The wind howled like a feral beast across the barren wastelands of Isenwald, carrying with it the stench of burning flesh and shattered dreams. At the edge of the chaos, beneath the blood-red moon, stood a man whose name was whispered in fear across the realms: Kael Draven. Tonight, his life would take a turn that even he could not foresee.
Kael had always known he was different. As a child, he had been cast out of the village of Orinvale, branded as cursed. His piercing silver eyes, said to be the mark of the Devourer, brought him nothing but hatred and scorn. The elders had decreed his banishment when he was only eight, their prayers to the gods thinly veiled excuses for their cruelty. Left to the wolves, he had learned to survive the hard way.
By the time he was twenty-five, Kael had become a name synonymous with terror. A mercenary, a warlock, a breaker of oaths—he wore his titles like armor. But beneath his ruthless exterior lay a bitterness that burned brighter than any fire spell he could conjure. The world had cast him as the villain, and so a villain he would be.
---
The battlefield stretched before him, bodies strewn like broken toys abandoned by a careless child. The remnants of the royal army lay defeated at his feet. The banner of the once-mighty Kingdom of Eldara now lay in tatters, trampled in the mud.
Kael's lips curled into a smirk as he surveyed his handiwork. The soldiers had thought their numbers would be enough to overwhelm him, their shining armor and holy prayers a shield against his darkness. Fools. The spells he had cast had torn through their ranks like a scythe through wheat.
"Mercy… please…"
The voice was weak, trembling, and Kael turned to see a young knight crawling toward him. His helmet had been lost, revealing a boy barely out of adolescence. Blood oozed from a wound in his side, staining the pristine white of his tunic.
Kael knelt beside him, his silver eyes glinting in the dim light. "Mercy?" he repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. "Tell me, boy, did you show mercy to the villages you burned in the name of your king? Did you spare the lives of the innocent when you marched with your righteous banners?"
The knight's lips moved, but no sound came out. His face was pale, the life draining from him. Kael placed a hand on the boy's chest, feeling the faint pulse of his heartbeat.
"I thought not," Kael whispered. With a flick of his wrist, dark tendrils of energy snaked from his fingers and plunged into the knight's chest. The boy gasped, his body convulsing as the life was ripped from him. Kael stood, letting the lifeless body slump to the ground.
Around him, the shadows seemed to grow darker, more menacing. The magic he wielded was ancient, forbidden, and it came at a cost. But Kael had long since stopped caring about the price.
---
As the last of the screams faded into silence, Kael felt a presence behind him. He turned, his hand already crackling with energy, only to lower it when he saw who it was.
"Faye," he said, his tone neutral.
The woman who stood before him was as striking as she was dangerous. Her crimson hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and her emerald eyes gleamed with intelligence and cunning. She was dressed in black leather armor, her twin daggers still dripping with blood.
"You've outdone yourself this time," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "The king's forces were no match for you."
Kael shrugged. "They never are."
Faye stepped closer, her gaze lingering on the bodies that littered the ground. "But there's a problem," she said, her tone turning serious. "The Archmage of Eldara escaped. He'll warn the other kingdoms. They'll be coming for us."
Kael's smirk returned. "Let them come. I'll burn them all to ashes."
Faye frowned. "Don't be reckless. The Archmage isn't just any mage. He wields the Divine Flame. If he joins forces with the other kingdoms, even you might not survive."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "The Divine Flame is nothing but a toy for cowards who fear true power. Let him try to stop me. I'll show him the folly of challenging Kael Draven."
---
That night, as the remnants of Kael's army celebrated their victory in the ruins of a once-prosperous town, Kael stood alone on a hill overlooking the devastation. The firelight danced in his eyes, and for a moment, he allowed himself a rare moment of reflection.
The world had taken everything from him—his family, his home, his innocence. He had no illusions about being a hero. Heroes were a myth, a lie told by those in power to justify their own atrocities.
Kael would not be a hero. He would be something greater.
He would be a god.
---
Far to the north, in the marble halls of the Sanctum of Light, the Archmage knelt before the great crystal that pulsed with divine energy. His face was etched with worry as he spoke the incantation to summon the gods' favor.
"The Dark One rises," he whispered. "If we do not stop him now, all will be lost."
The crystal flared brightly, and a voice echoed in the chamber, cold and distant.
"Kael Draven is no mere mortal. He is the chosen of the Void. To defeat him, you must sacrifice everything."
The Archmage bowed his head, his heart heavy with the weight of what was to come.
"I will do whatever it takes," he vowed.
---
Kael felt the shift in the air before he saw it. A rift tore open in the sky, and from it poured a blinding light. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as a figure descended, cloaked in radiant energy.
The Archmage had come, and with him, the power of the gods.
Kael's lips curled into a savage grin.
"Let the war begin."