The battlefield crackled with an ominous energy as a tear in the very fabric of reality appeared, splitting open to reveal two silhouettes emerging from the void. Their arrival alone caused time to freeze; even the winds stilled, sensing the weight of their presence. Then, at the opposite end of the battlefield, another figure materialized, casting an imposing shadow across the desolate landscape.
As these three figures descended, they exuded an aura of majesty and power, something beyond mortal comprehension—a presence that one might only attribute to goddesses or deities themselves. Every line of their figures seemed sculpted from divine purpose, radiating a chilling elegance.
With a mere flick of her wrist, the lead silhouette effortlessly obliterated Asher's attack, scattering it to the winds as if it were a child's mischief. The sudden destruction sent a jolt through Asher, who instantly recognized his perilous position. His eyes narrowed, alert and wary, realizing that the arrival of these figures meant a grave shift in the battle.
The prodigies—warriors once brimming with confidence—stared at the three figures with shock and a dawning horror. They knew who these beings were; whispers of their names had woven through mortal fears and legends alike. They were the Valkriath, the divine law enforcers of the god of war, Thyronis, and servants of fate's cruel hand.
The tallest among them, Maerith, the Harbinger of Agony, stood at the forefront. Her presence was terrifying yet captivating; she wore a flowing, darkened armor adorned with jagged edges that seemed to drink in the light around her. In her hand was a whip, twisted and barbed, a weapon designed not just for combat but to inflict torment and suffering upon her enemies. Her role was clear: she was the punisher of dishonor, the inflicter of pain upon all who defied the gods' sense of justice.
To her right was Selvaya, the Bringer of Blood, whose crimson-streaked armor shimmered with an almost unsettling beauty. She carried a long, blood-stained spear, and her gaze held the intensity of one who sought only to hunt and destroy. Selvaya was the executioner of oathbreakers and traitors, the merciless blade of vengeance who would hunt down all who betrayed the gods' edicts.
On Maerith's left stood Nyxalia, the Shadow of Despair, draped in shadows as if born from the very night. In her hand, she held a scythe crafted of dark metal, its blade sharpened to steal hope from the hearts of her foes. She was the Hunter of Souls, the embodiment of dread and despair, stripping away the will to resist from her enemies with merely a glance.
Their mere presence struck terror not just within Asher but across the entire continent of mortals. Their names, whispered in tales to frighten the disobedient, now walked among them, real and relentless.
Back in the fortress of Wolven Keep, Helle Valor's hands trembled as she felt the seismic shift in the battlefield's energy. Her heart raced, and her children, Abaddon and Belladon, looked up at her with wide eyes, sensing her fear. The household servants were visibly shaken, many clutching at one another or praying silently to any god who might listen.
Abaddon, his voice barely above a whisper, asked, "Mother… who are they?"
Helle took a steadying breath, her face pale. "They are the Valkriath. The divine punishers who carry out the will of the gods. Thyronis, the god of war, commands them, and they answer only to the Pantheon itself. When they arrive, it is because the gods have deemed a fate irreversible. They bring justice, vengeance, and the end of all who defy divine order."
The weight of her words settled over Abaddon and Belladon like a shroud. Both boys, though brave, felt a deep-rooted fear taking hold, realizing that they were in the presence of something far beyond mortal power.
On the battlefield, Asher stood before the Valkriath, his body battered but his spirit unbroken. Maerith's cold eyes regarded him with a faint trace of disdain, her voice carrying the authority of a thousand judgments. "You should have known, mortal. The gods do not tolerate defiance, nor do they forgive those who stand in the way of fate."
Asher gritted his teeth, his fists clenched. "I do not fear you, Valkriath. My fight isn't with you but with those who betrayed everything I love."
Nyxalia chuckled, a sound as hollow as death itself. "Yet you will find death soon enough. Your defiance is meaningless, a candle's flame against the endless night."
The prodigies who were badly injured by Asher began to feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps, they thought, these divine warriors had come to assist them, to eradicate their enemy and deliver salvation.
