The air crackled with tension as the sun barely peeked over the horizon. A sudden blast of war trumpets shattered the fragile silence of dawn, sending shockwaves through the sprawling military camp. Warriors jolted awake, their dreams torn apart by the wailing call. They scrambled out of their tents, eyes wide with adrenaline as steel clashed in hurried hands and commands barked through the chaos.

Dramor stood at the forefront, clad in his heavy silver armor that shimmered under the breaking dawn like the judgment of gods. His presence exuded authority, a pillar of unyielding resolve amidst the chaos. Beside him stood Abaddon, The Son of The King, dark cloak billowing like a shadow eager to consume. His expression was unreadable, but a subtle curl of his lips hinted at a secret satisfaction. The air around him felt charged, like the silence before a lightning strike.

Abaddon's gaze, cold and calculating, swept over each member of the party, studying them like pieces on a board. His eyes lingered on each warrior, as if weighing their worth. Barakas, met the prince’s eyes for a fleeting moment. The crimson in his gaze deepened behind the polished silver rims of his glasses, suspicion igniting like a spark in dry grass. He gritted his teeth, muscles flexing beneath his silver-white armor, but said nothing, choosing instead to grip the hilt of his sword more tightly.

“Warriors of Cyred!” Dramor’s voice, a mighty force, rolled through the stillness, steady and strong. “The enemy seeks to drown our lands in shadow and death. But today, we stand as one! Not just as soldiers, but as the guardians of our future, the shield against darkness. This is not just battle; this is survival. This is for our kin, our homes, our very souls. Hold fast to your courage, and strike true! For Cyred, for hope, for all that we cherish—let the world remember this day!”

A roar erupted from the ranks, a battle cry that surged across the plain like an ocean wave crashing against stone. Soldiers stood taller, fear transmuted into fierce resolve. Horses snorted and stamped, sensing the fever in the air, and war beasts growled with primal readiness. Dramor’s emerald eyes locked with those of his soldiers, a silent vow shared in that heartbeat of unity.

The enemy forces emerged from the distant tree line—a horde of goblins and orcs, their armor jagged and mismatched, their growls and war cries echoing across the plains like the voice of an oncoming storm. At their forefront, three massive orcs, each a giant among their kin, towered over the goblins, their muscles rippling with barely restrained fury. Their weapons, crude and heavy, gleamed with the intent of death.

The armies collided, metal on metal, roar meeting roar, and the battlefield became a chaos of motion and sound. Dramor charged ahead, his blade slicing through the first goblin he met, the strike so powerful it split the creature from shoulder to hip. Blood sprayed across the ground, and Dramor moved on without pause, cutting down foes like wheat before a scythe.

The three massive orcs roared as they converged on Dramor. One swung a spiked club down, aiming to crush the general where he stood. Dramor sidestepped, the weapon slamming into the ground with a thunderous impact that sent dirt flying. He countered with a swift upward slash, his blade biting deep into the orc’s side. The creature howled, but Dramor had no time to revel in victory as the other two came at him, their weapons swinging in deadly arcs.

He danced between their blows, his armor ringing with each glancing hit. The second orc lunged, and Dramor drove his sword through its throat, twisting the blade before pulling it free. The third orc, enraged, swung its massive axe in a desperate attack. Dramor ducked under the swing and brought his sword up, cleaving the orc’s head from its shoulders.As the giant fell, Dramor was immediately set upon by more goblins, their shrill cries filling his ears as he fought to keep them at bay.

Far from the front lines, Marnie knelt, her bow steady,eyes focused as she picked her targets. Her energy arrows flew true, each one finding a goblin’s head with precision.“Four…five…six,”she muttered under her breath, counting each kill as she drew and released in quick succession.“Seven…eight…nine.”The goblins fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground, and Marnie’s eyes narrowed as she searched for her next target.

Closer to the heart of the battle, Barakas stood like a bulwark, his shield raised as orcs and goblins battered against him. His sword swung in wide, brutal arcs, each strike cutting down foes who dared to approach. “Airlock!” he bellowed over the din.“A little help here?”

Airlock, standing just behind him,called upon the forces of nature with practiced ease.Thorned vines erupted from the ground, ensnaring goblins and tripping orcs, their cries lost in the chaos of battle. He raised his staff, and a gust of wind swept through the enemy lines,scattering arrows mid-flight and sending weaker foes staggering. "Barakas, hold steady!"Airlock shouted, his voice carrying both command and reassurance.

