Igetis stood firm against skotadi raven soul wrapping around him like a dark shroud. Every strike he delivered burned through the air itself, leaving trails of black flames in his wake. Yet, despite the searing heat, igetis remained unharmed the black flames didn't even scratch his Golding armor. Skotadi watched closely, his eyes narrowing.
"The phoenix soul…" he muttered, realization dawning. "It grants fire resistance that point in your favor." His expression hardened. "Then I have no choice. Forgive me,
Mister Igetis, but I need to get rid of you."
Igetis smirked, gripping his sword tighter preparing to attack. "You seem full of hope chaos seeker Skotadi."
Skotadi's voice was steady, but his eyes carried a storm. "Hope is all what the weak have. It's all what I have and what I was having. When you have nothing, you cling to hope like an animal clinging to its prey."
Taking a step back, he allowed the surrounding flames to intensify. They roared, growing hotter, stronger—devouring everything within reach. The ground beneath him cracked under the sheer heat. Raising his arms, he whispered a grim truth.
"Chaos is the only way... the only solution."
A dark aura burst from within him, swallowing his figure in its grasp. The vibrant fire that once danced wildly now twisted and thickened, darkening into something far more sinister. Shadows pulsed and coiled around him, shaping themselves into an armor darker than the void itself. It clung to him like a second skin, and the black flames surrounding him no longer burned—they consumed.
His voice, now deeper and laced with a chilling calm, echoed through the battlefield.
"Mister Knight... I'm tired of suffering. Everyone is tired of suffering this world needs to be reshaped . Nothing in this world is easy... but I will take it all. I will bear the suffering and reshape reality—to make it easier for everyone." He paused, a twisted smile forming. "Laugh at my childish dream."
Igetis said nothing. He simply tightened his grip, his stance unwavering. There was no need for words—his will to fight shone through his piercing gaze.
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A Memory of Hunger and Despair
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The Village Before the Fall
Once, before the weight of despair crushed it, the village had been a place of quiet resilience. Fields of golden wheat stretched far beyond the horizon, swaying gently under the caress of the wind. Children once ran barefoot through narrow dirt paths, their laughter ringing in the air like the chime of distant bells. The village square bustled with life—merchants peddling goods, blacksmiths hammering steel, and bakers filling the air with the aroma of freshly baked bread.
In the evenings, the elders would gather beneath the grand oak tree at the village's heart, telling stories of heroes long past and kingdoms built on justice. Hope thrived here. Even in hardship, the villagers found solace in their traditions, their unity a force stronger than any storm.
But hope is a fragile thing.
When war raged across the land, it did not arrive with the clash of armies but with whispers—rumors of distant battles drawing closer, of nobles abandoning their vassals, and of knights who would never return. At first, the villagers clung to optimism, believing the war would pass them by like it always had.
They were wrong.
The Destruction of the Village
It began slowly. The merchants stopped coming first. Then the farmers found their harvests stolen in the night, their stores ransacked by desperate hands. Starvation crept in like a thief, subtle at first—an extra meal skipped here, a thinner bowl of stew there. But soon, it grew bolder, sinking its claws into their ribs and gnawing at their strength.
The bandits followed soon after. They were not the fabled marauders of legend, but broken men—former soldiers turned scavengers, hardened by war and driven by their own hunger. They took what little remained with the efficiency of wolves, leaving behind hollow-eyed survivors too weak to resist.
Skotadi, still a boy, watched it all happen. His mother's once kind face grew sunken and shadowed, and his father, once a proud man, became little more than a ghost in their crumbling home. Every day, the screams of the desperate filled the night as the village tore itself apart from within.
The grand oak tree that had once stood as a symbol of strength burned to cinders when the bandits finally set fire to the village. Homes collapsed under the weight of the flames, their skeletal remains left to stand as a testament to their failure. Smoke choked the air, and ashes fell like snow, covering the land in a thick, suffocating blanket of ruin.
And he stood seeing his father telling him with a rough voice go and look for something for me to eat brat!
His kind father turn into that
Was suffering he can't bare seeing his broud father and he just desperately go looking for nothing hopefully his father will return to what he was skotadi like an empty shell wandering in destruction of the village finding nothing and the punishment just waiting him every day every day every day….
It's like a loop of madness
It was that inferno of loss that skotadi realized something
Hope was not enough but he was all he has
The Arrival of Chaos
She came when the village was on the brink of death. Draped in darkness, Chaos moved through the ruins like an unstoppable tide. Her presence was both terrifying and mesmerizing—her eyes held the void itself, her power bending into reality with a mere whisper. Chaos reduced the bandits who had ruled the ruins with iron fists to nothing in mere moments.
She did not raise a hand, yet their bodies crumpled, their screams swallowed by the abyss. The villagers, those who remained, could only watch as salvation came as destruction.
When the blood dried, she spoke—not with pity, but with promise.
"Chaos is the only way. In chaos, everything becomes easy. Follow me to our I GI TIS EMPANGELIAS . Only those who abandon everything can obtain everything."
And Skotadi, standing amidst the ashes of his past, knew he had no choice.
Hope had failed him.
Chaos, however, had saved him.
And Like every desperate he believed her. He had to. From that moment on, he knew that chaos was the answer, the only way forward. But deep down, like all the weak, he knew his actions did not yet match his dreams.
He had made a promise to himself—he would embrace any path, even the forbidden arts, to bring salvation to those who suffered. No matter the cost.
---
Back to the Present
The battlefield was no different from the ruins of his village—chaos reigned here, as it always had. Skotadi stood in his dark armor, the weight of his past pressing heavily on his shoulders, yet fueling his resolve. The black flames crackled around him, twisting and consuming everything they touched.
Igetis, a silent beacon of resistance, took a step forward. His sword gleamed under the flickering fire, his stance unwavering.
This was no longer a battle of strength.
It was a battle of ideals.
The fight was far from over.
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