But Selvaya turned her crimson gaze upon them, her voice laced with icy scorn. "You mortals think yourselves worthy of our mercy? The god of death will soon greet you himself."
The prodigies felt their hope turn to ash, their faces paling with horror. "W-Why?" one of them stammered, disbelief etched into every line of his face.
Maerith's lips curled in disdain. "As a rankers, to cower in defeat is to spit upon the gods who gave you strength. You are no warriors. You are insects scrambling from the wrath of fate."
The Valkriath stepped forward, each of them casting a chilling glare upon the prodigies, and the promise of death was clear in their eyes.
But then Maerith's focus returned to Asher. "Our lord Thyronis has commanded us here on behalf of the elder god Zuryxal," she declared. "We have come to retrieve the Penthagorux-Divine Soul and to eradicate you, Hero Asher, along with every drop of your bloodline."
Asher was shocked as the full weight of the gods' betrayal hit him. His body shook with rage. "The Erythrian Pantheon… they have taken everything from me! Why? What madness drives them to this?"
The Valkriath's looked at Asher in a cold penetrating gaze, unmoved by his anguish. Nyxalia spoke, her voice devoid of mercy. "We are not here to answer your questions, mortal. The gods do not owe you explanations."
But as the two forces continued to talk, a new presence swept over the battlefield—an ethereal shadow that sent a chill even through the Valkriath. All eyes turned as a new void crack tore the atmosphere in a sinister twisting way.
Then a figure descended from the void abyss, mounted upon a bone dragon that seemed to rise from the very depths of Xerathar[UNDERWORLD]. The skeletal beast, covered in glowing runes, loomed over the battlefield, and atop it sat the god of death himself, Krypharoth, the Shadow of Passage.
Krypharoth looked down at the Valkriath then turned his attention to Asher and the prodigies, he held a massive hourglass that pulsed with a dark glow, its sands swirling with the captured souls of the fallen. He dismounted, the dragon letting out a bone-rattling roar, its eyes burning with unholy fire. Krypharoth's gaze scanned the field, and the Valkriath lowered their heads in a rare show of respect.
Without a word to the Valkriath, Krypharoth turned his attention to his hourglass, lifting it as the souls of the recently dead were drawn into its swirling sands. When he was finished, his gaze drifted beyond the battlefield, across leagues of land, and settled on the distant fortress of Wolven Keep. His hollow eyes found Abaddon, who stared into the horizon, somehow sensing the gaze of death upon him.
Krypharoth's lips twisted into a faint, knowing smile, then he looked at Asher again. "I shall be waiting, Asher," he intoned, his voice echoing with ancient finality. "In Xerathar."
With that, Krypharoth and his dragon vanished into the shadowed realm, leaving only the Valkriath and Asher behind.
The Valkriath's gazes hardened, and Maerith, whip in hand, took another step forward. They had a task, and it would be fulfilled without hesitation.
"Now," she murmured to her comrades, "let us finish what we came for."
The Valkriath stood together, a force of pure lethal intent, discussing their roles in this cosmic conflict.
"Let me handle the mortal," said Selvaya, the Bringer of Blood, her voice cold and sharp, almost like the blade she wielded. "I'll make an example of him. His arrogance will be his undoing."
Nyxalia, the Shadow of Despair, tilted her head. Her voice was dark, dripping with disdain. "Let me deal with the Penthagorux-Divine Soul and her kin. They're just mortals, after all. We can't allow them to interfere."
Maerith, the Harbinger of Agony, let out a low laugh, her wicked smile widening. "I'll stay out of this, for now. Let's see how far these mortals will push the gods before they break. I'll watch. Maybe I'll get involved later."
With their roles decided, the Valkriath dispersed as planned. Selvaya headed toward Asher, the mortal who dared challenge their power. Nyxalia made her way to the wolven fortress, while Maerith lingered in the distance, a silent observer.
