hall.
But he paid no mind to the curious glances of the other knights. His path was clear—toward the royal chamber.
The king, surrounded by attendants and pages, was preparing his armor for the day's hunt.
But when he noticed a pale-faced knight enter with trembling hands, he frowned slightly.
It was rare to see one of his guards in such disarray.
With a voice that had grown graver and more serious than ever, the knight said:
"My lord… I bring a letter… a letter that must not be ignored."
The king, without uttering a word, stepped forward and took the damp letter from the knight's shaking hands.
The soaked paper and the unusual weight of the package made him pause.
For a king rarely surprised by anything, a strange curiosity began to burn within him.
He took a deep breath and ran his fingers over the broken seal.
With eyes that struggled to mask their emotion, he began to read…
The Letter:
All vast kingdoms shall face extinction, and only the Chosen—those deemed worthy of survival—shall remain.
Demons will rise from the depths of the earth. An unending army of darkness shall drag humankind into oblivion.
This message must reach the King of Swordland.
— The Old Seer
After reading the letter, a heavy silence fell over the chamber.
The lines of the dampened paper trembled in his hands—but it was not fear that caused the shaking.
It was deep thought.
An unfamiliar dread ignited in his heart—but not a fear for his own life, nor for the loss of his crown or limitless wealth.
The terror that now consumed him came from a far darker place:
The extinction of mankind.
The collapse of a civilization built through centuries of blood and toil.
His eyes lingered on the broken seal.
Was this a real warning?
Or merely a deception meant to ensnare his thoughts?
And if it were true…
What then?
Had the time come for the King of Swordland to face not a mortal enemy,
but a force beyond human comprehension?
Then, with resolute tone, he gave his orders:
"Guardian Knight, return to your post. Speak of this letter to no one!"
The knight bowed quickly and obeyed.
Then, the king turned to his commander and spoke firmly:
"Select a group of your finest men. Seek out the old seer.
He must reveal the truth behind this prophecy!"
The soldiers departed at once.
For hours, they wandered the narrow, crowded streets of the capital, questioning every passerby about the old man.
But no one had any clear answers—until they came across a homeless man with sharp eyes and a mysterious smile.
One of the soldiers asked firmly:
"Do you know a man known for prophecy?"
The homeless man furrowed his brow, then grinned slyly and replied:
"Perhaps I do… but such old memories put a strain on my mind.
Maybe… ten copper coins could jog it."
The soldiers glanced at each other, then dropped the coins into his open palm.
He counted them carefully, then said in a drawn-out voice:
"Ah, yes… now I remember! The old seer…
Yes, when I was young and worked in the house of a witch, I saw him.
He had come to foretell the future.
They say now… he lives in the Graveyard of Sorcerers—a place no man dares to tread.
That land has long been abandoned…
and they say… entering it is dangerous."
The soldiers, who hadn't expected the homeless man to have such precise information, looked at each other in astonishment. Then, without hesitation, they set off toward the ominous place.
The Graveyard of Sorcerers was located on a remote edge of the capital—a region that, for centuries, had been a gathering place for witches and warlocks. Twisted, lifeless trees, moss-covered tombstones, and the eerie whispers of the wind through abandoned crypts created a haunting atmosphere.
When the soldiers reached the rusted stone gate of the graveyard, they paused for a moment of silence. The air around them felt heavy and unnatural, as if fate itself was watching their every step. A large sign hung above the entrance. Its dark red letters seemed to have soaked into the rotting wood with the passage of time:
"This place has been the scene of horrific serial killings and is now abandoned.
Entering it is equal to a cursed fate and a dreadful death."
After reading the message, the soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. Finally, they decided that two of them would stay at the gate—in case of any danger, they could return to the castle and call for aid. The remaining soldiers cautiously entered the graveyard, heading toward a mysterious house perched on a hill at its center.
The graveyard was shrouded in a thick mist. A biting cold pierced their bones. Twisted, barren trees cast monstrous shadows in the dark. Silent owls watched them from the branches, and distant howls of wolves shattered the night's stillness. The moon cast a pale, ghostly light over the graves, and the ground beneath their feet seemed to whisper tales of cursed memories.
After a few minutes, they reached an ancient, abandoned house—two stories high, and at least two hundred years old. Its cracked stone walls, broken windows, and the unnatural air that surrounded it suggested that only some unknown magic had kept the ruin standing.
They entered with caution. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them with a deafening thud. The worn curtains were drawn with a chilling rustle, and the lanterns on the walls lit themselves. The fireplace roared to life, casting a comforting warmth across the room.
The soldiers, frozen in fear, exchanged anxious glances. Had they walked into a deadly trap? Was the house alive—and ready to consume them?
At that very moment, a voice echoed from the top of the stairs:
"Brave children! There is no need to fear here. Sit and warm yourselves...