Barakas barked a laugh,his sword carving through a goblin with brutal efficiency.Then stay on your feet, druid, he retorted, his voice laced with both grit and humor."You’re not bad at keeping up,but I don’t have time to babysit."

Ereshkigal, meanwhile, found herself isolated.An orc charged at her, its eyes wild with bloodlust.She raised her hand, and a phantom skeleton arm,glowing pink with her necromantic energy, burst forth from her back.The skeletal hand grasped the orc,lifting it off the ground with a strength that belied her slender frame.With a panicked flick of her wrist,she slammed the orc into the earth, the impact cracking bones,before hurling it sixty feet away,its body landing among its own allies with a sickening thud.

She panted, her heart pounding as she stumbled back, her eyes wide with fear.She could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the weight of her unused soul fragments gnawing at her resolve.She looked around, her gaze locking onto Airlock and Barakas. She forced herself forward, her steps shaky as she approached them.

Barakas glanced at her,his crimson eyes narrowing. “Where are your undead,Necromancer?” he demanded, his voice carrying over the chaos. Ereshkigal looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line, unable to answer. The weight of her inability pressed heavily on her chest,a bitter reminder of her status as a Soul Breaker.

While the others wielded their powers with strength and precision,she felt like an anchor dragging them down, a feeling ever so familiar.Watching Airlock command nature’s fury and Marnie strike with perfect accuracy stung like an open wound, envy creeping into her thoughts.How could she stand beside them when she could not even summon the undead,the very skill her title promised?

A goblin lunged at her,its dagger aimed for her heart.Her mind screamed at her to move, to cast something—anything—but her body betrayed her.Just as the dagger was about to pierce her, Barakas stepped in,his sword cleaving the goblin in two. Blood sprayed across the ground,splattering her boots.

Barakas turned to her, his expression a mix of frustration and concern, his crimson eyes narrowing.“What are you even doing?” he demanded, his voice rough, his words cutting deeper than the goblin’s blade ever could.

Ereshkigal staggered back,her chest tightening. She clenched her fists,her nails digging into her palms as the shame clawed at her insides.

“You don’t know?”Barakas growled, stepping closer. His massive frame loomed over her, but his tone softened, though it still carried the weight of command.“We’re fighting for our lives out here, Ereshkigal.If you can’t pull your weight, someone’s going to die.Do you understand that?”

Before she could respond, another goblin charged at them. Barakas spun, his sword carving through the air with brutal precision, dispatching the creature in a single stroke. He glanced back at her, his voice carrying over his shoulder. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and fight. If you’re still standing, you’re not done yet.”

Ereshkigal stood frozen,his words ringing in her ears.She swallowed hard, the weight of her failure pressing heavier than ever.

Deep into the chaos of the battlefield,Dramor’s roar tore through the air, raw and guttural, filled with a pain that chilled the hearts of even the most hardened soldiers.Airlock froze mid-spell, his eyes darting through the carnage, searching desperately for a glimpse of the General.“Where is he?” Airlock shouted,his voice hoarse as panic threatened to overtake him.Cyred’s forces splintering under the relentless advance of the goblins and orcs. Dramor,however,remained at the forefront, his blade an unrelenting force of destruction, carving through the enemy with tireless precision.

"Fall back to the lake!"Dramor bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos like a clarion call."Regroup there and prepare for the next wave. I'll hold the line!"

Barakas hesitated, his crimson eyes flicking to the General,who stood like an immovable fortress against the tide of enemies.“We’re not leaving you!” Barakas shouted, his voice laden with defiance.

Dramor turned, his emerald eyes burning with intensity. “That’s an order,Barakas! Protect the others! Go!”

Reluctantly, Barakas gritted his teeth and grabbed Airlock by the shoulder. “You heard him! Move!” Together, they began to pull back, gathering Marnie and Ereshkigal as they fought their way toward the lake.

The battlefield behind them seemed to shift,the cries of the wounded and dying mingling with the guttural roars of the enemy. When they finally reached the edge of the lake, the party turned to face the water. Its surface rippled unnaturally, a sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the air.Then, with a great roar, the water elemental rose, towering above them in a display of raw, unbridled power.