Asher, standing with confidence and elegance, faced Selvaya, who eyed him like a predator assessing prey. He could feel the weight of her gaze, but he wasn't backing down. He knew that fighting a Valkriath, especially as an Imperium-ranked warrior, was asking for death. But there was no turning back. His heart burned with the fire of vengeance.
He took a deep breath, and then, slowly, he began to levitate. His eyes narrowed, and with every passing second, he released more and more of his energy, drawing it from the depths of his soul-ore. Selvaya raised an eyebrow in confusion, feeling the continuous rise in the hero's power.
"Are you trying to delay the inevitable?" she asked, her voice dripping with mocking amusement. "Or are you hoping for a miracle?"
Asher didn't answer. He was still concealing his true rank, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Above them, the energy drone crystals hovered, capturing every moment. Factions, empires, and powerful figures from all corners of the world watched with bated breath. Some were already whispering about how terrifying the Valkriath were. Others commented on how foolish Asher was, and some even cheered for his downfall.
But in the Avalon Empire, the Emperor clenched his fist, his eyes locked on the unfolding scene. "How long will you defy the god's?" he whispered to himself.
Meanwhile, Gad, who had been unconscious, stirred awake. He rose to his feet, his body still aching from the battle. He staggered toward the edge of the mountain, squinting in the distance. When he saw Asher facing the Valkriath, a chill ran down his spine. The gods had intervened personally.
Terrified, but also oddly relieved, Gad mumbled to himself, "Asher... you were always a hero, but even you can't defeat the gods..." He slunk behind a nearby boulder, choosing to watch from the shadows.
The Valkriath had already seen everything. They had noticed the concealed energy drone crystals, hidden with powerful magic to keep surveillance. They had sensed Gad hiding in the mountains. Everything was going as planned. This was not just a battle—it was a message to the entire world: Defy the gods, and face annihilation.
Asher's energy began to grow, his mantra building to a fever pitch. The air around him thickened, darkened. Storm clouds gathered overhead, and lightning crackled through the sky. With a roar that shook the heavens, his golden aura transformed into a brilliant silver-white, blinding in its intensity. His armor shimmered, evolving into a more refined, formidable form.
He glared down at Selvaya as the transformation completed. "I am no ordinary mortal," he declared, his voice powerful and commanding.
His Astral Plumes flared and shifted, turning blue as they expanded outward, six glorious wings now spanning his back. A halo appeared above his head, its radiance so bright that it seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality. The mortals watching from all corners of the world gasped in shock and awe.
The Valkriath exchanged uncertain glances. Selvaya laughed, her voice rich with both amusement and disbelief. "So, this is your true strength, mortal? How... quaint."
But she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she raised her blood-dripping spear. "Let's see how long you can last."
Meanwhile, Nyxalia had arrived at the wolven fortress. She stood before Helle Valor, who was already preparing to face the Valkriath with grim determination. The servants, loyal to Helle and the fortress, stood in front of her, fear in their eyes but unwavering in their resolve.
"We swear to protect her!" one servant cried, his voice shaking but firm. "The Madam has been nothing but kind to us. We will fight for her, no matter the cost!"
Another added, "She is like family to us. We will defend her with our lives!"
Helle Valor stood, her heart heavy with sorrow. She didn't want her people to die for her, but she knew they wouldn't back down. "Thank you, all of you... but stand aside. If you dare stop a god—"
The Valkriath's laughter interrupted her. "You should have stayed silent."
With a single, graceful swing of her scythe, Nyxalia cleaved through the servants like they were mere paper. They fell, lifeless, before Helle could even finish her statement.
She stood there, silent and shocked as tears welled up in Helle's eyes as she watched in horror, unable to stop the carnage. Her children, Abaddon and Belladon, hid behind her, trembling in fear.
"Why?" Helle choked out. "Why did you kill them? They were just doing their duty"
Nyxalia smiled, her voice a chilling whisper. "You should have known better, mortal. You dare to resist us? You will come with me, and your family... well, they'll remain here."