That is, if you still wish to stay alive!"
The soldiers turned toward the voice and saw him—a frail old man with long white hair, wearing a once-majestic robe now faded and threadbare. His eyes shone sharply through the creases of his face.
One of the stunned soldiers asked, hesitantly:
"Are you... the old prophet? Did you send the strange letter to our lord?"
The old man stroked his beard, nodded with a mysterious smile, and said:
"Ah, the letter! Yes, yes... Sometimes the human heart gets stirred, and the hand reaches for the pen.
Though in this case... things are a bit more complicated."
Another soldier stepped forward and said firmly:
"You must come with us to the castle. The king wishes to speak with you.
You have two options—either walk on your own or we will take you!"
The prophet smiled, squinted, and replied:
"Oh my, what a threat! So subtle and polite!
But fortunately, there's no need for any of that.
I was planning to visit the castle myself.
If you're ready, we're just a bit late—the king awaits me!"
Still surprised by his humor, the soldiers exchanged glances, then set off with the prophet toward the castle.
After several hours, they arrived and brought the prophet before the king. The king studied the old man with a deep gaze before finally speaking:
"Tell me... is what you wrote in that letter true?
These demons you spoke of—what are they?
Why do they seek to enter our world?
And more importantly... how can we stop them?"
The prophet sighed, adjusted his robe, and said:
"Well, well... Always straight to the point.
Alright then, alright...
But before that, is there a cup of something warm to drink?
In times like these, even prophets can't afford hot tea!"
The king raised an eyebrow at the unexpected request but signaled the servants to bring him something.
Then, in a slightly more serious tone, the old man continued:
"My lord, there is a world beneath ours...
A realm beyond the understanding of mortal men.
A world full of creatures that are never satisfied.
And now... their resources are running dry.
When that happens, they will seek a new land.
And what better place than the surface—rich, abundant, and defenseless?"
His eyes gleamed as he smiled:
"But there is still hope...
That is—if we can accept a little humor in our battles!"
The king, with a faint frown, asked:
"Hope? How?"
The prophet leaned forward, and in a voice that echoed through the hall, said:
"Well, well... Let me tell you a story.
In a distant empire...
Wait, hold on—it's a bit of a long tale!
Are you sure you have the time to hear it?"
The king sat with a piercing gaze, staring into the eyes of the seer.
A dreadful silence had fallen over the hall.
The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the walls.
Everyone was waiting for the answer.
The seer took a deep breath, slipped his hands into his robe, leaned back calmly, and said:
"Well, well… First of all, let me say that you are very brave, my lord! Very brave… and perhaps, a little too optimistic."
The king, irritated by this preamble, frowned heavily and said:
"Get to the point. If these monsters come to the surface, what will happen? And is there any way to destroy them?"
The seer, as if just waking from a pleasant nap, sighed, stretched his limbs, and said:
"Alright, alright. Let me first answer your first question. If these monsters come to Earth, what will happen?"
He paused briefly, took a sip of his drink, clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and said:
"Well… First of all, they will massacre every single human on this planet in the most gruesome way possible!
But not like your average massacre — fast and clean. No! This will be a bloody spectacle, a feast of terror!
One of those massacres that will be spoken of for centuries…
That is, if anyone survives to tell the tale!"
The king clenched his teeth.
The seer, however, continued, completely ignoring the heavy atmosphere:
"Now we come to the second question! Can you defeat them?"
He looked at the king with a wise-yet-patronizing gaze, twirled his finger in the air, and said:
"Ha ha! What a delightful question! Let me put it this way...
Even if you had four hundred thousand elite and battle-hardened knights…
Even if their swords were forged from heavenly steel…
Even if every single one of them were as fearless as yourself…
They would still be like a handful of ants facing a mighty flood!"
He waved his hands in the air and added:
"Because they have an army. But not an ordinary army…
An army of hundreds of millions of ruthless, savage, demonic beasts — towering in height.
And the worst part?
They know every combat technique ever created.
They have fought in every battle imaginable.
And what makes them true monsters... is that they have no fear.
Not of death. Not of pain. Not of you."
A deadly silence fell upon the hall.
The king clenched his fists on the table and whispered:
"And if we perform a miracle… if we somehow defeat them… what then?"
The seer wore a pitiful expression, shook his head in sorrow, and said:
"Oh, my lord… How I wish I had your optimism!
But no. That would only bring you to the final boss of this game…
Their queen.
A being thousands of times more powerful than anything you've ever seen.
If she enters the battlefield, you might as well dig your graves right now!"
The king closed his eyes, as if trying to empty his mind of this nightmare.
Then, with a tone barely holding its calm, he asked:
"Then what is the only way to victory?"
The seer raised his finger, his eyes gleamed, and he said:
"Oh! Finally, we reach the exciting part!
The only path to victory is to possess the power of the gods.
