In the heart of the rolling plains between the kingdoms of Kenshire and Carnien, the air grew thick with the stench of blood and iron. The sun, glaring down from its high throne, cast long shadows of men and horses over the once-green fields, now trampled and muddy, stained dark with blood.
"They're coming!"
"I see them too!"
"Get ready!"
The ranks of Kenshire, led by the indomitable King Arshan, were arrayed in formidable lines. Clad in fully heavy gold armor from head to toe, their greatswords glinted under the sun, each blade thirsty for Carnien blood. At King Arshan's side, the elite guard, known as the Dragon's Heart, stood ready, their shields emblazoned with the fearsome dragon of Kenshire.
"Hold the line!" King Arshan's voice thundered over the din. "For Kenshire!" With deadly precision, he raised his sword, signaling the charge. Instantly, the ground shook as hundreds of armored feet surged forward, colliding with the Carnien front with brutal force.
Carnien forces, although fewer, were no less fierce. Their warriors, wielding axes and clad in furs, answered with a war cry that chilled the bone. They were led by the fearsome Warlord Gorvenal, whose axe had tasted the blood of countless enemies. Gorvenal led his troops directly into the heart of the advancing Kenshires, his axe swinging in deadly arcs.
The clash was monstrous, steel meeting steel, shouts and screams filling the air. Kenshire knights hacked at the Carnien shields, while Carnien warriors ducked and wove, their axes slicing through armor and flesh alike. Blood sprayed, bones snapped, and the cries of dying men rose above the turmoil.
To the east of the battlefield, Kenshire's archers, perched on a slight rise, drew back their bows. The arrows flew like deadly locusts, finding homes in Carnien chests and throats. Yet Carnien's own mages, robed in the dark blues of their homeland, lifted their staves, summoning barriers of shimmering light that deflected many of the incoming missiles.
But magic was not exclusive to Carnien. From within the ranks of Kenshire, a group of battle mages countered. Their leader, an aged sage, thrust his staff into the earth. The ground beneath the Carnien front line trembled and cracked, swallowing scores of men in a gaping chasm.
Despite the power of magic, the battle's heart lay in close, brutal combat. King Arshan found himself face to face with a giant Carnien berserker, his massive form towering over the king. Their swords met, clashing with sparks and force. Arshan, nimble and experienced, dodged a potentially fatal swipe, then responded with a slash that opened the berserker's thigh.
Arshan said, "You are no match for me. Where's your king?"
"Oh don't worry..he'll come—!"
SLASH!
His head blasted off his body in a bloody mess, with Arshan leaping over him, saying, "You've said enough. I'm waiting for him."
Around them, the battle raged. A young Kenshire knight, barely out of boyhood, named Gill, faced off against a seasoned Carnien warrior. The boy's sword trembled in his grasp as the warrior bore down on him, axe raised. With a desperate cry, the knight lunged, his blade finding the gap between helmet and breastplate. As the warrior fell, the boy stood, panting, his face splattered with blood.
"I did it…I-I did it!" Gill exclaimed.
Gill had white short hair, dark blue eyes, and freckles.
Elsewhere, a group of Carnien warriors broke through the Kenshire line. The Dragon's Heart guard pivoted, moving as one to intercept them. Steel rang against steel in a deadly dance. One guard, a giant of a man with a tattooed bald head and bushy braided beard and red eyes named Holt, smashed a Carnien's shield aside and drove his sword through the man's chest, roaring as he fought.
"Foolish bastards! They're everywhere!"
But not all screams were of rage. Near the center, where the fighting was thickest, a young mage for Carnien, overcome by the horror around him, lost control of his powers. A wild surge of energy exploded outward, catching friend and foe alike. The air sizzled with magic gone awry, cries of agony piercing the chaotic symphony of battle.
Through the madness, King Arshan fought his way towards Warlord Gorvenal, a General for the Carnien, adorned in black armor and a black helmet. Their eyes met across the battlefield, each marked by the other's death. They approached slowly, cutting down anyone who stood between them. Finally, they stood mere feet apart, the air around them seeming to still.
