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The Almighty Supreme WarLord

🇳🇬Lord_Adonis
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Synopsis
All his life, Ares had known nothing but suffering. Growing up in an orphanage was a living hell; few could fathom the torment that such a place could inflict. At fifteen, Ares could no longer endure the misery and decided to escape. However, his decision led him into an even darker nightmare. He was wrongfully accused of a crime he knew nothing about. A poor lad in the face of aristocratic families, who could possibly listen to him? Without a chance to prove his innocence or even request an attorney, he was swiftly sentenced to the worst prison of all, a place no Carringtonian ever wishes to be sentenced to—Blackstone Hell. The name was no exaggeration. Ares' suffering began anew, but just a month into his sentence, war broke out. This war raged for years, and the country was on the brink of collapse when Ares rose. Rumors had it that no one could escape from Blackstone Hell, but Ares defied the odds for the first time ever in the history of Carrington. He even brought with him inmates whom he transformed into soldiers, men of valor. He fought the war with his subordinates, the Gods and Goddesses of War and soon victory was his. To the Gods and Goddesses of War, he was their Master and Lord. To his soldiers, he was the Supreme Warlord. To his enemies, he was a Nightmare. The mere mention of his name struck fear into their hearts. Some rumors say he might be the devil in human form. Now, with the war over, Ares seeks revenge on those who unjustly imprisoned him. He vowed to make every one of them pay! But a new challenge emerged. A little girl, from the same orphanage where he had grown up, called him "Daddy." As the Supreme Warlord, he was baffled. How could he have fathered a daughter when he was only fifteen when he was sentenced, and how could she be termed an orphan? Moreover, where was her mother?
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Chapter 1 - End of the War

It was a cold rainy night, the surrounding temperature plummeting to a bone-chilling 32°F. Great thunderstorms blasted the sky and the earth shook from its tremors– a scene reminiscent of an apocalypse, where chaos and turmoil reigned supreme.

Amidst this raging storm and bone-chilling cold, on the tallest mountain outlining and bordering the great country of Carrington, a brutal war raged on. It resembled the war between Spartacus and his gladiators against the Romans.

Only this time it wasn't Spartacus and his gladiators and definitely not the Romans. But a young man, adorning a mask and standing as tall as the mountains at approximately 6'11.

In his right hand gleamed a sword stained with blood, while in his left hand he wielded a wire bristling with nails. Surrounding the young man from every corner stood an army of over a thousand enemies, all exuding murderous auras. But, despite this, the young man remained unperturbed, almost as if he wasn't seeing them.

Gripping his blade and wire firmly, he effortlessly maneuvered through them.

With each stride he took, heads rolled and with a sprint, a hundred of the enemies fell, their heads heading south and their bodies north.

In the cold, rain-drenched night, he resembled the very embodiment of death, eclipsing even the grim reaper himself.

Cries of war and anguish rang through the air mixing with the roar of thunderstorms.

Suddenly, there was total silence. As the last enemy's neck was cleaved by his blade, even the rain and thunderstorm seized, as if they had only existed to accompany the thunderous clash of battle. Lifting his head, the young man swept his gaze around his surroundings and seeing that every single one of the enemies have been defeated, he sighed and dropped to one knee.

"Master!"

"Master!" Suddenly, loud cries erupted, and twelve figures clad in military attire materialized out of thin air, surrounding him.

Their expressions betrayed concern for the kneeling young man. And as if finding it unsettling that their master and Lord was kneeling while they stood, they dropped to their knees as well.

If anyone saw this, they would have been shocked out of their wits. In the twelve states comprising the nation of Carrington, these twelve individuals were revered by all.

They were the legendary Gods and Goddesses of War, far above the Kings and Queens of War and towering above the most esteemed monarchs in their prestige and influence. Their renown was unparalleled, and like their titles, they were practically worshipped like real Gods and Goddesses by the entire populace.

Even the Emperor, despite his regal stature, had to pay them a certain degree of deference, for they were the very bedrock of the nation, its unwavering pillars.