And the only one who can grant you that power… is Samuel,
one of the most powerful archangels."
The king sharpened his gaze:
"And where can he be found?"
The seer clapped his hands excitedly and said:
"Ah, such direct questions, my lord! No background, no prelude, straight to the point!
Very well, very well… To meet Samuel, you must travel west for fifty days — to where the world ends."
He suddenly fell silent, closed his eyes, as if visualizing something in his mind.
The king, growing impatient, said:
"And then what?"
The seer opened his eyes, slowly nodded, and smiled mysteriously:
"Then… you wait.
Because you do not find Samuel…
He finds you."
The hall once again sank into an eerie silence.
The king, unsure whether to be amazed or enraged, simply nodded and ordered a hundred gold coins to be given to the old man — perhaps in the hope of getting rid of his words sooner.
Then he turned to his commander and said:
"Prepare the finest knights. We have a long and perilous journey ahead of us…
And this time, we shall rewrite destiny ourselves!"
The seer happily tucked the coins into his sleeve and muttered under his breath:
"Oh, kings and heroes… they never listen…
But what a story this one shall be!"
The King of Swordland, along with his bravest knights, rushed westward. For fifty days, they traveled through endless plains, dense forests, towering mountains, and scorching deserts. They survived fierce storms, fought off bandits, fled from jungle monsters, and even spent a night inside a dark cave beside a drowsy bear (of course, the bear realized only in the morning that it had hosted the king the night before—and is still in shock!).
At last, after overcoming all these challenges, they reached the end of the world. Before them stood massive ice mountains, like a legendary wall embracing the earth. These mountains were so tall that their peaks disappeared into the clouds. Only one narrow, dangerous path led to the top.
The king, with a firm stride, began ascending toward the peak. The knights, frozen from the cold, silently wished their king were a little less brave—and a little more considerate of their comfort. But when they reached the summit… everything changed.
Beyond the mountains, there was nothing—no land, no sky, no thing at all. Just an endless void. As if the world had suddenly ended. A boundless darkness, as if nothingness itself were staring back at them. The knights held their breath. Was this the very end of the world that legends had always spoken of?
Without a hint of doubt on his face, the king ordered the tents to be pitched and for everyone to wait. If the old prophet had spoken the truth, then Samuel might descend from the sky at any moment...
And suddenly, the sky split open. A blinding light, like lightning, poured through the rift and shook the world. Samuel descended from that light with shining white wings. His presence was so majestic and dazzling that even the king—who was no stranger to miracles—instinctively took a step back.
Samuel slowly approached. The knights kneeled. The king, in a loud but respectful voice, spoke:
— O Samuel! Receive my warm greetings, I, the King of Swordland, have come from distant lands to seek your aid. Demonic enemies seek to destroy mankind. If we fall before them, there will be no hope left for humanity. I ask of you to grant me the power to stand against these beings!
Samuel was silent for a moment, a silence that echoed like thunder. Then he spoke in a voice that sounded like the sky itself:
— O mortal man! Many have come before you... all with the same request. But none were worthy... until now.
His eyes shone like twin suns. His voice sent tremors through them all:
— The power you seek is not a gift to be granted lightly. This power brings responsibility. Should you step into darkness, even for a moment, this force will be taken from you... and I shall banish you with my own hands to the deepest pits of Hell!
He stepped closer and firmly said:
— Kneel, King of Swordland! Do you accept this condition?
Without a moment's hesitation, the king knelt with authority.
— In the name of humanity, I accept! I swear to use this power only for good!
Samuel, with a stern yet majestic face, spread his massive wings and his voice echoed through the air:
— Then listen well, O child of Adam and Eve, O King of Swordland! I, Samuel, ruler of the Fifth Heaven, protector of mankind, and guardian of cursed souls, grant you the power of the gods. But know this—our eyes shall ever be upon you. This power is no gift to be used at will. Should you stray from the righteous path, I will cast you down from the heavens to the earth.
Suddenly, the sky transformed. Storm clouds twisted and a rain of light fell upon the earth. In an instant, a blinding flash of light turned everything white. The king and his knights had no time to react—they all fell unconscious.
Hours passed...
When the king opened his eyes, Samuel was gone. A strange sensation surged through his body—a feeling that nothing in this world could stop him. But at the same time, a sense of not belonging… as if he was no longer part of this world.
He raised his hands and felt something he had never experienced before—absolute power! With a single thought, he could create, destroy, even bend reality. But suddenly he remembered: my promise to Samuel.
He set aside pride, took a deep breath, and said firmly:
— Knights, prepare yourselves! We return to the castle!
But as soon as he spoke these words, something strange happened. A vision of the castle appeared in his mind—and a portal opened before them! The king was surprised at first but smiled:
— So this is one of the powers…
Without hesitation, with a wave of his hand, he guided his companions into the portal.
Inside the castle, everything was normal—until a massive portal opened right in the center of the main hall, and the king and his knights stepped out of it. Courtiers, nobles, even servants who witnessed this scene stood frozen like statues, their mouths agape in shock.
The king glanced at them and, in a tone of boredom and exhaustion, said:
— Why so stiff? Haven't you ever seen a magic portal before?! Move it! The knights need rest. And most importantly… bring the old prophet to me, at once!
The old prophet was at that moment in a corner of the castle courtyard, enjoying the beauty of nature and humming a poem to himself. Suddenly, a breathless servant arrived.
— Master Prophet! The king summons you!
The old man calmly drank the last sip of his tea, sighed, and with a mysterious smile said:
— Hah! I knew he couldn't manage without me! Very well, let's see what the fuss is about this time...
After a few moments, he reached the hall and stood before the king.
The old prophet, his face glowing with joy, struck his staff on the ground, ran a hand through his long, messy beard, and said:
_ "Great King! You are the promised savior... the one spoken of in the legends... the one who..."
The king, still astonished by his newfound power, raised an eyebrow, looked at the prophet, and said tiredly:
_ "Get to the point, old man. Where is the enemy and how much time do we have?"
The prophet, with a theatrical gesture and a voice seemingly meant to turn every second of this conversation into an epic play, said:
_ "Ah, such haste! The thirst for battle seems to burn within you, O mighty king! But as the saying goes, haste makes wa—"
The king sighed and looked toward the army commander:
_ "Someone please silence this old man."
The prophet, clearly displeased with the king's impatience, cleared his throat and continued:
_ "Very well, very well... I'll get to the point! In seven days, from the mouth of the great volcano in the northern realms, monsters will emerge..."
A heavy silence fell upon the hall. The knights looked at each other nervously. But the king, arms crossed and completely calm, said with a tone laced with sarcasm:
_ "Seven days until the world ends, and here we are, sitting and listening to fairy tales?"
The army commander, still in shock from the new information, stepped forward and said seriously:
_ "My lord, with all due respect... we cannot ready the entire army in seven days. The distance is also great, and we need at least twenty days to reach the northern realms."
The king clasped his hands behind his back with a mysterious smile, approached the commander and said:
_ "Commander... I know you're a man of logic, but you must open your mind a little to miracles. We shall not arrive in seven days, but in mere minutes!"
The commander's eyes widened:
_ "Wait… you mean… the same portal that brought us to the castle…?"
The king nodded and smiled.
_ "Exactly, Commander. And as for the army? It's not needed. The royal elite guard will be enough."
At that moment, the prophet, who had been observing everything from a corner, spun his staff in the air and said in a tone as if he had just made a crucial prophecy:
_ "Ah, foolish king! Pride and arrogance have always been the downfall of the mighty! Do you truly believe that with this newfound power, you have no need for an army? Do you..."
The king, uninterested in the prophet's rambling, glanced at the knight standing near him:
_ "Someone please throw this old man out the window."
The prophet quickly hugged his staff and with a self-righteous tone said:
_ "Okay, okay, it was just a joke! You people always take everything so seriously..."
Ignoring the old man's grumbling, the king turned to the commander and said:
_ "Ready the royal guard within two hours. Have their armor polished and swords sharpened. We are about to enter a battle history will never forget."
Two hours later – Plains surrounding the castle
The vast plain was filled with knights standing in neat formations. Their armor shone under the sunlight and the flags of Swordland danced in the wind.
The army commander, still uncertain about the king's decision, stepped forward and said:
_ "My lord, one question remains: would it not be more logical to take the entire army?"
This time the king, with a smile filled with absolute confidence, said:
_ "Commander, I alone am enough for this battle. I'm only bringing the royal guard so that if any monster escapes the battlefield, they can eliminate it. None of these creatures must survive!"
Now more than ever, the commander felt proud of the king. He struck his fist against his chestplate and said loudly:
_ "Yes, my lord!"
The king raised his hand.
_ "Everyone, prepare yourselves. With the power now in our hands, we shall open a gate to the battlefield. From this moment forth, history will remember how the children of Swordland stood against the darkness and saved the earth from destruction."
The king opened a portal to the vicinity of the great volcano in the northern realm. He and the commander passed through first, followed by the royal elite guard—shadows made of steel.
As the last man crossed, the portal closed and the cold northern air brushed their faces.
The commander of Swordland's army, still stunned by the wondrous journey, spoke with deep respect:
_ "My lord, this is truly beyond imagination! We covered such a great distance in an instant. It is an honor to serve a king like you."
The king, pleased by the praise but unwilling to let himself be consumed by pride, replied firmly:
_ "No need for compliments. We have one goal here: to destroy the demons and protect our people. Now, have the royal guard rest at a safe distance from the volcano. We'll spend the next six days preparing."
As soon as the king finished his words, a thunderous cheer echoed among the troops, expressing their devotion.
The commander ordered the tents to be set up and the soldiers to rest.
But the king, without pause, began surveying the surroundings.
He knew that time was a ruthless enemy.
Looking into the mouth of the volcano, where monsters would rise, an idea sparked in his mind. With a wave of his hand, massive mountain ranges rose from the depths of the earth, like walls to surround the monsters and leave them only one way out. Then, with godlike will, he summoned storm clouds to turn the surrounding lands into deadly swamps. Water and mud — a weapon to chain the enemy's speed.
Six days passed. Six days of relentless rain, and the land sank into the grip of mud and mire. The Royal Guard had rested enough, and now they were in full readiness.
In the final moments, the king ordered the army commander to station the Royal Guard at the enclosure's exit. Then he himself, like a ruler who had bent fate to his will, stood before them and spoke:
"Soldiers! We are gathered here today not to survive, but to triumph! What emerges from the mouth of this volcano is a horde of the wildest and most merciless creatures to ever set foot on earth. They have not come for peace, nor for negotiation — they have only one goal: the annihilation of mankind. But who are we? We are the protectors of this land! We are the ones who bring demons to their knees! So never underestimate the enemy! This may be our last battle — but rest assured, our names shall become eternal! May God protect us!"
As soon as the king's speech ended, the warriors' battle cries rose to the sky, and all took their positions.
Meanwhile, the old prophet, sitting in a corner fixing his beard, whispered calmly:
"Well, now that your epic speech is over, I hope you'll listen to my advice too. Because if these monsters are anything like my ex-wives, you better pray they've at least bathed once in their lives!"
The king looked at the old man and said with a faint smile:
"Old man, you worry about their smell; I'll worry about their destruction."
The ground began to tremble. A mighty roar echoed from the lava-filled mouth of the volcano. Everyone was ready. The king gripped his sword tightly, and his eyes sparkled with the thrill of battle.
The awaited moment had arrived. The war horn blew...
Darkness, like a raging tide, was advancing. Monsters — countless and thirsty for destruction — poured out of the volcano's mouth. From afar, seeing this terrifying sight, the soldiers' hearts trembled, but their resolve grew stronger. Here, on the battlefield, there was no place for fear.
The king, gazing firmly at the flood of creatures, with an otherworldly calm, removed his sword's sheath from his waist and cast it to the ground. He had no need for a mortal weapon, for he himself was an unparalleled weapon. Step by step, without fear, he advanced toward the enemy.
The land, which had turned into a deadly swamp from six days of unceasing rain, now became a trap for the monsters. The giant creatures, caught in the mud, struggled and the more they moved, the deeper they sank. The king seized the opportunity.
Suddenly, a lightning bolt rose from the sky like the wrath of Zeus, and a ring of thunder and lightning surrounded the king. Any monster that approached it turned to ash in the blink of an eye. He placed his hands upon the earth, and mighty trees sprouted from the ground — their trunks pierced through the monsters like deadly spears.
The commander of the Sourdland army, breathless from excitement, whispered in admiration:
"He is not alone... the earth and sky are in his hands."
The monsters who had escaped the swamp charged with savage cries toward the exit gate — but there, the Royal Guard and the army commander, with flawless strategy, drowned them all in their own blood. Suddenly, everything fell into a heavy silence. The soldiers, smiling, thought they had won — but the king still stood motionless, as if sensing something...
Suddenly, from amidst the abundant lava, a colossal monster leapt out. Its stature like a mountain, teeth like blood-stained daggers, and eyes — gateways to an endless hell. This was the queen of the monsters.
The old prophet, still grooming his beard, said in a tone like he was watching a play:
"Ah yes! There's always a big boss behind it all. Now let's at least find out if this one has had lunch — because if she's hungry, things might get a little complicated!"
The king, ignoring the old man's words, gazed deeply into the queen's eyes. He knew the true battle had now begun. If this creature wasn't destroyed, all the defeated monsters would return. This wasn't a battle to retreat from. This was a battle of destiny.
The soldiers, who moments earlier thought themselves victorious, now once again felt fear in their hearts. Could the king defeat this colossal being?
The army commander muttered under his breath:
"He can… he must..."
A deadly silence reigned.
The queen of the monsters and the king stood motionless, locked in each other's gaze. It was as if both knew — only one would walk away from this battle, and the other would be dragged into oblivion. A fatal and heavy moment passed between them. The volcano behind them roared, and the ground beneath them trembled from the immense power of these two fated enemies.
The king struck first — a blow so mighty it hurled the queen back. Her massive demonic body spun in the air and, with tremendous force, fell toward the volcano's mouth. The king instantly leapt into the air and in a blink reached the volcano's edge. The queen, unconscious, hovered on the brink of falling into the scorching lava. This was the moment the king could end it all. He stepped forward, hands ready to sever the neck of this demonic creature. But suddenly, the queen opened her eyes with unbelievable speed and dove into the volcano!
The king lunged after her, but it was too late. He couldn't let such an evil being escape. Should he journey into the underworld — into the depths of darkness and fire — to finish this battle? But before he could decide, the volcano's searing lava erupted, and the queen emerged, this time with a deadly weapon in her hands. The sword she carried was a cursed blade. Dark power, spirits of damned demons — all were infused within it. Whoever touched its blade was annihilated.
The queen, now faster than imagination, charged at the king. Caught off guard, he had no time to defend himself — the hellish blade mercilessly pierced his heart!
The king, suspended between earth and sky, eyes dimming, fell back. His heart burned from within, and the light vanished from his eyes. A moment of silence. A moment of falling. He collapsed to the ground, and a deadly silence enveloped everything.
The soldiers watching from afar held their breath. Whispers of despair spread among them. The commander, the Royal Guard — all looked at each other with deep fear. Was this the end of humanity?
Had their hope, their champion, their invincible king, fallen to the force of darkness?
The queen of the monsters, triumphant, returned toward the volcano's mouth. She didn't even bother to pull the sword from the king's chest — she didn't need to. She knew the king was dead, and now the human world was hers.
But there was one thing she didn't know...
Just as her steps reached near the crater, the ground beneath her shook. The heavy silence of the night broke with a deep breath. The king… opened his eyes. The pain pulsing in his heart was not his end — it was a new beginning. He rose from the ground with power beyond imagining. He wrapped his hands around the sword's hilt, and in one motion, pulled the cursed blade from his chest.
The king was no longer the man he was before. An unfathomable force now blazed through his veins. Without a moment's hesitation, with a speed even the queen couldn't perceive, he...
He charged at her.
Before the monstrous queen could react, the king, wielding the very blade she once believed made her invincible, severed her head from her body.
A moment of eerie silence...
The queen, lifeless and still, hovered between earth and sky, then with a thunderous crash, her colossal body plunged into the mouth of the volcano.
The monsters were vanquished.
Darkness was defeated.
The king — the victor of this mortal battle — stood in solemn silence. But deep within, he knew...
This was not the end.
For in the shadows, there was only one who could bring him to his knees: Samuel.
And the day the king strayed from his path — the day darkness sprouted in his heart — Samuel would return...
As the queen's lifeless body lay upon the scorched earth, the king took a deep breath.
The cursed sword still rested in his hands — a blade infused with the spirits of demons — but its former master was no more.
An unsettling silence engulfed the volcanic plains, as if even nature itself was stunned by the fate of this battle.
From a distance, the soldiers watched the scene unfold. Their eyes were wide with awe. Just moments ago, their king had fallen with a sword in his heart — and now, he stood tall, without a trace of weakness on his face.
But none dared approach him.
For something in his eyes had changed.
A power vast — yet terrifying.
The king slowly raised his head and looked to the darkened skies. Thick clouds swirled above the volcano, and a storm of energy circled around him. He gripped the sword tighter — a blade that now seemed fused with his very being. It was as if the curse had passed from the queen of monsters… to him.
Suddenly, a sound rose from the depths of the earth.
Not an earthquake.
Not the volcano.
Something deeper. Resonant.
As if it came from another world.
The ground quaked. The lava stirred.
And in that moment, the king felt it — something calling to him.
It wasn't Samuel.
His time had not yet come.
But something — or someone — in the darkness was waiting.
Was this new power a blessing… or a curse?
Was he still the same king, or was another fate unfolding?
The soldiers stood frozen with uncertainty and fear.
But the king — the only thing he could feel — was something beyond this world.
From the base of the volcano, his people erupted in cheers.
He was alive — not just alive, but the savior of humanity from the brink of extinction.
They rushed toward him.
In one hand, he held the severed head of the monster queen.
In the other, the cursed blade.
When the Royal Guard and the commander reached him, the king raised his voice and declared:
"Brothers, as I told you — you have seen with your own eyes how we triumphed through unity and courage. There's no time for delay. We return to the castle… and tonight, we feast to this victory!"
The soldiers roared with joy, but amidst the celebration, the old seer stepped forward.
He struck his staff against the ground and said:
"There's just… one small thing that troubles me..."
The king glanced at him with mild curiosity.
"What is it now, old man?"
The seer smiled — though it felt more like a warning than comfort.
"Well… only that the cursed sword you've brought back might not be the best guest for a night of revelry. But who listens to an old grumbler these days, right?"
The king paid him no mind and opened a portal toward the castle.
He passed through first, followed by the army commander and the Royal Guard.
The people greeted their king with celebration and awe.
He gave the order for a grand festival to be held, and commanded that the monster queen's head be impaled on a spike and displayed at the city's main gate.
