The figure stepped forward, his presence commanding and oppressive. He was a mountain of a man, his armor scarred from countless battles and his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. Behind him stood a dozen mercenaries, their weapons drawn and their expressions grim. The air grew heavy with tension as the warlord's voice boomed across the wasteland.
"Hand over the shard, boy," he demanded, his hand resting on the hilt of a massive blade. "And I might let you live."
Kael's grip tightened on his sword, the cursed chain around his wrist humming faintly. He could feel its power stirring, eager to be unleashed. "Not a chance," he replied, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him.
The warlord smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. "Brave words for someone who's outnumbered and outmatched. I am Drakthar, and that shard belongs to me."
Before Kael could respond, Drakthar's mercenaries surged forward, their weapons glinting in the blood-red light of the sun. The battle erupted in a blur of steel and chaos. Kael moved instinctively, his cursed chain flaring with dark energy as he parried blows and struck back with surprising speed. But the mercenaries were skilled, their movements precise and coordinated.
Eryndor fought beside him, their movements fluid and almost too perfect. They moved like a shadow, striking with deadly precision and always seeming to be one step ahead of their opponents. But even they couldn't hold off the entire group alone.
Kael's chain surged again, its power overwhelming as it sent a wave of darkness crashing into the mercenaries. But the surge was unpredictable, and Kael felt it draining him, sapping his strength. He stumbled, his vision blurring as the chain's whispers grew louder in his mind.
"Control it," Eryndor hissed, their voice sharp. "Or it'll kill you before they do."
Kael gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. He couldn't afford to lose control, not now. He parried another blow, his movements growing more deliberate as he fought to keep the chain's power in check.
In the chaos, one of the mercenaries—a woman with fiery red hair and a blade stained with blood—turned on her companions. Her movements were swift and deadly as she cut through Drakthar's forces with practiced ease. "I've had enough of his tyranny," she shouted, her voice ringing out over the clash of steel. She fought her way to Kael and Eryndor, her blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.
"Who are you?" Kael asked, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Lyra," she replied, her eyes blazing with determination. "And if you want to survive, you'll need my help."
Together, the three of them fought their way through the mercenaries, their combined skills turning the tide of the battle. But Drakthar was not so easily defeated. He roared in fury, his massive blade cleaving through the air as he charged at Kael.
Kael barely managed to dodge the blow, the force of it sending shockwaves through the ground. He stumbled, his chain flaring again as he struggled to keep his footing. Drakthar's eyes gleamed with triumph as he raised his blade for another strike.
But before he could bring it down, Lyra intervened, her blade clashing against Drakthar's with a deafening clang. "Run!" she shouted, her voice strained as she struggled to hold him off.
Kael hesitated, but Eryndor grabbed his arm and pulled him away. "We can't win this fight," they said, their voice urgent. "Not yet."
Reluctantly, Kael followed, his heart pounding as they fled the battlefield. The sound of Drakthar's roar echoed behind them, a promise of vengeance that sent a chill down Kael's spine.
---
As they regrouped in the shadow of a crumbling ruin, Kael leaned against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cursed chain around his wrist felt heavier than ever, its whispers a constant reminder of the power he had barely managed to control.
"Who is he?" Kael asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Drakthar," Eryndor replied, their tone grim. "A warlord who's been hunting the shards of the Ashen Throne for years. He's ruthless, cunning, and won't stop until he has them all."
Kael glanced at the shard in his hand, its glow faint but menacing. "Then we'll find them first."
Lyra smirked, her blade resting on her shoulder. "You've got guts, kid. But guts won't be enough. Drakthar's not the only one after those shards, and the others won't be so easy to beat."
Kael nodded, his resolve hardening. He didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was clear—he couldn't afford to fail. The shard was just the beginning, and the road ahead would be fraught with danger. But for the first time in his life, Kael felt a sense of purpose. He wasn't just a bored teenager anymore. He was something more.
And he would do whatever it took to survive.