Even from the hill's edge, I could see the Kingdom's forces were struggling—losing.
Their frontlines buckled under the relentless assault. What should've been an organized defense had fractured into desperate skirmishes. Battle formations shattered as Astoroth's twisted creatures tore through their ranks like a tidal wave of death.
I watched as a line of armored soldiers locked shields, holding firm against a charge from one of Astoroth's monstrous warbeasts—a towering, four-legged brute of fused metal and corrupted flesh. Its armor-like hide deflected arrows harmlessly. With a deafening roar, it crashed into the shield wall, sending men flying like broken dolls. One soldier barely had time to scream before jagged claws crushed him into the dirt.
To the left, a group of Kingdom archers frantically loosed volley after volley, but it was like shooting into the abyss. Skeletal knights in darkened plate, their hollow eyes burning with soulless fire, marched through the hail of arrows without flinching. They crashed into the archers with brutal efficiency—blade meeting flesh, death in every stroke.
Farther down the line, I saw Kingdom swordsmen desperately trying to push back Astoroth's twisted berserkers—mutated monstrosities with bloated, sinewy muscles and warped, scythe-like arms. The soldiers fought with valor, but their swords barely scratched the monsters' grotesque hides.
One soldier—barely more than a boy—lunged forward, his blade biting deep into a fiend's chest. For a fleeting moment, I thought he'd won—until the monster laughed. It gripped the sword embedded in its chest, pulled it deeper, and swung its malformed claws, splitting the boy in half.
I clenched my fists, heart pounding in helpless rage.
They were outmatched. Outnumbered. The Kingdom's soldiers should've had the advantage—better-trained, better-armed—but they were human, mortal... and terrified.
Astoroth's forces fought with the twisted glee of those who had nothing to lose and everything to kill. There was no mercy, no retreat—only endless hunger for destruction.
A Kingdom officer shouted desperate orders, rallying a ragged group of spearmen into a defensive formation. Their faces were pale and haunted, worn thin from exhaustion and terror. I could see the trembling in their arms, hear the unsteady breaths even from here.
They won't hold for long.
I gripped my staff tightly, feeling the surge of mana crackling beneath my fingertips like a storm begging to be unleashed. I turned to Sihir. Without a word, I traced a shimmering rune in the air, casting a camouflage spell over her. She vanished instantly, blending seamlessly into the backdrop of the war-torn battlefield.
Now... for my part.
I raised my staff high, letting out a slow, measured breath. Concentrating. Summoning. The air around me grew heavy, vibrating with raw magical energy. A faint, pulsing orb of blinding blue light appeared at the tip of my staff, barely larger than a flame at first—but it grew.
The orb expanded rapidly, pulsing brighter with every heartbeat, swelling to the size of a boulder, then larger still. Sparks of magic crackled and snapped like lightning, searing the air with intense heat.
Bigger. Brighter.
It had to be.
Soldiers on both sides of the battlefield began to notice, heads turning toward the sudden burst of light piercing the darkened skies. Whispers of panic and awe rippled through the ranks as Astoroth's monstrous forces snarled and hissed, shielding their grotesque faces from the burning glow.
The ground itself trembled beneath me as I channeled every ounce of focus into the rapidly growing orb. The sheer intensity of the spell made my fingers numb, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Now.
"Supernova!" I roared, thrusting my staff forward.
The orb launched with a deafening boom, streaking through the air like a falling star. A blinding trail of searing blue fire followed its descent toward the right flank of Astoroth's forces.
And then...
Impact.
The world exploded.
The force of the blast shook the ground beneath our feet, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. A colossal, fiery explosion engulfed the entire right flank of Astoroth's army, obliterating everything in its path.
The deafening roar of magical detonation was accompanied by the sickening sound of earth shattering, stone splintering, and monstrous screams that were swiftly drowned out by the crackling inferno.
When the blinding light finally dimmed, an enormous, scorched crater stretched before us—a gaping wound in the earth where thousands of Astoroth's forces had stood mere moments ago. Charred remains and molten earth hissed and smoked beneath the rising columns of blackened ash.
I swayed slightly, my breath ragged, but I kept my footing. Still standing.
