The battlefield was eerily silent.
Smoke drifted in thin, wispy trails, rising toward the morning sky. The cries of the wounded had quieted, leaving only the wind and the distant crackling of dying flames.
Azrael Kaelthorne stood at the heart of it all, his golden eyes sweeping over the remnants of war. His army had claimed victory. The enemy lay defeated—some slain, others kneeling in surrender.
But something was wrong.
His vision blurred.
A sharp, searing pain tore through his body.
His breath hitched, and his grip on Necrilith tightened. His body, which had moved like an unstoppable force mere moments ago, now felt unbearably heavy.
Then, realization struck.
The Berserk Potion's time limit had run out.
---
A Tyrant's Fall
Azrael barely had a second to react before the pain crashed into him like a tidal wave.
His muscles locked. His veins felt like they were burning from the inside. The overwhelming power that had fueled his movements, that had made him near-unstoppable on the battlefield, now demanded its price.
He collapsed.
His knees slammed into the bloodstained ground, his vision darkening at the edges. His knights surged forward in alarm, their voices distant and distorted.
"Lord Azrael!"
"Someone help him!"
He could hear them. But he could not answer.
The pain was unbearable. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest, as if his own body was tearing itself apart from within.
His fingers twitched. Necrilith fell from his grip, the abyssal glow flickering weakly.
The world spun.
And then, darkness.
---
A Command in the Dark
Azrael did not know how long he had been unconscious.
But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer on the battlefield.
He stood in an endless void.
The Abyss.
And before him, the System's cold, unwavering voice echoed in his mind.
[Your body has reached its limit.]
[You are unfit to fall unconscious on a battlefield.]
[Wake up.]
Azrael clenched his fists. The pain was still there—lingering, dull, but manageable.
His golden eyes narrowed.
"Give me strength," he demanded.
The System remained silent for a moment.
Then—
[You already have strength.]
[But strength without endurance is nothing.]
The void around him shattered.
---
Awakening
Azrael's eyes snapped open.
The scent of blood and steel filled his lungs. His body ached, but it was not the unbearable torment from before.
He was alive.
And he was not alone.
Knights knelt around him, their faces filled with concern. Veyrin Malzev stood nearby, arms crossed, his usually playful expression replaced with rare seriousness.
Azrael exhaled slowly.
The battle was won.
But the consequences of his power had been made painfully clear.
The Abyssal Tyrant could not afford to fall again.
To Be Continued in Chapter 50…