“Brace yourselves!”Airlock yelled, raising his staff as waves of magic rippled from his hands. Vines erupted from the earth, trying to bind the elemental, but it surged forward, its watery tendrils lashing out.

Barakas gritted his teeth as tendrils of water lashed out, slicing through his armor and flesh. He pushed on, his muscles burning, his body screaming for rest. He could see the core of the elemental, a pulsating mass of energy at its center.He knew what he had to do.

Ereshkigal,her hands trembling, summoned her magic. She launched a Thunder Ray, the lightning arcing through the elemental, illuminating the battlefield in a blinding flash.The electricity surged through the water, striking Barakas as well.He screamed, his body convulsing, but he did not fall.His eyes locked on Ereshkigal, filled with fury and determination.

“Focus on its core!”Marnie shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. She nocked an arrow, her eyes narrowing as she aimed for the heart of the elemental.The arrow flew, striking true, the magic within it exploding on impact.

The battle raged on, a cacophony of steel, cries, and raw desperation, when the heavens seemed to revolt. The crimson hues of dusk deepened, the light bleeding from the world as an unnatural darkness descended. Shadows crept across the battlefield like phantom hands, silencing even the dying groans of the fallen.

Marnie, her breath ragged and blood streaking her face, staggered to a halt. The bow in her hand felt like a useless toy against the sheer weight of the moment. She lifted her gaze to the sky, her voice a quivering whisper carried by the silence. “What…is that?”

The heavens opened, revealing not salvation but doom—a blazing red streak tearing through the veil of night. The meteor was colossal, a molten titan roaring its descent with a fury that shook the very earth beneath their feet. Its fiery brilliance painted the battlefield in shades of hellish red and gold, a grotesque mockery of the fading light of day. The sheer magnitude of it dwarfed everything they had faced before, a force of nature bent on annihilation.

Barakas, always steadfast, faltered. His sword slipped in his grip, hanging uselessly at his side. His crimson eyes, so often filled with defiance, widened in disbelief. “This… This can’t be real.”

Airlock took a stumbling step back, his staff trembling in his hands. His voice, usually so sure and commanding, was barely a rasp. “We don’t have the strength for this. Not after everything we’ve already—”

A roar, deeper than the meteor’s, shattered their paralysis. “Get behind me!” Dramor’s voice was an unyielding command, cutting through the rising tide of despair like a blade through fog.

The party turned to see him, their General, standing as he always had—an unbroken pillar of hope and defiance. His silver armor, battered and smeared with blood, still glinted faintly in the dim, fiery light. His cape, torn and frayed, billowed like a banner in the wind. His presence alone seemed to defy the inevitability of their doom. His emerald eyes burned with a resolve that none of them could match.

“General, no!” Airlock’s voice cracked with desperation, his hands reaching out as if to pull him back from the brink. “You can’t—”

“Do as I say!” Dramor’s voice thundered, a force as unrelenting as the storm overhead. “Protect each other. That is your duty. I will handle this.”

Ereshkigal froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her trembling hands gripped the tattered remnants of her robe as she watched him step forward. The General’s figure, so small against the monstrous meteor tearing through the heavens, burned into her mind. For the first time in her life, she felt the sting of helplessness so sharply that it left her breathless. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her thoughts screamed a single, shattering realization: He’s going to die for us.

The meteor loomed closer, its roar now deafening, shaking the ground and the bones within their bodies. Dramor planted his feet, his broad shoulders squaring as he raised his sword. The blade shimmered, a golden light cascading from its edge, brighter and purer than anything they had ever seen. It was as though the gods themselves had poured their divine essence into his hands.

He turned his head slightly, his voice calm, almost gentle, yet carrying the weight of finality. “Live. For Cyred. For all of us.”

With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the very heavens, Dramor surged forward. His muscles strained, his every step defying the laws of mortal strength. As the meteor descended, a wall of fire and death blotting out the stars, Dramor swung his sword upward with all the might of his soul.

The impact was cataclysmic. A blinding flash of light consumed the battlefield, obliterating shadows and sound alike. The ground quaked with a ferocity that toppled trees and split the earth. A shockwave exploded outward, hurling the party through the air like leaves in a hurricane. They hit the ground hard, their consciousness slipping away even as the echoes of the explosion lingered in their ears.

And then—silence. Darkness.