Sir Cedric stared at the devastation with wide, stunned eyes before letting out a low, impressed whistle.
"By the gods..." he muttered, shaking his head. "I see now why you're here."
Rowan only grunted, faintly amused. "Told you."
I allowed myself a brief, grim smile—just enough to hide how much my hands still shook from the intensity of the spell.
Half gone... but half still remain.
I raised my staff again, ignoring the ache burning through my arms and the dull throbbing at the base of my skull. My body screamed in protest, drained from unleashing the first Supernova, but there was no time to hesitate. I need to launch another one.
Before I could summon the next spell, I heard the shriek of a hundred arrows tearing through the sky like death's whisper.
"Incoming!" Sir Cedric bellowed.
The world slowed for a fraction of a second—arrows everywhere.
I barely flinched as they rained down, pelting my shimmering magical shield with heavy, thudding impacts. My defensive spell, activated since Susan slapped me awake, held firm. Not a single arrow pierced through.
Beside me, Sir Cedric swung his colossal blade with brutal precision, cleaving through entire clusters of arrows in midair as if they were no more than scattered leaves. His strikes were effortless, born of instinct and decades of relentless war.
But none of it mattered. We couldn't waste time defending—we needed to end this.
I took a steadying breath, planting my feet and raising my staff once more. Magic surged through my veins, far heavier this time, sluggish and strained, as though dragging molten lead through my soul.
Not enough mana... No. Focus.
Electric-blue energy gathered at the tip of my staff again, flickering unstably this time. The light quivered and pulsed as I poured everything I had left into it—raw, wild mana, pulled from the deepest reservoirs of my being.
The orb expanded slowly at first, resisting as if the universe itself pushed back against its creation. My pulse pounded violently in my ears. Bigger... just a little more...
Sweat dripped down my face. Every muscle in my body trembled from the magical strain, threatening to snap. The ground beneath my feet cracked, scorched by the searing heat radiating from the unstable Supernova forming above me.
Almost... there...
"Thalia!" Rowan's voice grounded me—sharp and commanding.
With a final, desperate push, I thrust my staff forward.
"Supernova!"
The searing orb launched into the air, streaking toward the left flank of Astoroth's forces like a falling star of pure devastation. The battlefield lit up as if the sun itself had been cast down in judgment.
The explosion was immense, even more ferocious than the first. The ground shattered, sending earth and stone hurtling in every direction. Screams and howls of twisted creatures echoed across the broken plains as the explosion consumed them, leaving a second gaping, smoldering crater where once stood countless enemies.
But I couldn't see it clearly—I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. The weight of spent magic crushed down on me like an iron shackle. My chest heaved, and my trembling fingers barely clung to my staff, now feeling heavy as lead.
Almost... empty...
I forced myself to look up, blinking through the haze of exhaustion and lingering sparks of blue fire. The burning ruins of Astoroth's forces stretched across the entire left flank—devastated.
But there were still more.
Thousands of dark shapes still surged toward the Kingdom's forces, relentless and unyielding despite the carnage.
Sir Cedric knelt beside me, his large, calloused hand resting gently atop my head. His touch was warm, steadying—comforting in a way I hadn't expected.
"Thank you," he said softly, sincerity etched into every word. "You've given us a fighting chance."
I couldn't respond, too drained even to muster a nod, but I met his gaze, my breath still ragged. His expression was calm, determined—not the hollow grimness of a weary soldier, but the fierce resolve of someone who believed in this fight, who believed we could win.
As he rose, I forced myself to stand straighter, leaning heavily on my staff. My vision wavered, but I could still see it—the battlefield shifting, tilting in our favor.
The Kingdom's forces surged forward, emboldened by the obliteration of Astoroth's right and left flanks. The soldiers pushed harder, striking down the enemy with renewed ferocity. They believe they can win now.
For once... we're the ones with the advantage.
But that fragile hope shattered in an instant.
From the smoking, shattered remains of the first Supernova's crater, something stirred.
A sickly gurgling sound echoed across the broken plains, followed by the hiss of steam as the ground beneath the scorched earth began to bubble.