Helle's eyes burned with fury. "If I go with you, will you leave them alone?"
The Valkriath's smile widened, cruel and mocking. "Of course. For now."
Back on the battlefield, Asher and Selvaya were locked in an intense struggle, the air between them vibrating with raw power. Every strike Asher made caused cracks to appear in the very fabric of space-time. These cracks would quickly mend, but not without leaving a mark. The energy released from their blows sent shockwaves that rippled through the land.
Gad could barely comprehend what he was seeing. He had seen Asher fight before, but this was different. This was the true Asher—the mortal who stood his grounds even in front of divine authority. This was something else entirely, something terrifying and crazy.
He watched in stunned silence. "Impossible..." he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. "How is he doing this?"
Asher halted in mid air, took a deep breath and raised—World Breaker—high into the air. The sky above him rippled, the energy in the atmosphere distorting as if reality itself was warping.
Selvaya's expression darkened, her grip tightening around her spear. She knew what was coming next.
"This... this is the Sword of Laws Dominion, that ancient sword technique was learnt by this mortal?," she muttered, her voice thick with realization.
With a thunderous roar, Asher swung World Breaker down, releasing a wave of eighty-six instantaneous energy slashes, so powerful it seemed to split the heavens themselves. The ground trembled beneath the attack, and the Selvaya knew that this technique—had the ability to harm even her.
Selvaya narrowed her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips as she watched the oncoming attack. With blinding speed, she evaded all the attacks which shocked Asher, then she lunged herself forward towards the hero.
In a blur, she appeared before Asher, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. But he was ready — his instincts screamed, alerting him to her approach. Their weapons met with a shattering clash, mortal colliding with divine. Space itself splintered, cracks in reality spiderwebbing around them before slowly knitting back together.
They moved faster than sight, afterimages flickering across the battlefield as the entire continent trembled beneath their fury.
Blow after blow rang out, each more devastating than the last.
And then Selvaya laughed, her voice dripping with mockery, she was enjoying this.
"When you die, Asher, we'll be there. The Valkriath will personally escort you to Xerathar so remember this face mortal."
She leaned in closer, her smile dark.
"We'll chain you in the Abyss of Khaelyx. An eternity of torment, just for you."
Asher's jaw clenched. He spat the words back at her, rage burning in his eyes.
"Do your worst!"
But for all his power — the strength of a legendary Mystic Ranker — he couldn't land a single mark on her. Selvaya was untouchable, barely lifting a finger as she swatted away his strikes, each one shredding more of his energy armor, leaving him battered and bleeding.
Far away in the Wolven Fortress, Abaddon and Helle watched in horror, unable to look away as Asher was brutalized. Abaddon, fists trembling, shouted in panic and fury, while Helle's gaze hardened. She turned to the Valkriath standing before her, voice laced with desperation.
"You promised me," she hissed. "Where's your end of the bargain?"
But before Helle could react, Nyxalia with a cruel smile shot her hand forward, spearing through her chest. Helle's scream echoed, blood spilling onto Abaddon's face. Belladon, watching through tear-blurred eyes, summoned a final surge of magic, her ice attacks crackling as she flung them at Nyxalia.
But her defiance ended in an instant, her head severed with a sickening, sudden finality. Helle's eyes widened in agony, blood-streaked tears slipping down her cheeks. Her voice trembled, a last, broken apology slipping out.
"I'm so…sorry," she whispered, her eyes locking onto Abaddon's and Belladon's lifeless corpse.
The Valkriath gave a twisted smile, savoring Helle's pain. She formed an energy cube in her hand and, with grim satisfaction, drew Helle's very soul from her body. The soul emerged in a blinding burst of light, drawing the gaze of every Valkriath.
"It's the Penthagorux-Divine Soul," one murmured, awe and hunger mingling in her voice.
With a flash, the Valkriath trapped it within the cube, then turned to Belladon's body, capturing her soul just as effortlessly.
On the battlefield, Asher felt it — a cold, gut-wrenching knowing, a terrible, awful finality. He choked on her name, his voice breaking.