Later, he entered the royal hall, hung the cursed sword upon his chamber wall, changed his clothes, and bathed.
But just as he was ready to join the celebration…
The old seer appeared in the doorway, leaning on his staff with a long sigh.
"A magnificent celebration, my king… But tell me — do you not feel the slightest... strangeness within? A whisper in your ear, perhaps? A light that seems… a little darker than usual?"
The king stared at him, clearly growing impatient...
Old man, tonight is the night of celebration. Save your words for later.
The prophet shrugged.
_ Ah, yes, of course. I just hope that when you finally realize what you've brought along, it won't be too late.
The king passed by him indifferently and entered the great hall. He sat on his throne and began his speech:
_ Brothers and sisters, through effort and unity, we were able to destroy the demons and eliminate the threat of human extinction. Tonight, we are here to celebrate this second chance. I hope you enjoy this night to the fullest!
Everyone cheered, and the celebration began. The festivities lasted until dawn, and the people, happy with their survival, returned to their homes.
After the grand celebration held in honor of the victory over the monsters, the king went to his room to rest. But he hadn't yet laid his head on the pillow when the familiar voice of the old prophet rose from the corner of his chamber:
_ Well, well, well! Congratulations, Your Majesty! You've saved the world, freed the nation from extinction, thrown a proper celebration, and pulled off some heroic stunts... but I have a small question…
The king, who had no patience left to deal with the old man, placed his hand on his temples and said tiredly:
_ What now, old man?
The prophet stepped forward with a mysterious smile, adjusted his robe a bit, and said:
_ I'm just curious to know... since when does a person come back to life after death and get up without a single problem?
The king, realizing what the old man meant, frowned and said:
_ Speak more clearly!
The old man sighed, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace:
_ Listen, my boy... you died! The sword, cursed by demons, pierced your heart! You weren't supposed to rise again, but something—or rather, someone—brought you back...
The king turned his gaze to the wall, where the cursed sword was hanging. He felt that the moment he touched it, something inside him had changed, but he didn't want to think about it.
The prophet continued:
_ Of course, it doesn't matter! Maybe I'm just an old man worrying too much. I just wanted to remind you that demonic powers never come without a cost. Now, you go ahead and rest, and I'll return to my messy and chaotic life!
And before the king could respond, the old man vanished, but the doubt and suspicion he had planted in the king's heart remained…
That night, the king had a peaceful sleep, but when he awoke the next morning, a strange and unfamiliar feeling surged through his being.
A power now flowed through his veins that even seemed to surpass supernatural abilities.
But what was even more disturbing were the thoughts forming in his mind—dark and dangerous thoughts.
When he looked at himself in the mirror, his face no longer seemed familiar. He, who just yesterday fought for his people and kingdom, now had only one thing in mind: absolute power.
He told himself:
_ If I'm powerful enough to defeat demons, why shouldn't I bring all other realms under my rule? Why shouldn't I destroy other kings and become the sole ruler of the world?
He made his decision with certainty. After breakfast, he ordered the commander of the army to be summoned. The commander quickly appeared in the royal hall and bowed respectfully. But when he heard the king's command, his expression turned to shock.
The king said firmly:
_ Prepare the troops. We will attack all the other realms!
The commander responded hesitantly:
_ My lord, you have always had friendly relations with the other realms. Why make such a decision now? Please reconsider—this war could harm your reputation!
The king stared at him with cold, emotionless eyes and said:
_ When I can bring the whole world under my control, why shouldn't I? Either carry out my order—or face execution!
The commander had no choice but to obey. Reluctantly, he executed the king's command. The royal army was fully prepared, and soon after, the king, leading his army, set out toward the first realm.
No power could stand against him. He conquered lands one after another, and anyone who resisted was brutally slaughtered.
The king personally beheaded every ruler he defeated and placed their heads on spears to be displayed in the garden beside his palace.
He killed the men and enslaved their families.
This savagery and insatiable thirst for power continued until no realm remained unconquered.
At last, he achieved his goal—he was now the sole king of the world.
During one of these battles, while the king was still massacring innocent people, the commander of the Sourdland army, unable to bear the cruelty any longer, finally stood up to him.
With a serious face and a firm tone, he said:
_ My lord, we took up our swords to protect the people, not to slaughter them! I will no longer carry out your orders.
A heavy silence fell between the two men who were once like brothers.
The soldiers held their breath, and even the wind seemed afraid to blow.
But, as expected, the king, without hesitation, raised the cursed sword and with a single stroke, severed the commander's head.
At that very moment, something shattered inside the King's heart.
He had always relied on his commander's loyalty, and now, he stood there, staring at his lifeless body sprawled across the ground. A deep sorrow curled within his chest—but he quickly crushed it. There was no turning back now.