"This ends now, Gorvenal!" Arshan shouted, raising his sword.
"With your head on a spike, King!" Gorvenal retorted, gripping his axe with both hands.
"I'm just passing time until your king arrives! Guess you'll do for now."
"If you struggle against me, you won't stand a change against Gunshen!"
Their duel was a clash of titans, each blow ringing out over the battlefield. Arshan, skilled and swift, parried a deadly cut that would have cloven him in two. He riposted with a jab that Gorvenal barely turned aside. They circled each other, sweat and blood mingling, each looking for an opening.
Meanwhile, the battle seemed to pause as soldiers from both sides, exhausted and bloodied, stopped to watch their leaders fight. The outcome of this duel would surely turn the tide of the conflict.
Sparks flew as sword met axe again, Arshan slipping under Gorvenal's guard to slice across his adversary's arm. Roaring in pain and rage, Gorvenal swung wildly, his axe embedding in a nearby shield. Seizing the moment, Arshan drove his sword forward, piercing Gorvenal's chest, and slashed upwards, splitting Gorvenal in half.
As the warlord fell, a cry went up from the Kenshire ranks. Energized, they surged forward, pushing back the faltering Carnien line.
Arshan exclaimed with a smile, "They're falling back! Guess they're king is scared of our might!"
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, staining the sky with the colors of blood, the battlefield gradually fell quiet. The dead lay thick upon the ground, a testament to the day's brutal carnage. King Arshan stood, bloodied but unbroken, amidst his weary troops. Though victory was theirs, the cost was etched in every face, in every heart that still beat. The war was not over, but this battle, this bloody day, was won.
As the remnants of the battle scattered across the bloody field of Carnien, a new shadow fell upon the land. From the northern hill, descending with the ominous grace of a storm cloud, came King Gunshen of Carnien. His appearance struck awe and fear in equal measure. Adorned in dark armor that seemed to absorb the dying light, his presence was like a dark omen. At his side swung a large mace, mythic in its craftsmanship, with runes glowing along its surface, pulsing with each step he took. He had short dark red and brown messy hair, and dark red eyes, with a rose tattoo on his face.
Gunshen's eyes, cold and relentless, surveyed the battlefield before him. His lips curled into a grim smile as he charged into the fray, his mace swinging in devastating arcs. The first soldier of Kenshire barely had time to raise his sword before Gunshen's mace shattered the blade and continued through, crushing armor and bone with equal ease. The soldier was hurled several feet away, lifeless before he hit the ground.
"Seems you all took care of my men. I'll repay the debt."
With each step, Gunshen's wrath grew, his mace swinging like a pendulum of doom. Another Kenshire knight lunged at him, spear aimed at his heart. In a blur, Gunshen sidestepped and brought his mace down upon the man's head, exploding the helmet and the skull within with a sickening crunch. Blood and bits of armor sprayed into the air, painting a gruesome picture of Gunshen's path through the ranks.
"It's the king!"
"King Gunshen"
As Gunshen continued his deadly dance, King Arshan, bleeding from several wounds yet defiant, darted forward to meet this new threat. Their eyes locked, history and hatred passing between them in a silent exchange more potent than thunder.
Ashran commanded the healers of his army, "Tend to the wounded, healers! Use your mana to the fullest!"
At that moment, healers in white robes appeared and grabbed wounded or dying soldiers, carrying them away to heal them.
"Gunshen!" Arshan bellowed over the clamor, his sword raised against the mace. "Your tyranny over these lands ends today!"
Gunshen laughed, a sound like rolling thunder, swinging his mace with supernatural force. "You always were a fool, Arshan! Kenshire will fall, and from its ashes, a new Carnien will rise! That damned cult will run us down if we don't expand our power! Or merge kingdoms! Those bastards are everywhere!"
"There is no damn cult…it's just you! You're known for lying. I know it better than anyone. We got years back, wars on wars, and it's gonna be settled now."
"Stubborn king! Have it your way. I'll just take it by force. Remember, I tried to be reasonable."
