The air was electric with tension as Lord Thrain's rage-filled voice echoed through the arena. "Who the fuck do you think you are!!?" he bellowed, his face beet red with fury, his eyes bulging with anger.
Liam stood tall, his piercing gaze fixed on Lord Thrain, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, Lord Thrain," he said in a calm, yet humiliating tone, "I'm the one who's been a thorn in your side for quite some time now." His voice was laced with sarcasm, his words dripping with mockery.
Lord Thrain's face turned purple with rage. "Just because you came in here in style, you think you can stop our plan?" he sneered, his voice venomous.
Liam's smirk grew wider. "Oh, I'm not here to stop your plan, Lord Thrain. I'm here to put an end to your tyranny."
Lord Thrain's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with memories of past encounters. "Wait a minute... Aren't you the same bastard who killed my men the last time?" His voice rose, his anger boiling over.
Liam's expression turned cold, his eyes glinting with a fierce intensity. "Oh, those were your men? My deepest condolences." His voice was laced with sarcasm, his words dripping with mockery.
Lord Thrain's face turned red with rage. "Well, today's the day you die!" He bellowed, his arm raised, pointing at Liam. "Look around you, you're surrounded. There's no way out for you!"
Aria's eyes widened in horror as she gazed at Liam, her mind racing with thoughts of despair. He was skilled with the mystic arts and with the sword, but he was greatly outnumbered, and he didn't even hold a weapon to defend himself. He might be strong, but he was no god.
The soldiers charged towards Liam, their swords drawn, their faces twisted with a mix of fear and determination. They knew they were charging towards death, but since they were many, they would still have the upper hand.
Aria's heart raced, her mind screaming with terror. She knew Liam was no match for the army, no matter how skilled he was. She felt helpless, trapped, and aidless, unable to do anything but watch as the soldiers closed in on Liam.
The air was thick with tension, the wind howling in the background, as the soldiers closed in for the kill. Liam stood tall, his eyes fixed on Lord Thrain, a fierce determination burning in his gaze.
"You may have the numbers, Lord Thrain," Liam said, his voice cold and deadly, "but I have the skill and the will to take you down."
Lord Thrain snarled, his face twisted with rage. "We'll see about that!" he bellowed, his army charging towards Liam with a fierce battle cry.
The stage was set, the battle about to begin. The outcome was far from certain, but one thing was clear - only one side would emerge victorious. The question was, who would it be?
The air was electric with tension as hundreds of soldiers charged towards Liam, their war machinery at the ready. The sound of gunfire echoed through the arena, bullets whizzing past Liam's head, as he stood tall, his hands still behind his back. Swords clashed, spears thrust, and the sound of clashing steel filled the air.
The soldiers moved in unison, their formation impenetrable, as they closed in on their target - one man, unarmed and unafraid. Liam's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, his gaze darting from one soldier to the next, as he sized up his opponents.
With a sudden burst of speed, Liam moved, his body weaving and bobbing with an ethereal grace. He dodged the first soldier's sword, his body spinning with a fluid motion, as he avoided the deadly blade. The soldier's head flew off his shoulders, his body crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud.
The sound of agony echoed through the arena, a chilling scream that sent shivers down the spines of the soldiers. One by one, they fell, their heads rolling across the ground, their bodies bathed in a crimson tide of blood. The arena was a gruesome sight, a charnel house of death and destruction.
Liam moved with a deadly precision, his movements swift and silent. He was a ghost, a specter of death, his presence striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. The soldiers, despite their numbers, were no match for his skill and cunning.
A soldier thrust his spear at Liam, but he sidestepped the attack with ease, his body moving with a speed that belied his calm demeanor. The spear thrust past him, striking the ground with a loud thud, as Liam's hand shot out, grasping the soldier's wrist. With a swift twist, the soldier's arm snapped, his screams echoing through the arena, as he fell to the ground, clutching his broken limb.
Another soldier charged forward, his sword raised high, but Liam was ready. With a swift kick, he sent the soldier flying across the arena, his body crashing into the stone wall with a loud thud. The soldier slumped to the ground, his body broken and battered, his sword lying useless beside him.
The battle raged on, the sound of clashing steel and screams of agony filling the air. The arena was a maelstrom of death, a place where only the strongest would survive. And Liam, the unarmed and unafraid, was the master of this deadly dance.
Lord Thrain's face turned white with rage and fear, his eyes fixed on the carnage before him. He had never seen anything like this, a one-man army, cutting down his soldiers with ease and precision. His mind raced with thoughts of defeat, his heart heavy with the weight of his own hubris.
The outcome of the battle was far from certain, but one thing was clear - only one side would emerge victorious. And Liam, the mystic warrior, was determined to be the last man standing.
The fight continued, with Liam moving swiftly and silently, his presence striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. Heads, arms, and all manner of body parts kept falling and flying wherever he passed, as if he was a Grim Reaper, harvesting souls.
A soldier, who had witnessed the sight of his colleagues dying, couldn't take it anymore. Before Liam even got close to where he was, the soldier took out his gun and ended his own life, his body crumpling to the ground with a loud thud. His eyes were wide with terror, his face pale with fear, as he whispered his final words, "I can't take it anymore...please, just let me die..."
