The sky was tinged with shades of orange and purple as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon. The allied forces stood at the ready, their weapons drawn, as they prepared for what would be one of the most crucial battles in the war. The once peaceful plains of Drakenor had become a battlefield, a place where victory or defeat would determine the fate of their world.
Aric stood at the front of the vanguard, his sword gleaming in the early morning light. His armor, though battered and worn from countless battles, still bore the crest of his family—a symbol of honor and duty that had been passed down through generations. He glanced over his shoulder at Kael and Jorath, both of whom were preparing for the battle in their own ways. Kael's bow was strung, his quiver full of arrows, while Jorath's staff hummed with the power of ancient magic.
"They'll be here soon," Kael muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon. "I can feel it."
Aric nodded. They had received word the night before that the enemy forces were on the move, marching toward the allied camp under the cover of darkness. The scouts had barely made it back to deliver the message before the first signs of the enemy were spotted.
"Are we ready for this?" Aric asked, his voice low.
Jorath, who had been standing silently beside him, nodded. "We have no choice. We fight, or we die."
Kael smirked, though there was little humor in his expression. "Always the optimist, Jorath."
The mage shrugged. "I call it like I see it."
As the three of them exchanged a final glance, the sound of distant drums filled the air—a slow, steady beat that echoed across the plains. The enemy was coming.
"All forces, prepare to engage!" Aric shouted, his voice carrying across the camp. The soldiers, who had been standing in tense silence, immediately sprang into action, forming ranks and raising their shields. The archers took their positions at the rear, their arrows trained on the horizon, while the cavalry mounted their horses, ready to charge at a moment's notice.
The ground began to tremble as the enemy army appeared on the horizon, their dark banners waving in the wind. At the head of the force was a massive figure clad in black armor, his face hidden behind a fearsome helmet. This was Malgar, the warlord who had united the fractured remnants of the dark forces into a single, terrifying army.
"Malgar himself," Kael muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the warlord approach. "This won't be easy."
Aric tightened his grip on his sword. "It never is."
The two armies stood facing each other across the plains, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. For a moment, everything was still—the calm before the storm.
Then, with a deafening roar, Malgar raised his massive sword and charged forward, his army following close behind.
"Archers, fire!" Aric shouted.
A volley of arrows soared through the sky, raining down on the enemy forces. The first wave of soldiers fell, their bodies pierced by the deadly projectiles, but it did little to slow the charge. The enemy was relentless, driven by Malgar's dark power.
"Cavalry, with me!" Kael shouted, spurring his horse forward as the mounted forces charged into battle. The sound of hooves thundered across the plains as they clashed with the enemy, blades flashing in the early morning light.
Aric led the vanguard into the fray, his sword cutting through the enemy ranks with deadly precision. The battle quickly devolved into chaos, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded filling the air. Everywhere he looked, Aric saw blood and death.
But amid the carnage, he spotted Malgar, his dark armor gleaming as he carved a path through the allied forces. The warlord moved with terrifying speed and strength, his massive sword cleaving through armor and bone with ease.
"We have to stop him!" Aric shouted, motioning for Kael and Jorath to follow him.
The three of them fought their way through the enemy ranks, their eyes fixed on Malgar. But as they drew closer, the warlord seemed to sense their presence. He turned, his glowing red eyes locking onto Aric.
"So, the little hero finally shows himself," Malgar growled, his voice deep and menacing. "I've been waiting for this."
Aric raised his sword, his heart pounding in his chest. "Your reign ends today, Malgar."
The warlord let out a low, rumbling laugh. "We'll see about that."
With a roar, Malgar swung his massive sword at Aric, the blade whistling through the air. Aric barely managed to raise his shield in time, the force of the blow sending him stumbling backward. Kael fired an arrow at Malgar, but the warlord swatted it away with his gauntlet, his eyes never leaving Aric.
Jorath raised his staff, summoning a bolt of lightning that struck Malgar square in the chest. The warlord staggered, but quickly regained his footing, his armor smoking from the impact.
"You'll have to do better than that, mage," Malgar sneered, charging toward Jorath with his sword raised.
But before he could strike, Kael fired another arrow, this one striking Malgar in the shoulder. The warlord let out a roar of pain, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Now, Aric!" Kael shouted.
Seizing the opportunity, Aric lunged forward, his sword aimed at Malgar's chest. But the warlord was faster than he expected. With a swift motion, Malgar knocked Aric's sword aside and slammed his fist into Aric's chest, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Pathetic," Malgar spat, raising his sword for the killing blow.
But just as the blade was about to fall, Jorath unleashed a blast of magic, sending Malgar stumbling backward.
"Get up, Aric!" Jorath shouted, his voice strained from the effort of the spell.
Aric struggled to his feet, his vision blurred. He could barely lift his sword, but he knew he couldn't give up. Not now.
With a final burst of strength, Aric charged at Malgar, his sword aimed at the warlord's heart. This time, Malgar wasn't fast enough. Aric's blade pierced through the warlord's armor, sinking deep into his chest.
Malgar let out a choked gasp, his glowing red eyes flickering before finally dimming. With a final, defeated roar, the warlord collapsed to the ground, his massive form lying still.
The battle wasn't over yet, but the tide had turned. With Malgar dead, the enemy forces began to falter, their once-coordinated attacks devolving into chaos.
"Push forward!" Aric shouted, raising his sword high. "For Drakenor!"
The allied forces surged forward, driving the enemy back. Victory was within their grasp.
But as Aric stood over Malgar's fallen body, a strange unease settled over him. The warlord's death had been too easy, too quick. Something wasn't right.
And then, in the distance, he saw it—a dark figure, cloaked in shadow, watching the battle from afar.
The true enemy was still out there.
And the real war had only just begun.