Metal clashed against metal as Arshan skillfully deflected the mace, striking back with precision. Yet, the ferocity of Gunshen's next attack caught him off-guard, the mace slamming into his side. Arshan staggered, blood spurting from the fresh wound, and dropped to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp.
"Down In just a few seconds…I didn't come all the way out here for this. I thought there would be some resistance at least—."
Gill exclaimed, running forward, "I'll take him down! Don't worry, king Arshan—!"
Stopping him was Holt.
"What are you doing, brat?!" Holt asked.
"The king! He's in trouble! Can I go help?! Please!"
"You'll die. You won't be remembered for shit. But a fool. Trust me, I know it better than everyone. Jumping in is not the best idea, the king would scold you. Being saved is something the king hates. Get that through your puny skull!"
"So you'd just let him die?"
At that moment, another healer arrived, Ellie, she had long black hair in one braid, dark green eyes and an eyepatch with a white robe on. She said, "Don't go..."
Gill responded, "I'm strong enough!"
"You're not….stand down. Dumbass."
"Hey! That's not nice."
"Whatever."
"I can't watch him die.."
Holt added, "This is what honor is. It's what Arshan calls honor. A king pleads to die in battle, and this is a history between those two, he demanded none of us interfere."
"But!"
"Silence already, fool!"
Gunshen raised his mace for what seemed the final blow, his face a mask of victory. But before the death stroke could land, the ground between them erupted in a blast of blinding light and concussive force, throwing Gunshen backward and filling the air with dust and debris.
"Huh?!"
As the battlefield stilled momentarily and the smoke began to clear, a figure emerged, draped in the light robes of a healer. Zabriel, known across Kenshire for his mastery over life's weave, stood defiantly, one hand outstretched and glowing with residual magic. At his feet, King Arshan, barely conscious, was cradled in the other arm.
Zabriel, cloaked in the enigmatic veils of mysticism and power, presents a figure that encapsulates both the fearsome and the sacred. His attire is predominately rugged dirty white, echoing the shades of the abyss from which he perhaps draws his formidable abilities. A hood casts his visage in shadow, enhancing the sinister yet awe-inspiring allure of his presence. His eyes, glowing ominously with a vivid teal hue, pierce through the darkness, serving as windows to both his soul and the arcane secrets he guards.
His face is concealed behind a mask that resembles the hardened features of a battle-worn knight. The mask, adorned with angular, sharp patterns that accentuate its ghostly glow, creates an almost skeletal appearance. This eerie facade is further highlighted by teal flames that lick the edges of his hood, giving him an ethereal and untouchable quality.
Resting upon his chest is a prominent cross-like symbol, illuminated against his dark white attire with a matching teal radiance. This emblem, starkly contrasting with the overall dark theme, suggests a deep-seated reverence for some higher, perhaps arcane power, indicating a complex interplay between his knightly prowess and a quasi-religious mission. His armor, though minimalist, is rugged and layered, suggesting both mobility and resilience—an essential combination for one who navigates the dual terrains of physical and mystical warfare. The edges of his clothing and armor are rough and worn, reflecting countless battles and encounters with forces both worldly and otherworldly. In his grasp, he wields a formidable scythe, its design as intricate as it is intimidating. The handle is adorned with patterns that echo the ones on his mask, while the blade itself emits a chilling sense of purpose and power. The scythe's presence in his hands is not just that of a weapon, but a tool of fate, guiding the ebb and flow of life and death—one he wields with the assuredness of a being who has transcended mundane warriorship to become a guardian of balance in the universe. He also had steel shoes and knight leggings, and even steel armor over his arms and hands.
Zabriel's gaze was fixed on the recovering form of Gunshen, a mixture of defiance and warning playing across his features.
But he didn't say a word.
Gill said, "Is that…?"
Holt exclaimed, "He actually went in there! What the hell?!"
Ellie smirked, "There's that weirdo. Took forever."
"That's Zabriel…isn't it? I wanted to duel him for so long, that's why I came here in the first place!"
Gill said, "He went in, but I couldn't?"