Lord Thrain fell to the ground, his face drained of color, his eyes begging for death. He was surrounded by the bodies of his soldiers, their limbs torn apart, their faces frozen in a perpetual scream. He whispered, "Mercy...please...have mercy..."
Aria watched in shock, her eyes fixed on the gruesome scene before her. The once life-filled surroundings were now covered in human blood, the air thick with the stench of death. She couldn't believe what she was seeing - the person she was looking at, the one who had caused this unholy massacre, was still standing, his arms still behind his back, his body untouched by the carnage around him.
As the battle came to an end, Liam emerged from the messy area, his body still clean and unscathed, not a single drop of blood staining his clothes. His eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity, his face calm and serene, as if he had just taken a stroll through a peaceful garden.
The soldiers who had met their end lay around him, their bodies mangled and broken, their faces frozen in a perpetual scream. The air was thick with the stench of death, the ground slick with blood. It was a scene from a nightmare, a vision of hell on earth.
Liam's movements were fluid and graceful, his body gliding across the ground with an ethereal ease. He was a ghost, a specter of death, his presence striking fear into the hearts of all who saw him.
As he walked away from the carnage, his arms still behind his back, his eyes fixed on some distant point, Aria couldn't help but wonder - was this man even human? Or was he something else entirely, a creature of darkness and death? The mystery surrounding him was palpable, a shroud of secrecy that only added to his enigmatic presence.
Lord Thrain's eyes were wide with terror, his face pale and drained of color, as he gazed upon the carnage before him. He was lost and confused, his mind reeling with the horror of it all. He wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, rather than face the monster that stood before him.
Every step Liam took towards him, Lord Thrain felt his heart sink deeper into his chest. The burly man with a thick beard and a menacing scar above his left eyebrow, who once belied a cunning mind and a talent for strategy, was now reduced to a sniveling wreck. He lost his gruff demeanor, his face contorted in a mixture of fear and despair.
Liam knelt down beside him, his hands reaching out to cup Lord Thrain's cheeks. The once powerful general was weeping, his body shaking with sobs, as Liam's fingers made contact with his skin. It was as if the touch of the mystic warrior was a catalyst for Lord Thrain's breakdown, his emotions spilling out like a dam had burst.
Lord Thrain's eyes were fixed on Liam's, his gaze pleading for mercy, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. His lips were trembling, his voice barely audible, as he whispered, "Please...have mercy...I beg of you..."
Liam's expression was calm and serene, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intensity. His hands held Lord Thrain's face, his fingers tracing the contours of his cheeks, as if he was studying the very essence of his being.
The air was thick with tension, the silence between them palpable. It was as if time itself had stopped, the only sound the soft sobs of Lord Thrain, as he faced the reality of his own mortality.
In that moment, Lord Thrain knew he was doomed. He was in the presence of death itself, and he was powerless to stop it. His mind raced with thoughts of his past, his mistakes, his triumphs, and his failures. He thought of his loved ones, his friends, and his enemies. He thought of the choices he had made, and the consequences that had led him to this point.
And in the midst of it all, Liam's hands held his face, his eyes boring into his soul, as if searching for something that only he could see. It was a gaze that pierced the very fabric of Lord Thrain's being, a gaze that saw beyond the veil of mortality, into the very depths of his existence.
Liam's words hung in the air, "I want you to deliver a message to The Order of the Black Oats yourself..." But before he could finish, Lord Thrain's body language changed. He grabbed Liam's feet, his head bobbing up and down, hitting the ground with a loud thud, a sign of utmost respect. "Thank you, thank you," he lamented, his voice trembling with fear. "I will deliver the message, I promise. I'll even tell them the person was a mysterious figure, and we couldn't see his face. I swear!!"
Lord Thrain's eyes were wide with terror, his face pale and drained of color. He was willing to do anything to escape the wrath of the mystic warrior. Liam's gaze was cold and unforgiving, his eyes piercing through Lord Thrain's very soul.
Liam's attention shifted to Kael's half-dead body, lying on the floor, cradled in Aria's arms. He then turned back to Lord Thrain, his eyes flashing with a sinister intent. "And who said I was going to send you there with the message alive?" The words were laced with a deadly precision, a hint of horror lurking beneath the surface.
Lord Thrain's face contorted in shock and horror, his mind racing to comprehend the meaning behind Liam's words. But before he could even process, his head was ripped from his body, leaving his torso standing momentarily, before crumbling to the ground.
The sound of tearing flesh and crunching bone filled the air, and Lord Thrain's head flew across the room, his face frozen in a permanent expression of shock and disbelief. His eyes were wide open, his mouth agape, as if still trying to utter a plea for mercy.
Aria's scream echoed through the chamber, Kael's body twitching in her arms, his eyes fluttering open briefly before slipping back into unconsciousness. Liam stood tall, his hands still holding Lord Thrain's headless body, his face a mask of indifference.
The room was silent, the only sound Aria's soft sobs, as she cradled Kael's body. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the weight of Liam's words hung heavy in the air. The mysterious figure had spoken, and his message would be remembered for eternity.
Lord Thrain's head lay on the stone floor, his face a picture of sorrow and horror, a grim reminder of the consequences of crossing the mystic warrior. The scene was etched in the minds of those present, a haunting memory that would never fade.