In the vast, desolate battlefield, the land lay scarred beyond recognition—a graveyard of shattered structures, broken weapons, and lifeless bodies that painted a grim picture of a war fought without mercy. Dragons, elves, humans, devils, demons, and countless other races lay silent in eternal stillness. Once vibrant and teeming with life, the battlefield was now a testament to the brutality of unchecked power and ambition.
Amidst the devastation, two figures stood like unyielding titans, their auras commanding the broken land, suffusing it with tension and malice. They seemed like sovereigns of destruction, embodiments of death's will.
The first was a man with long, dark hair cascading down his back, dressed in an immaculate white robe that clung to his form with elegance. Despite the dust and the faint smudges marring its pristine appearance, his robe seemed to resist the carnage surrounding him. His noble yet foreboding demeanor radiated authority, his sharp features framed by a haunting calm. In his right hand was a sword of exquisite craftsmanship—its iron hilt carved with the image of a howling wolf, its blade stained with blood of every hue: black, blue, green, and red. Each mark was a memory, a life ended by his hand.
Across from him stood his antithesis. A man clad in blood-red armor streaked with gore, exuding an aura of slaughter so oppressive it seemed to darken the already bleak battlefield. His face twisted into a crazed grin, eyes gleaming with unrestrained bloodlust. Blood dripped steadily from his gauntleted hands, forming a crimson pool at his feet. His presence was chaos incarnate, a vortex of violence that bent the battlefield to his will.
For a moment, the air was thick with silence—a silence that carried the weight of the dead. Then, it shattered.
The red-armored man sneered, his voice sharp and disdainful. "Pitiful creatures caught in the crossfire," he muttered, gesturing dismissively to the corpses strewn across the field. "They served their purpose. Not as useful as I hoped, but useful enough."
The dark-haired man's knuckles whitened around his sword's hilt. His voice, cold and laced with quiet fury, cut through the air. "You treacherous bastard. I'm no saint, but this… this massacre was unnecessary. Did they deserve this?"
The red-armored man tilted his head, mockery dancing in his blood-red eyes. "Treacherous?" he echoed with a chuckle, his grin widening into something almost feral. "How dramatic. I'm no traitor—I simply outgrew my chains. Call it a change of perspective."
"You've abandoned everything for this madness," the dark-haired man spat, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "What you've done… it's beyond redemption."
"Redemption?" The man in red threw back his head, laughing sharply. It was a laugh that echoed with unhinged glee. "And who are you to decide what's redeemable? Don't kid yourself. You're just like me—clinging to your ideals to justify the blood on your hands. Enough talk. I'm tired of your sanctimonious whining."
The dark-haired man's expression hardened. His grip on his sword tightened as he raised it, his voice reverberating with deadly resolve. "As you wish. No more words. Let's finish this."
With a sharp cry, he unleashed his power. "Sword Domain: Sword Rendering!"
A brilliant white aura erupted around him, expanding outward into a shimmering domain filled with the presence of a thousand blades. The air grew dense, heavy with the lethal intent of his power. With a swift motion, he swung his sword, releasing an arc of blinding energy that tore through the battlefield, heading straight for his opponent.
The red-armored man's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. He drew his own sword, a weapon that seemed to pulse with a sinister crimson light. His aura exploded outward, bathing the field in a macabre red glow. "Sword Domain: Crimson Ruin!" he roared.
His domain burst forth, the very air trembling under the weight of his murderous intent. The ground beneath him cracked and splintered as his sword slashed through the air, sending a wave of scarlet energy to meet his foe. His white hair turned blood-red, his eyes glowing like twin embers of carnage.
The two domains collided with cataclysmic force. The clash sent shockwaves tearing through the battlefield, scattering debris and extinguishing any lingering signs of life. The ground shook, the sky seemed to darken, and for a moment, it felt as if the world itself might break under their power.
When the energy finally dissipated, the two figures remained standing. The dark-haired man's domain flickered briefly before fading, while the red-haired man's reverted to a low hum of residual energy.
"You're strong," the red-armored man admitted, his voice mocking despite the praise. "But not strong enough. Next time, you won't get off so easily."
"There won't be a next time," the dark-haired man growled. His sword pulsed with barely restrained energy as he prepared to strike again.
But before he could move, a portal shimmered into existence behind his opponent. Its swirling energy radiated an otherworldly presence, making even the dark-haired man hesitate.
The red-armored man stepped toward it, throwing a mocking salute over his shoulder. "Don't die before I get the chance to kill you properly, kid."
With that, he vanished into the portal. The dark-haired man stood frozen, his fury simmering as he stared at the space his enemy had occupied moments ago. His aura flared uncontrollably, shaking the ground beneath him.
Finally, he exhaled sharply, shaking the blood from his blade before sheathing it. He glanced at the weapon, his voice low and resolute. "Next time, we'll finish this. Won't we, old friend?"
The sword pulsed softly in response, its white light flickering in silent agreement.
With one last look at the desolate battlefield, the dark-haired man spread his arms and ascended into the sky. "Let's go home," he murmured, his figure disappearing into the horizon.