'I'm really not strong enough, am I? Just him landing there pushed Gunshen back..'
All of the other soldiers and healers said:
"It's Zabriel!"
"The kings gonna be pissed about this!"
"Did he not show up to the ceremony about Arshan's wishes for this battle?!"
"You know he's always running off somewhere."
As Zabriel helped the wounded king to rise, for that brief moment, a semblance of peace enveloped them, a fleeting sanctuary amidst a sea of chaos. The scene around King Arshan and Zabriel faded to a haunting quiet, a breath in time before the storm of war roared once more. A dark green aura encompasses them, healing Arshan.
Arshan said, "I told everyone not to intervene with my personal disputes—."
Zabriel tossed Arshan away, making one of the other lesser ranked healers catch him.
Everyone gasped with their jaws dropped:
"He threw the damn king?!"
"Oh yeah he's in big trouble."
Holt even gasped, "I'm gonna kill that masked fool!"
Ellie chuckled, "Haha, I love him."
Gill thought, 'He's a healer for the kingdom Kenshire, and yet, he defies orders without hesitation! He knows he's in the wrong, but still jumped in! The confidence he has, I need that.'
The smoky battlefield, soaked in the crimson and scorched earth, grew ominously quiet as Zabriel concentrated a swirling mass of green aura in his right hand. This energy twined around him like living vines, pulsating with the power of life itself. As Gunshen staggered to his feet, grim resolve painted his features, and with a vengeful snarl, he lunged forward, his mace raised in a deadly arc towards Zabriel.
Gunshen exclaimed, "Finally! Someone worth fighting for this kingdom!"
Just as the mace was inches from making its fatal meeting, it struck an invisible barrier around Zabriel. The impact was catastrophic for Gunshen. The kinetic backlash of his own attack coursed violently through his weapon, rupturing half of his body in a rain of blood and gore.
Gunshen's horrific scream pierced the din of battle, his body buckling under the intense trauma. Yet, Zabriel, undisturbed, reached out with his charged hand and outrageously, he began to heal the sundered tyrant Gunshen. Streams of vivid green energy flowed from Zabriel's palm to Gunshen's wounds, stitching flesh and bone with spectral efficiency. As the healing completed, Zabriel drew the residual energy back, absorbing it into his scythe which began to glow with a dark, foreboding green aura.
Gunshen thought, 'What kind of healing magic is this?! He healed my wounds, only for him to take my aura?! To mimic my power too?! I have to do it…I have to!'
With a visceral roar, Gunshen recoiled, blood streaming from his eyes in his fury and agony. His mouth gaping wide, a terrifying creature burst forth—a serpent with the scaled body of a snake but the head of a lion, adorned with menacing horns, its fur matted in hues of red and black. As it ascended, the sky darkened, clouds swirling into a vortex, unleashing torrents of red lightning bolts that scorched the earth and sizzled alarmingly close to the soldiers of Kenshire, who dove for cover.
This summoned beast, a twisted incarnation of summoning magic, spiraled downwards like a drill, streaking towards Zabriel with ferocious speed, its lion jaws agape ready to clamp down on him. But Zabriel, with the serenity of the storm's eye, simply crouched low. In a flash, he broke the sound barrier with explosive force, launching himself upward. His scythe, blazing with a dark green and white electric aura, oscillated with power as he met the beast in mid-air.
Zabriel's ascent was a blur of motion, his scythe carving a helical path through the beast's flesh. Each contact of the blade was marked by splatters of ichor and a cacophony of beastly howls. Spiraling up the creature's monstrous form, he reached the gnarled lion head, bringing his scythe in a mighty arc. The head was severed cleanly, soaring through the air in a gory arc, but before it could fall, Zabriel's fist met it mid-descent. The impact was monumental, causing the head to detonate spectacularly, a rain of fiery blood descending as infernal rain.
With the death of its summon, Gunshen collapsed, the final echoes of his life force extinguishing in a ghastly exhale. Zabriel landed gracefully upon the conqueror's inert body, his scythe still crackling with the remnants of battle magic, a solemn guardian amidst the chaos of war.