"Helle!, Belladon!!!!!"
But before he could do more, Selvaya's foot connected with his chest, sending him hurtling through mountains, stone and earth shattering beneath the force.
Back in the fortress, Abaddon stood paralyzed, his mind was over flowing with shock,grief, horror, fury and agony as this overwhelming emotions broke him down in an instant. His sister, his own sister lay still, her laughter gone, her face frozen in that final, tragic moment.
Helle's final words drifted through his mind. Her apology. Her quiet, sorrow-filled smile. And with her last breath, she was gone.
Nyxalia started laughing in a dark tone. Feeling thrilled, as she fed off their anguish, basking in the devastation. Twirling the soul-filled cube, she watched the last flicker of light leave Helle's corpse.
It was time to finish what they came for.
The elder Valkriath raised her hand, voice ringing out.
"We have what we came for," she declared. "Now, let's end the Wolvens."
Just like that, slowly at first but the rain started pouring down as if nature was grieving with the lost souls.The rain fell in a soft, steady rhythm, each drop heavy and cold against the land. The once-bustling continent lay silent, all eyes turned to the fierce battle that had unfolded into a nightmare.
There was nothing left in the air but the weight of grief and the quiet murmur of the storm.
And there, amid shattered rock and broken terrain, Asher lay in ruins—bloodied, bruised, and yet somehow, he began to laugh.
It wasn't laughter born of joy. It was a sound twisted by despair, choked with sorrow, until it echoed through the mountains like the howl of something beyond human.
Selvaya paused, eyes narrowing, as she pulled back. She hadn't expected that. No, she hadn't expected any of this.
The hero was broken.
He looked up as the rain continued to wash away the dirt and blood smeared on his face, his tears were unseen as it mixed with the rain. He muttered to himself in a faint sorrowful tone.
"You…killed her…"
He swallowed hard, words rasping.
"You took my children. My Helle. They were…all I had left."
With blank pale face, he inquired.
"Are the gods…truly this cruel?"
He looked up again as his eye's reflected those of furry and hate towards the gods.
"I won't forgive them."
He slowly straightened himself up from the rubles as he spoke in a low, dark tone.
"I swear…even in the afterlife…I'll hunt you all."
In that moment, Selvaya noticed something strange, something ominous lingering around Asher. It was fierce, and she described it as it was like shadows crawling up from the depths of the hero's very soul. An ominous aura began to seep from his battered body, and Selvaya took a step back, for the first time truly wary.
Asher's eyes flared with a feral, burning rage. He stood from the rubble, blood streaming from open wounds, his body barely holding itself together, but his spirit was unbroken.
With a voice that shook, he screamed into the storm.
"I curse you all! My blood, my pain—let it be the ruin of this world!"
In that moment, across all of the mortal realms, from emperors to commoners, a chill ran down their spines. Some whispered his name, others fell silent in reverence or fear. But all felt the same dark power spreading, a creeping sense of dread.
Emperor Wolven Leo, Asher's own father, sat on his throne, watching from afar. He felt it too—the guilt, the shame, and the weight of betrayal. His chest grew tight, the realization settling in that his son was not the only one who would suffer.
Asher's rage burned so fiercely, so deep, that he began to draw on something ancient and forbidden, a well of power so dark that it pulsed through the air in waves of red, bloody light. The Valkriath took a cautious step back, glancing at each other, their expressions uncharacteristically grim.
"He's tapping into the old magic," Selvaya muttered telepathically to her sisters. Her voice held a trace of unease.
"This power… It's the burning of one's life essence," another Valkriath replied, her voice quiet. "This is… the energy of soul-ore self-destruction..."
Asher's soul-ore—his very life essence—was beginning to fracture under the force of his wrath, shattering into jagged pieces that cut deeper into his soul with each moment. But he no longer cared. The pain was meaningless now.
With a dark, hollow smile, he dipped his fingers into his own blood and traced ancient symbols into the air. The glyphs hung, pulsing with his life force, flickering with raw, primal energy.
