The battlefield was a graveyard of shattered stone and scorched earth. Smoke and ash clouded the sky, mixing with the stench of blood and burned remains. The distant screams of the dying echoed like a twisted melody while fires danced along the horizon, casting a sinister glow over the carnage. The Voidguard moved like a relentless tide, consuming everything in its path.
Amid the chaos, a single figure stood tall atop a mound of bodies. Zarathor's long black hair whipped around him, the streaks of blonde catching the light of the flames. His crimson eyes gleamed with a cold, twisted delight as he surveyed the destruction. Dark, curved horns framed his face, and the obsidian sheen of his haori billowed around him, contrasting sharply with the blood-red silk beneath. The chains at his waist clinked softly.
He tilted his head, a cruel smirk curling his lips as he watched soldiers fall beneath his gaze, their bodies broken and lifeless.
"Pathetic," he muttered, his voice dripping with contempt. "They crumble like insects beneath my heel."
Zarathor's eyes lingered on the struggling forces of the Harmony Concord. Their desperate attempts to hold the line were laughable, their fear palpable. He took a step forward, kicking aside a body in his path with careless disdain.
"The so-called Harmony Concord..." he scoffed, his tone sharp and mocking. "They preach peace, but all they offer is a pitiful excuse for resistance. I expected more of a challenge. Is this really the best they can do?"
A sinister chuckle escaped his lips, low and menacing. His gaze followed a young warrior struggling to stand, only to be cut down before his eyes.
"They die so easily," Zarathor mused, almost lazily. "Where's the fun in that?"
He stepped forward, his boots sinking into the blood-soaked ground. His eyes narrowed in cold amusement as he watched the terror spread across the battlefield. Another horn sounded in the distance—a final, futile attempt to rally their failing forces.
"Go ahead. Run. Hide," Zarathor sneered, his voice rising, dark and cruel. "It won't matter. I'll find every last one of you... and I'll enjoy it."
His grin widened, revealing a sadistic glee as he moved with ease through the wreckage. He revelled in the chaos, every scream, every drop of blood feeding his twisted delight.
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In the heart of the battlefield, Queen Anastasia Silverthorn stood firm, her silver hair wild in the wind. Her armour, once resplendent, was now scarred and stained with the blood of fallen allies. The amount of fallen allies hardened her sapphire eyes. The tension in the air was palpable as she noticed a soldier sprinting toward her, his face etched with terror.
"Your Majesty... one of the prodigies has arrived," he panted, his voice trembling. "We believe it's him."
Anastasia's heart sank. "Now, of all times..." She swallowed her doubts, keeping her voice steady as she barked out orders. "Prepare yourselves!" Her voice rang through the battlefield, but inside, she felt the weight of uncertainty press down on her chest. If they couldn't hold him back... "The device isn't ready yet," she thought grimly, the thought flickering across her mind like a shadow. "If we fail now, this could be the end."
Across the battlefield, on a distant hill, Emperor Drakon Emberforge surveyed the scene with an unyielding gaze. His crimson armour, glowing faintly in the dim light, bore the burning emblem of Crethos. The coldness in his eyes betrayed no emotion as his voice cut through the stillness like a blade.
"Signal the artillery," Drakon commanded, his tone calm and calculated. "Burn the field. Not another step."
His words carried weight, every movement deliberate, every order a step closer to inevitable destruction. The approaching Voidguard army would soon face his wrath, and Drakon was prepared to unleash it without mercy.
Back on the frontlines, Zarathor strode through the destruction, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched the Harmony Concord forces struggle.
Each footstep radiated the confidence of someone who believed they were untouchable. Fallen warriors littered his path, their blood staining the ground beneath his feet—a grim testament to the chaos surrounding him.
Ahead, a lone soldier stood, sword raised with trembling hands. The man was young, barely more than a boy, but his resolve was admirable.
"Ah... a brave one, aren't you?" Zarathor's voice was a mocking drawl, a smirk curling his lips as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes flickering with amusement.
"I commend your courage, though it's utterly wasted on me."
Without warning, the soldier charged, letting out a desperate battle cry. Zarathor sighed, almost disappointed, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the man flying into a crumbling wall. The impact echoed through the air, bones snapping sickeningly with ease.
"How quaint," he remarked, approaching the dying soldier slowly, boots crunching on the rubble beneath him. Zarathor crouched beside the man, his crimson eyes glowing brighter as he leaned in closer, relishing the sight of the soldier's fading life.
"Tell me... does it hurt?" His voice was low, laced with mockery. The soldier's gasping breaths were the only reply. Zarathor grinned, his fangs glinting in the dim light.
"This is the part where you beg, isn't it? Beg me for mercy... beg me to end it."
The soldier's eyes flickered with fear, but no words came. Zarathor's grin widened, disappointment creeping in.
"No? Well, that's no fun, is it?"
He stood, his kimono flaring behind him as he turned his back on the dying man, a clear dismissal.
"Pathetic."
Just as the joy of torment began to fade, a sharp sound broke through the noise of the battle—a scream. His head turned in the direction of the sound, only to see a bright light erupt from the distance. The ground began to rumble beneath his feet, and before he could react, a massive explosion tore through the battlefield, engulfing him in blinding light.
When the smoke cleared, only a deep crater remained where Zarathor stood. The battlefield fell eerily silent, save for the crackling of distant fires and the quaint sobs of the few remaining soldiers.
Anastasia Silverthorn stood in the distance, her heart pounding, clenching her fist. Unsure whether the explosion truly ended him, she stared into the crater. "This war is far from over, but at least now we can see an out."
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