Poisonous mist seeped upward from the cracked earth, thickening rapidly into a swirling, toxic fog. It clung to the ground like a living thing—hungry, searching.
Then he rose.
A twisted, grotesque figure clawed its way from the depths of the corrupted soil. His skeletal frame was sheathed in rotting, moss-covered armor, its edges warped and fused into decaying flesh. Sickly-green veins of necrotic energy pulsed across his exposed skin like corrupted roots, writhing with dark life.
His face was a skullish mockery of what it once must've been, skin stretched taut over sharp, angular bones. Empty pits burned with dim, venomous green fire, flickering with malice.
Kazareth. The Rotting Plague.
With each step, the blighted ground beneath his feet withered, black veins of decay spreading outward like deadly vines. Sickly-yellow spores hissed into the air, thickening the already choking mist. The ground bubbled and split, releasing the stench of death and disease.
I staggered back, bile rising in my throat. The air itself burned my lungs, and I hadn't even come close to the infected zone yet.
Sir Cedric's face hardened, his jaw set like carved stone. He glanced back at me, eyes intense yet steady.
"Rest up, Thalia." His voice was firm but not unkind. "You've done enough—but we're not done. We still need you. Get back when you're ready."
Before I could respond, he leaped from the ridge without hesitation, plunging down into the roiling battlefield below.
I watched, breath held, as he charged forward—unstoppable.
His massive blade cleaved through the twisted creatures in his path, scattering Astoroth's foot soldiers like ragdolls. His strikes were clean, precise, brutal—a storm of steel cutting a direct path through the chaos.
Nothing could stop him.
Kazareth turned, empty, burning eyes locking onto Sir Cedric with cold recognition.
The ground splintered beneath his feet as Sir Cedric surged forward—unrelenting.
In the span of a single breath, they clashed, and the world seemed to shudder under the weight of their first impact.
Beneath the clashing of swords, the roars of battle, and the screams of the dying... I heard something else.
A laugh.
A low, throaty chuckle at first, almost lost in the chaos. But it swelled, growing louder, more unhinged, until it dominated the battlefield like a demented war drum.
Then I saw her.
Veythra.
She emerged from the writhing tide of soldiers like a bloody specter, unstoppable and grinning.
Her towering, muscular frame was coated in a slick sheen of crimson, though whether it was from her enemies or her own twisted magic, I couldn't tell. Her crimson-tinted skin seemed to pulse with dark energy, her war-paint-like sigils glowing brighter with every kill.
Her jagged greatsword was a monstrosity of twisted metal and dark runes, forged for one purpose: slaughter. Its blade dripped with fresh blood, almost as if the weapon itself hungered.
She moved with the deadly grace of a seasoned warlord and the fury of a beast unleashed, slashing, hacking, and tearing through the Kingdom's lines like they were paper.
Where she passed, none were left standing. Men, elves, beasts—they all fell before her. The ground itself seemed to bleed beneath her feet, saturating the battlefield with death.
This... this was her heaven.
Carnage. Bloodshed. War.
I felt my stomach twist. We were losing ground again. If she wasn't stopped, she'd collapse our forces from within.
A low grunt beside me snapped me out of it. I turned to see Rowan, his sharp eyes locked on Veythra, his hand tightening around his lance as he studied her rampage.
He scratched his beard, grim-faced.
"I need to stop her."
"Go," I managed, voice still hoarse from casting. "I'll... I'll meet you down there."
He didn't hesitate.
With a sharp gesture, he summoned a howling whirlwind beneath his feet. The wind surged, lifting him into the air in a spiraling arc.
He landed below with perfect precision, as if the wind itself had guided him.
Without looking back, Rowan charged, his lance glinting in the dim, blood-streaked light as he closed in on Veythra.
The two forces of nature collided, and the battlefield shook once again.
Amidst the carnage and chaos, my eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for the source of all this madness.
Astoroth.
But I didn't see him—anywhere.
A chill crawled down my spine. He was here, somewhere. He had to be. This was his war, his domain. He wouldn't just hide... would he?
I glanced behind me, toward where Sihir was supposed to be—hidden under my camouflage spell. But... nothing. Not a trace of her.