And yet, here they were, kneeling before the young man, their reverent gazes filled with adoration for him. It was a sight akin to children beholding their father, their reverence unwavering.

Gazing upon the Gods and Goddesses of War, the young man's lips curved into a faint smile. "Finally, it's over."

He only said these three words but they had so much weight that they brought tears to the eyes of the legendary Gods and Goddesses of War. The citizens only knew of their accomplishments but none of them knew what they had to suffer to achieve them. Only they, the young man, and the millions of Carrington soldiers had an idea.

For ten years, the country of Carrington had been in a relentless war that had engulfed the nation in ceaseless turmoil. All the neighboring countries as if planned beforehand had chosen at a time to attack, some even had the help of foreigners.

They struck from every direction, relentless in their assault—North, South, West, and East—leaving behind a trail of devastation and countless lives lost. Millions of soldiers lay entombed beneath the scarred battlegrounds, as Carrington found itself teetering on the brink of defeat. Its borders breached, the enemy forces marched inexorably towards the provincial capital, knowing that its fall would spell victory and domination over the entire nation.

But, at that darkest moment, arose a young man– a mere prisoner on death row.

He broke through the shackles of prison and took it upon himself to fight for his country, the same country which betrayed him and unjustly condemned him to death.

Through him also arose the revered Gods and Goddesses of War, and other heroes like the Kings and Queens of War.

Together, with him as sovereign leader, they slaughtered through the enemies marching towards the capital, sending them back to the borders and finally, tonight, out of it.

"Now, it's time for me to go home and meet those who unjustly sent me to jail." The young man stood up to his feet and cast a melancholic gaze at a certain direction.

One of the Goddesses of War spoke up, her voice tinged with nervousness. "Master, the emperor awaits you at the headquarters. With him are the leaders of the Temple of D'arken and House of Astralis."

The young man raised a brow and burst out into a loud hysterical laughter, his voice resonating in the dark, cold night. "His Imperial Highness awaits me, and those two came with him? I'm merely a prisoner on death row; have they come to execute me at last and stop me from going home?"

The Gods and Goddesses of War exchanged silent glances, their expressions betraying a mixture of understanding and restraint. They knew that with their master's triumph, any notion of executing him would be preposterous, yet they remained silent, feeling it was not in their place to speak.

It was the darkest hour of the night. At this late hour, the emperor and the prestigious leaders of the Temple of D'arken and House of Astralis should be on their beds sleeping and cuddling with their wives, but instead, they stood in the grand meeting room of the headquarters. Anxiety etched their features, and despite the presence of seats, they chose to remain standing.

"Do you think he would agree to meet us?" inquired the emperor, a middle-aged man adorned with the regalia of Zephyr, his fingers nervously fidgeting as he spoke.

"He might not have if it was just us, but as His Imperial Highness, the great ruler of our beloved nation, I believe he would surely come, if not out of obligation, then certainly to honor you with the respect you deserve," responded one of the leaders, his voice firm and resolute.

"Hahaha," a sudden boisterous laughter rang out, causing the men to freeze in their spots. "Still as astute as ever, Mr. Montgomery," the source of the laughter addressed the middle-aged man.

Allan Montgomery, the middle-aged man, who was just addressed was the esteemed leader of House of Astralis, commanding millions of soldiers and wielding significant influence over the nation's military.

Allan exchanged a meaningful glance with the emperor as if saying "I told you he would come" before shifting his attention to the young man who had just entered. His brow rose slightly when he saw the figures behind the young man but he chose to say nothing about it. Instead, with a feigned smile, he remarked, "It's good to see that you still remember me so well."

Returning the smile, the young man replied coolly, "With our brief encounters, I doubt I could ever forget you." He then turned his attention to the emperor, disregarding the third man in the room. "Your Imperial Majesty." While others might have bowed before the emperor, the young man simply spoke, his demeanor showing neither deference nor submission.

The emperor's expression twitched at the perceived disrespect, but he maintained his composure. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ares. Your reputation precedes you. Tonight, I come bearing two offers, each of which will shape your future."