As the residual echoes of the devastating sphere faded, Satan stood amid the ruinous landscape, surrounded by the scorched earth and remains of the fallen. The carnage was immense, indiscriminate in claiming the lives of demons and other warriors alike. Satan, however, displayed no remorse for the collateral damage inflicted upon his own ranks; his laughter cut through the silence, a chilling sound amidst the desolation.
"What do you think about that? Hero? You're not so strong anymore," he taunted, his voice carrying across the empty battlefield, expecting no reply but savoring his apparent victory.
However, his gloating was abruptly cut short by a furious shout. "SATAN!!" The voice, wrought with defiance and fury, reverberated across the battlefield. Satan turned, only to see Eldrian charging at him with an unexpected burst of speed, his arm drawn back in a lethal strike holding a dagger.
Satan's eyes widened in a rare moment of fear as he recognized the weapon in Eldrian's grasp—the mythical sealing dagger, a relic imbued with the power to bind and banish everything. Panic seized him as he desperately tried to evade the attack, but Eldrian, driven by a final, desperate resolve, was too quick.
The dagger found its mark, plunging deep into Satan's forehead. Instantly, runes began to crawl across Satan's body like a network of chains, each glyph pulsating with ancient power. The runes, emanating from the dagger, seemed to drain Eldrian's very essence, using it as fuel for the sealing spell. A blinding light enveloped the scene as the runes completed their encirclement.
In that brilliant flash, Satan's form disintegrated, his essence sealed away by the dagger's power. Alongside him, the six other devils that had been his lieutenants vanished, leaving behind their artifacts—objects of immense power, now ownerless on the battlefield. Simultaneously, the entire demon army crumbled to dust, their link to the material plane severed by their master's defeat.
Amid the sudden stillness, a profound sense of loss permeated the air—Eldrian was gone. No trace of him remained, save for his armor and sword lying abandoned on the ground where he had last stood. This equipment, which Amukelo now wore, was a somber inheritance of a hero's sacrifice.
The leaders of the various races who had fought alongside Eldrian slowly approached the site of his last stand, each one processing the gravity of the victory and its cost. They gathered around the artifacts left behind by the devils, aware that these objects could not remain unguarded, given their power and the threat they posed if misused.
Discussions began among the leaders, each proposing strategies for safeguarding the artifacts. The air was heavy with the responsibility they now bore—to protect these powerful items and ensure that the sacrifice of Eldrian and countless others was not in vain. They spoke of creating vaults and sanctuaries, of enchantments and guards who would dedicate their lives to the protection of these relics.
As the illusion of the Ancient War dissipated around them, the gravity of what they had witnessed hung heavily in the air. The sheer magnitude of power that Eldrian and Satan had wielded was beyond comprehension, leaving Amukelo and his companions awestruck and deeply contemplative about the forces that had once shaped their world.
The group's astonishment soon turned to curiosity as all eyes shifted towards Amukelo, particularly his armor, which bore an uncanny resemblance to Eldrian's. The questions came all at once, their voices a mixture of incredulity and urgency, "How the heck did you get this armor?"
With a light-hearted laugh that eased the tension, Amukelo began to recount his tale. He explained the rigorous training in the Draconian lands and the trials he endured. His story, filled with challenges and revelations, captivated his companions, though it shed little light on the true origins of the armor, known only to have been worn by Eldrian during the Ancient War.
Motivated by a mix of curiosity and the lingering energy of the battlefield, the group decided to approach the exact spot where Eldrian had vanquished Satan. As they neared the location, a strange phenomenon occurred—the illusion that had reenacted the battle reacted to the presence of Amukelo's armor. With a shudder that passed through the air like a whispered secret, the entire spectral display dissolved into the ether, revealing nothing but the raw, scarred earth beneath their feet.
However, in the place where the decisive blow had been dealt, the ground itself seemed to respond. An ancient flap, covered in runes that flickered faintly within the cracks of the worn stone, slowly opened, revealing a dark, foreboding corridor that extended into the unknown.
The discovery of the hidden passage halted them in their tracks. Uncertainty flickered across their faces as they peered into the shadowy depths. Erohan, ever pragmatic, voiced his concern, "We've wasted enough time here; we should go back." His suggestion was rooted in caution, mindful of the risks that such unknown paths posed.
Yet Amukelo, driven by a deep-seated need to uncover the secrets that might lie ahead, countered, "That's exactly why we should go in. If we've already spent so much time here, we might as well spend a little more. Who knows, we might find a clue about where the other artifacts are." His words, filled with a mix of hope and determination, sparked a new fire within the group.
After a brief period of deliberation, during which the potential dangers and rewards were weighed, a consensus was reached. Driven by a collective thirst for knowledge and the potential to prevent future calamities, they agreed to venture into the mysterious corridor.