The massive procession of the Church's forces marched in unison, their armor glinting in the sun as they made their way toward the coast. The sheer scale of the army was breathtaking, a testament to the Church's resolve and might. Thousands of soldiers, priests, clerics, and magisters moved together, divided into formations based on their roles and power. Leading the march was Archbishop Dravan, the most revered and powerful leader of the Church in this region. Clad in resplendent golden armor and holding the Radiant Scepter, his every step exuded authority and divine purpose. Behind him marched the Paladins of the Dawn, the elite warriors chosen for their unshakable faith and unmatched strength in battle.
As they journeyed, discussions echoed within the ranks. Soldiers whispered about the fog-covered island, their voices tinged with both awe and trepidation. "Do you think this Evil God will fall as easily as the others?" a young knight asked his companion. The older warrior, a veteran of many crusades, shook his head. "This is no ordinary foe. That island reeks of something far more ancient and sinister. But we have the Light, and the Light never falters." Meanwhile, the clerics and magisters debated strategies, their minds focused on countering the unknown powers of the island. "We must be ready for anything," one cleric insisted. "The darkness there is unlike anything we've faced before. It could corrupt even the purest soul."
By the time they reached the coast, the sun was setting, casting an eerie glow over the horizon. The island loomed in the distance, shrouded in its perpetual veil of fog and shadow. Archbishop Dravan stood before the assembled army, his voice resonating with divine authority as he addressed them. "Brothers and sisters, today we stand as the Light's chosen. That island, that abomination, is a blight upon our sacred world. It festers with corruption, and it dares to defy the will of our God. We will not falter. We will march into that darkness, armed with the Light, and we will cleanse it. Every step we take is guided by the divine, and every strike we deliver carries the wrath of the heavens. Remember, we are not alone. The Light is with us, and its glory will lead us to victory!"
The army erupted into a chorus of cheers, their voices a wave of unwavering faith. Dravan raised his scepter, its radiant glow a beacon against the encroaching night. "Now, hear our plan. We will strike from three fronts. The Paladins will lead the vanguard, storming the main shore and establishing a foothold. The magisters and clerics will flank from the sides, ensuring no foul creature escapes. The rear guard will secure our position, cutting off any attempts at ambush. Follow your leaders, trust in your training, and most importantly, trust in the Light. Together, we will emerge victorious!"
The army began to organize according to the plan. Each unit moved into its designated position, their movements precise and practiced. Divine artifacts were distributed among the leaders. The Sun's Wrath gleamed in the hands of Commander Lysandra, its blade a symbol of divine judgment. The Aegis of Radiance was carried by Captain Marius, his shield a fortress against the shadows. Among the clerics, the Holy Chalice of Renewal glowed softly, its healing properties a source of comfort and strength. Every relic had been chosen for its power to counter the darkness, and each was entrusted to those deemed worthy of wielding them.
As they boarded the ships that would take them to the island, the air was thick with anticipation. The soldiers were eager to fulfill their divine mission, their hearts bolstered by faith. Yet, amidst the fervor, an undercurrent of unease lingered. The fog that surrounded the island seemed to watch them, its tendrils shifting unnaturally. Whispers of an ancient and incomprehensible force spread like wildfire, yet none dared voice their fears openly. Their faith, after all, was their greatest weapon.
Unbeknownst to the Church, every word they spoke and every plan they made was known to the Void. The fog that surrounded the island was not merely an obstacle; it was alive, a manifestation of Allen's will. From his seat within the Void, Allen watched with amusement as the mortals approached. Their confidence, their meticulous planning, and their faith in their god—it was all so predictable, so small. He had no need to intervene directly. The Void itself would deal with them, and his servants would relish the opportunity to defend their domain.
Allen's power had grown steadily during this time, his Void Template now at 0.14%. The exponential increase in his strength was exhilarating, his abilities far surpassing anything he had previously imagined. He could summon vast armies of Void creatures with a mere thought, their forms shifting and reforming endlessly, immune to death as long as his power sustained them. To him, the Church's crusade was nothing more than a distraction, a game to pass the time as he accumulated more of the Void's essence. He was curious to see how his servants would fare against the Church's might and how long the mortals' faith would endure in the face of true darkness.
The ships reached the island's shores under the cover of night. The Church's army disembarked with precision, their torches piercing the oppressive gloom. As they moved into position, the fog seemed to thicken, its tendrils brushing against their armor like unseen hands. Archbishop Dravan stood at the forefront, his Radiant Scepter held high as he gave the final command. "Tonight, we strike at the heart of evil. For the Light! For our God!" The army advanced, their chants echoing into the night.
From within the Void, Allen watched as the pieces moved into place. The stage was set, the actors ready, and the curtain about to rise. He leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. "Let the game begin," he murmured, his voice a whisper carried on the wind. The clash between the divine and the Void was about to unfold, and Allen was more than ready to enjoy the show.