Her absence gnawed at me, but I forced the feeling down. She was smart, far more calculating than I'd ever be. If she was gone, it was because she wanted to be.
If Sihir was sticking to the plan, it was good. No one on the battlefield should know where she was—not us, and definitely not the enemy.
I tore my gaze back to the chaos below. My eyes locked on Kazareth and Sir Cedric.
Their clash was relentless, a brutal contest of unyielding force against twisted malice.
Kazareth's hulking form loomed like a walking plague, rot and decay spilling from him with every step. He swung his twisted halberd with unnatural strength, the blade slicing through the air with lethal precision.
But Sir Cedric met every strike with iron resolve. His massive blade carved through Kazareth's roots of corruption, severing tendrils before they could ensnare him.
Kazareth lunged, his rusted halberd arcing toward Sir Cedric's head. Fast. Deadly.
But Cedric pivoted, his sword slicing upward with brutal efficiency, parrying the blow and shoving Kazareth back with a roaring battle cry.
I held my breath. He was overwhelming the rotting horror, pushing him backward, step by step, cutting through Kazareth's defenses with precision and power.
But Kazareth wouldn't fall. His unyielding presence, surging miasma, and undying hate fueled his desperate strikes.
I tore my gaze away, heart pounding, just in time to catch a glimpse of Rowan's battle.
He was already in Veythra's face, their weapons clashing with earth-shattering force.
Veythra roared, her colossal greatsword whipping through the air like it was weightless.
But Rowan moved with ruthless precision, his lance darting and striking with the accuracy of a seasoned hunter.
She charged, her war-paint glowing, blood magic surging around her. Veythra was a monster, a force of war. But Rowan was relentless, untouchable as he deflected, sidestepped, and countered with lethal precision.
Their clash was like a storm, violent and unforgiving, both of them pushing for dominance.
But even from this distance, I could see it:
Neither of them was backing down.
Until suddenly, I felt an immense aura. An overwhelming force that even from far away could choke me to death.
He arrived.
The Wrath Incarnate. The Conqueror of the World.
Astoroth.
He emerged from the second crater left by my Supernova, a towering monstrosity of brutal might and raw malice. His armored form gleamed like molten obsidian, etched with burning runes pulsing like living veins. His massive shoulders bristled with jagged spikes, and his hulking arms rippled with impossible strength.
Two colossal horns curled back from his helmeted head, dark and jagged like the claws of some ancient beast. His face was obscured behind a battle-scarred helm, but the twin embers of his burning eyes blazed with endless rage—a fire that could consume empires.
His armored chest heaved with every breath, thick smoke curling from his nostrils. His war-hammer, a monstrous slab of blackened iron chained to his wrist, rested against the scorched earth—heavy, brutal, and eager for slaughter.
As if responding to his arrival, his minions surged with newfound fury. The tide of battle turned instantly, the Kingdom's forces forced back as though hope itself had been shattered.
I clenched my jaw. I had to act now. He needed to be held there—in the crater, the perfect place for Sihir's strike. If he moved, if he reached our soldiers… it would be a massacre.
I inhaled sharply and forced my trembling legs to steady. My vision was still hazy from casting two Supernovas, but I blinked the blurriness away. I couldn't afford weakness now.
Gripping my staff, I took a step forward—and plunged down the cliff.
The wind howled in my ears as I fell, the battlefield rushing toward me like a nightmare given form. At the last moment, I cast a soft wind spell, breaking my fall and landing gracefully on the charred, blood-soaked ground.
The stench of burning flesh and rotting decay clawed at my senses. Screams echoed around me—human and otherwise—but I kept moving, weaving through the carnage like a shadow.
Small, precise spells left my fingertips—flashes of searing flame and cutting winds that carved paths through Astoroth's minions. I moved efficiently, conserving every drop of mana I had left. I needed to reach him.
His towering form loomed ahead, cutting through the haze of battle like a dark monument to destruction. He was impossible to miss—colossal, relentless, an unstoppable force that dominated the battlefield. Even though all he did is just standing still.
Breathing heavily, I pressed on, stepping over broken bodies and shattered weapons until...
I was there.
Standing before him.
Astoroth.
To be continued...