After years of war, the massacre of millions of innocent souls, the enslavement of all mankind, and the creation of a garden lined with the impaled heads of fallen kings, the King finally returned from the battlefield to his palace. Now, instead of wielding a sword, he ruled from his throne—commanding a realm that had grown to encompass the entire world.
At dusk, as was his custom, he would stroll through the garden beside the palace, walking proudly and arrogantly among the tall spears. Atop each one sat the skull of a conquered monarch.
By then, the people had realized something grim—being saved from demons had brought them no salvation. Their daily lives had grown worse than death itself.
In silence, in the looming shadow of the gleaming black castle, they longed for death. They wished that the demons had finished the job when they reached their gates.
And in the midst of all this, the old prophet stood in a quiet corner of the palace, tapping his cane against the floor, shaking his head with a mixture of mischief and regret in his eyes.
"Well, well, well… here we are, exactly where we all knew we'd end up," he said with a crooked grin.
"Dear King, you've officially completed your transformation—from savior of mankind to its greatest threat. Congratulations!"
He casually pulled an apple from his sleeve, took a bite, and added:
"So now that you've conquered everything, what's next? Throw another lavish feast? Build another garden of severed heads? Oh wait, let me guess! Maybe now you'll aim for the moon and stars too, huh?"
The King, no longer amused by the old man's sarcasm, frowned and growled:
"If you've come here to mock me, you'd best disappear before your head joins the others."
The prophet smirked and shrugged.
"Alright, alright. I'm just a harmless old man. But remember one thing, my son… there is always someone stronger than you. And when that someone arrives… oh boy, oh boy… things are going to get real interesting."
As he slowly walked away, he muttered under his breath:
"Woe to the day Samuel returns…"
Some time later, the King, as he did every evening, wandered through the garden he had created—a garden of impaled skulls from the kings who once challenged him, now bearing silent witness to his triumph.
The cold evening wind howled between the spears, whispering eerie sounds, as though the vengeful spirits of the dead were murmuring in his ears.
He gazed upon the brutal fruits of his conquest with pride, but deep inside, an unfamiliar feeling gnawed at him. There was nothing left to conquer. No more enemies to defeat. The sole ruler of Earth now walked among the ghosts of the past—and for the first time in his life, he felt tired.
Then, suddenly, the air turned colder. The wind froze. Time itself seemed to halt.
From within the flickering shadows of the garden, a great light emerged.
The King narrowed his eyes, gripped the hilt of his sword, and fixed his gaze on the radiance.
Samuel stepped forth, face stern with fury.
The King smirked.
"It's been a long time since we last met," he said calmly, pride dripping from every word.
"I haven't forgotten the promise I made to you—but somewhere along the way, I chose not to keep it."
He turned, eyes lingering on the blood-stained spears.
"I was aware of every deed I committed. And now, if you've come to punish me—so be it.
There are no more people left to torture, no more lands to conquer, no more kings to behead. It's over."
Samuel's eyes blazed with anger.
"When I first met you, you were a man—one who wanted to save his people. But now you've become their curse. I left you to find your way back… and you only spilled more blood."
The King, unfazed, whispered:
"And in the end, I won."
Samuel stepped closer.
"Enough. You've crossed the boundaries of humanity. As I warned before—should you misuse your powers, you will be cast into hell, and your name wiped from the annals of history."
He raised his hand.
"Without further delay, I—Samuel, King of the Fifth Heaven and Warden of Demonic Souls—strip you of your power, banish you to hell, and restore time to its rightful path."
Before the King could respond, an excruciating pain ripped through his being.
His body began to disintegrate, and his screams dissolved into the silence of the night.
In a quiet corner of the garden, atop the same balcony where he always sat, the old prophet puffed on his pipe, watching the scene unfold.
He exhaled a stream of smoke and whispered:
"Phew… now that was a movie.
But to be honest—I didn't like the ending."
Samuel, mid-incantation as he rewound time, turned sharply toward him, scowling.
"You're still here?"
The old man shrugged.
"Of course I'm here! Someone's gotta inject a little sanity into this mess.
But tell me something… now that you've erased this man, who's going to stop the volcanic beasts from rising?"
Samuel hesitated. His eyes fell to the ground.
The old prophet, with a sly grin, took another puff and said:
"Let me guess… humanity gets slaughtered, the monsters take over, and the rest is just the same ol' apocalypse story, huh?"
He sighed, stood from his chair, brushed off his robe, and said coolly:
"Is there ever going to be a time when one of my predictions turns out to be wrong?
Well then… guess it's time for Earth to fall to the monsters."
He took one last puff from his pipe, snuffed it out, and muttered:
"Well… at least I don't have to give that egomaniacal King any more advice.
Though I'll say this—it was one hell of a story.
If I ever get the chance to tell it someday…
it's gonna be a masterpiece."