Part 1: Flames of War
The uneasy alliance that once bound the seven nations of the demon continent had fractured beyond repair. With the disappearance of Eldrithar, suspicion gave way to bloodshed, and war ignited across the land. The fragile balance that had once held the continent in check was no more—each nation now sought dominance, believing survival lay only in conquest.
The Valkarath Empire was the first to make its move. Under the command of Queen Seraphis, its armies swept southward into the disputed lands near Kynthorath. Columns of armored warriors marched through the war-torn plains, banners flying high as the drums of war echoed across the valleys.
Lord Ithrael rode at the head of the vanguard, his crimson cape billowing behind him. His expression was grim as he surveyed the land that would soon be drenched in blood. "Kynthorath will not surrender easily," he muttered to his lieutenant. "But we strike first, before they can rally. The throne demands victory."
Meanwhile, the armies of Thaldris and Lorendith clashed along the eastern front, their battles reducing entire cities to smoldering ruins. King Vorghan led his forces with brutal efficiency, his war machines rolling across the battlefield like relentless beasts of steel and fire. The skies above them darkened with smoke, and the earth trembled beneath the weight of their warring legions.
High King Malek of Druunval, seeing the chaos unfold, made a fateful decision. "If they destroy each other, we will claim the remains," he told his council. His armies did not march to war—instead, they watched from the northern mountains, waiting for the perfect moment to descend upon their weakened rivals.
But none of them knew the truth. The true enemy watched from the darkness, biding its time.
Part 2: Whispers in the Abyss
As the war raged, those who could still hear the whispers of the world knew something was deeply wrong. The Oracle of Zaromir, hidden away in her ancient sanctum, sat among the cold stone pillars of her temple, her silver eyes reflecting the void beyond.
"They fight over ash and bone," she whispered. "The darkness grows."
The sacred pools of divination shimmered before her, revealing glimpses of the unseen—shadows moving at the edges of reality, silent figures that did not belong. The void had begun to leak into their world, and no one saw it coming.
A sudden knock at her chamber doors made her heart lurch. One of her acolytes rushed in, breathless and pale. "High Oracle," he stammered. "The skies over Eldrithar—"
She turned sharply. "What of them?"
"They bleed."
She rushed to the temple's high balcony, looking towards the distant ruins of the vanished kingdom. There, in the twilight sky, streaks of crimson light cut through the heavens, like open wounds in the fabric of existence.
"Fools," she whispered. "They think this is their war. But something else has come for us."
Part 3: The Dark Tide
In the heart of the battlefield, where the forces of Valkarath and Kynthorath clashed in brutal combat, something unnatural took root. Soldiers fought and died by the thousands, their screams lost in the cacophony of war. But as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the impossible happened.
The corpses moved.
At first, it was subtle. A twitching hand here, a shifting shadow there. Then, with the coming of midnight, the fallen warriors rose. Their flesh was lifeless, their eyes empty, yet they moved with purpose. They turned on their former comrades without hesitation, their weapons still clutched in rotting hands.
Panic erupted in the ranks. Cries of horror echoed across the battlefield as the dead slaughtered the living. The commanders shouted desperate orders, but discipline shattered in the face of the unnatural horde. Soldiers fled, abandoning their banners, their minds breaking under the weight of the impossible.
From the heights of her war camp, Queen Seraphis beheld the nightmare unfolding below. Her hands clenched into fists. "This... this is not war. This is something else."
Lord Ithrael, his sword drawn, stood beside her. "My queen, what are your orders?"
She took a breath, forcing her fear into submission. "We retreat. Rally our forces at the western fortress. If we stay, we die."
As the Valkarath forces withdrew, the darkness spread. And from the ruins of Eldrithar, something stirred.
Part 4: The Awakening of Ruin
In the ruins of Eldrithar, where an entire kingdom had vanished without a trace, a voice called from beyond the void. It was neither living nor dead, neither mortal nor divine. It was something far older.
And it had awakened.
The skies over the ruins cracked with arcane power, swirling with shadows that defied the light of the stars. A figure stepped from the abyss, cloaked in darkness, its presence bending reality around it.
The war of mortals had been but a prelude. The true battle was about to begin.
The world was at the brink. The war of power and resources had given way to something far worse.
The war for survival had begun.