The Valkriath's eyes widened in sudden realization. They knew what he was doing. Panic flickered across their faces.
"Retreat!" one of them commanded.
But it was already too late.
A barrier snapped into place, trapping Selvaya within it, sealing her in a cage woven from Asher's very soul.
His face softened for the last time, a fleeting, sorrowful look filling his eyes as he whispered, almost to himself, "Belladon, Abaddon, Helle my love…you all wait for me in Xerathar, this world...was just too small to contain us."
And then, with a final exhale, Asher's body exploded, a blinding, furious light erupting from within him.
It was like a sun going supernova, the explosion filling the entire barrier with a power so intense it shattered it in moments, breaking through the restraints and sending a shockwave out that scorched everything in its path.
The blast spread in a slow, dreadful ripple, engulfing mountains, the ground splitting apart, molten rock bubbling up from the wounds in the earth. It was like a nuclear explosion, the fiery bloom expanding in a column of destruction that rose into the stormy sky, turning night into blinding day for miles.
All of this, Abaddon watched from a distance. His mouth was open in silent horror, his body paralyzed with grief and shock.
His father—humanity's strongest—was gone.
There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do.
And the rain continued to fall, creating a curtain of mist as the rain embraced the explosion filling the entire terrain.
The explosion left a scar across the land, a wasteland of ash and twisted melted metal ancient technology. The air hung thick with the decayed scent of blood and burnt bodies.
Abaddon was on his knees, staring at the distant remnants of what had just happened. His eyes were wide, hollow.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't think.
The sight of Asher's final moments played over and over in his mind, like a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
And that's when he felt it—a shadow falling over him.
Nyxalia stood there, her form towering and dark, the one who had taken everything from him. She stood behind him also watching the battle with satisfaction as the Wolven family was torn apart.
Back at the explosion site, the smoke and debris began to settle, revealing a figure moving, stumbling forward.
It was Selvaya.
She looked battered, her armor cracked, her skin smeared with blood. Her left eye was bleeding, streaking crimson down her face. She'd used nearly everything in her to shield herself from the blast. But s
he survived.
Nyxalia tightened her grip on Abaddon, dragging him along like a ragdoll. They flew over the burning fields until they reached the others on the main battlefield, where she dumped Abaddon on the ground with a careless shove.
He hit the ground hard, but he barely flinched. He lay there, staring up at nothing, his mind still reeling.
Nyxalia sneered, glancing at her sisters with an amused smirk.
"So," she said, her tone mocking, "what do we do with the last brat of the Wolven family, he's a normal human unlike his kin?"
Abaddon lay motionless, feeling the weight of her words. But he was still there, fully aware. He could hear every word. He could feel every sting of their contempt.
Maerith turned to look at Selvaya, seeing her wipe the blood from her face.
"You were reckless," she said sharply. "Underestimating that hero... you could have gotten yourself killed if you didn't pull that source at the last moment."
Selvaya shrugged, her smile unfazed. "I did what I had to do. He was… persistent."
Nyxalia scoffed, but before she could respond, the elder Valkriath, Maerith, narrowed her gaze, her expression hardening.
"We're not here to bicker." She looked down at Abaddon, her voice cold. "Our orders are clear. No Wolven blood is to be left alive. Elder god Zuryxal's command."
She turned to Nyxalia and nodded. "Finish it."
Nyxalia grinned, taking a step closer to Abaddon, her scythe raised and ready to strike.
But before she could bring it down, a voice boomed from above, echoing across the battlefield, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Halt."
The word reverberated in the air, powerful and divine, commanding. It came from above, from the heavens themselves, a voice both fierce and regal, carrying a weight of authority that could not be ignored.
The Valkriaths froze, glancing up in shock and disbelief.
They knew very well, this was the goddess of wisdom and fate from the main Erythrian Pantheon, but the question was...
'What was she doing in the mortal realm'
- TO BE CONTINUED...