Dante_shark

Eternal Dusk – A Dark Apocalyptic Fantasy

The world is ending—not in fire, but in an endless twilight where the screams of the fallen are swallowed by the void. The gods are gone. The heavens have rotted. All that remains is war.

In the heart of this dying world, Modred stands at the edge of oblivion. A warrior born from the ashes of a broken past, his crimson eyes burn with a fury that even death cannot smother. He does not fight for hope. Hope is a lie. He does not fight for justice. Justice died long ago.

He fights because there is nothing else left.

Beyond the walls of Astria, the last kingdom standing, the forces of the Pantheon tighten their grip. The gods may be gone, but their shadows remain—whispering, corrupting, devouring. When the call for war echoes once more, the Deicida Squads—executioners of the divine—are sent into the abyss. Some will rise as legends. The rest will be forgotten.

But in a world where death is a certainty, Modred knows one truth:

You don’t pray for salvation. You carve it from the corpses of those who stand in your way.

Eternal Dusk is a dark apocalyptic fantasy where brutality and vengeance walk hand in hand. In this world, there are no chosen heroes—only those willing to kill before they are killed.

And when the dusk finally fades... will your name be remembered, or buried with the fallen?

Eternal dusk; Wrath of the Fallen

The battlefield's silence was deafening. The ruins, drenched in ichor and littered with ash, were a testament to the carnage we had wrought. We were somber as we rode back to the capital. The weight of victory hung heavy, but it was fleeting-a hollow triumph in a war that seemed endless.

I lagged behind, my crimson eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Each step felt heavier than the last, not from exhaustion but from the gnawing void within me. The fire that had roared during the battle now simmered, leaving only embers of hate.

Astria's gates loomed ahead, the capital bustling with life unaware of the horrors we faced.

"She's waiting for you," Bran said, his voice breaking through my thoughts.

I glanced at him, my brow furrowed. "Who?"

He gave me a rare smirk. "You'll see."

I entered the tavern I came when I first entered the capital, the scent of ale and roasted meat filling the air. It was stark contrast to the blood and ash I had grown accustomed to.

She stood behind the counter, her blond hair tied in a loose ponytail, her green eyes lighting up as saw me. She approached, her movements hesitant but filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"Modred," she said softly, her voice cutting through the haze in my mind.

I studied her, my expression unreadable. "Aisha."

Her eyes darted to the black marks still visible on my forearms, remnants of the strange dark power I had unleashed. "You look... different."

I said nothing, the weight of the silence pressing between us.

Finally, she spoke again, her voice trembling. "You're fighting for us, aren't you? For the people who can't fight back?"

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. "Fighting for you? No I'm fighting to destroy the gods and everything they created. If that happens to benefit you, consider it coincidence."

She flinched at my words but didn't back away. "The Modred I met before wasn't like this. You've changed."

"You don't know me," I replied coldly.

Her gaze hardened. "Maybe not. But I know you're not the monster you're pretending to be."

Before I could respond, Bran entered the tavern, his presence filling the room. "Time to move, Modred. We've got orders."

Without a word, I turned and walked past her, the warmth of the tavern fading as I stepped into the cold night.

As we returned to headquarters of squad five, the sprawling fortress, built of dark stone and lit by flickering torches, loomed over the barren landscape like a monument to grim resolve. The air was heavy with the weight of countless battles, and the halls echoed with faint murmurs of soldiers and the clang of steel.

The captain led the way, his steps purposeful and unyielding. The rest of the squad followed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

When we reached the central chamber, Bran stopped and turned to face us. His expression was as sharp as the dagger at his side.

"Things have changed," he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency. "The Pantheon's movements are growing erratic and unpredictable. The higher-ups are calling for a change in strategy."

Xeraniel leaned casually against the wall, his silver hair catching the faint torchlight. "Oh? Let me guess. More killing?"

Bran shot him a glance, silencing him. "In three days, we're being summoned to the royal palace. They're preparing to brief us on an important mission."

Draven, standing with one of his massive axes on his back, frowned. "Important enough to involve the royals directly?"

Bran nodded. "Exactly. Which means it's either critical or suicidal. Possibly both."

I stayed silent, my mind turning over Bran's words. The mention of the royal palace stirred something inside me-a mix of hatred and anticipation.

I still craved for the desire of walking into the seat of power where the gods ruled humanity, where betrayal had first sunk its claws into my life, made my blood boil.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST