Chapter 2

From the very beginning, humanity's fate had always been sealed by the whims of the gods.

To them, mortals were nothing more than fragile playthings, existing only to entertain their desires. But humans never accepted that role.

They resisted. They fought. And in the midst of rebellion, a new power was born.

The Awakened.

Warriors who transcended the limits of flesh, defying divine law. Strength. Agility. Heightened senses. Each one of them was a living affront to the gods' power. A shield against celestial tyranny.

But even they could not guarantee humanity's survival.

Drayengard.

The last stronghold of the Awakened.

The city where the strongest gathered, the final defense against divine wrath. And also the target of an unprecedented fury.

When the gods learned of the offensive planned by humans, their response was immediate.

Relentless.

Thalerius.

Calamity incarnate. A being of pure destruction, created to wipe out any trace of rebellion.

That night, the world held its breath.

The starry sky dissolved. Black clouds spread like poison, swirling over Drayengard in menacing spirals.

The air grew heavy. Suffocating. As if the very atmosphere had turned against mankind.

And then, the thunder roared.

Purple lightning tore through the horizon, dancing like furious serpents. The wind howled, tearing rooftops apart and scattering debris. Shadows consumed the alleyways, turning the city into a labyrinth of darkness and despair.

A supernatural cold slithered through the streets, freezing the hearts of those who dared to look at the sky.

The citizens stepped out of their homes. Wide-eyed. Breathless.

It was a warning.

Drayengard was doomed.

At the top of the castle tower, Lucanor Drayen watched the chaos unfold.

Thunder illuminated his face, reflecting in his hollow eyes. His chest tightened. The omen of destruction weighed on his conscience.

The counselors stormed into the hall.

— Your Majesty! We must prepare the troops! — one of them pleaded, falling to his knees. His voice trembled with desperation.

Lucanor did not take his eyes off the horizon.

— It's too late.

His voice was cold. Resigned.

— They found out.

Revorgor, the most loyal of his counselors, clenched his teeth.

— If we do not fight, Drayengard will be destroyed!

The king sighed.

— Protect the city. Keep the battle away from the people.

Silence.

Revorgor clenched his fists.

— Damn you, Lucanor! — he spat. — Age has made you weak. But we will not run!

He turned to the commanders.

— PREPARE FOR WAR!

The sky split open.

From the clouds, a colossal hand emerged. Gigantic. Ominous.

The embodiment of absolute power.

Thalerius descended.

And the world trembled.

The impact came like a thousand storms.

Fire and wind swept through the city. Houses vanished. Trees were reduced to ashes. The heat burned before the flames even touched.

Thousands perished in an instant.

At the heart of the city, the Awakened gathered.

The last bastion of humanity.

Armstrong stood at the front. The most formidable among the warriors.

His gaze was steady. But it carried the weight of reality.

They would not win.

But they could carve their names into history.

He raised his voice.

— SOLDIERS!

The sound echoed like thunder.

— Death awaits us. But if we fall, let it be protecting those we love! We are humanity's final shield! I cannot promise that we will return. But I promise our names will be remembered forever!

He drew his gleaming blade and roared:

— TODAY, WE SPIT IN THE EYES OF THE GODS!

Silence.

For just a moment.

Then, a war cry erupted from the Awakened.

They charged.

Toward the Khan Mountains, where Thalerius loomed like a monument to destruction.

Ravens had been sent to Velmora and Ravengard. But would time be an ally or an enemy?

Meanwhile, Drayengard was dying.

Deserted streets. Rubble. Silence.

Lucanor walked among the ruins. His feet brushed against something soft.

A rag doll.

Covered in mud. Forgotten.

A once-beloved toy, now a symbol of the impending tragedy.

The king lifted his gaze toward the Khan Mountains, where battle had begun.

— By the gods...

His fists clenched.

— What have I done?

And then, a blue flash tore through the sky.

The roar that followed made the earth tremble.

The beginning of the end had arrived.

A colossal entity walked among men like an inevitable reaper.

Thalerius was not just some titanic aberration.

He was cataclysm incarnate.

His mere presence distorted reality, as if the world itself rejected his existence. The air around him wavered, laden with an overwhelming pressure that made even the most seasoned warriors feel their knees falter.

His body—a grotesquely proportioned humanoid giant—was covered in pale gray skin, riddled with deep fissures that never closed. Each crack pulsed with a profane energy, something alive writhing beneath the surface.

His eyes—if they could even be called that—were nothing more than unfathomable voids.

They drained every trace of hope from those who dared meet them.

But the worst of all was his smile.

A constant smile.

Unwavering.

Laden with silent scorn.

It was not merely a reflection of sadism; it was the embodiment of absolute mercilessness. A cruel reminder that, to him, human life was nothing more than a fragile toy waiting to be crushed.

And in his hands…

A colossal sword.

The black blade seemed to extend beyond logic itself.

It was not just a weapon.

It was an instrument of extinction.

When dragged across the ground, it did not simply cut—it disintegrated. Concrete, steel, flesh. Nothing survived the touch of that blade.

The metallic sound of it scraping the earth reverberated like the very omen of death, a harbinger's wail that spread across the battlefield.

High atop a plateau, Armstrong and his men watched the entity.

The commander knew.

There was no room for mistakes.

His plan was their only, infinitesimal, chance at survival.

— Each of you will strike only once, aiming at a specific point — his voice was steady, but the gravity of the situation turned every word into a sentence. — Continuous, frantic attacks will only make him retaliate faster. If we break the sequence, we'll be nothing more than corpses in his path.

Kneeling, he traced strategies on the dry earth. His eyes, hard as steel, never strayed from the monstrosity ahead. The weight of responsibility was suffocating, but he could not afford to let it show.

Then, it happened.

For a brief moment, the sound of Thalerius' footsteps ceased.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than any thunderous destruction.

It was a dense silence.

Heavy with something unseen.

Something that made hearts race purely out of instinct.

The air grew thick.

Suffocating.

The soldiers' eyes widened, no longer focused on Armstrong but on something behind him.

The sheer horror on their faces made the commander's blood turn to ice.

He turned.

And then, he saw it.

A colossal eye.

Black as the deepest night.

Its reddish iris pulsed sickeningly, absorbing every detail of the terrified faces before it.

Thalerius was watching them.

Armstrong froze.

The eye moved slightly, as if memorizing each of them.

Recording their faces.

Marking them before their annihilation.

And then, chaos erupted.

Screams of pure despair echoed.

Some soldiers wept, begging for their lives.

Others merely muttered in denial, refusing to accept the certainty of their impending death.

— ATTACK! — Armstrong's roar cut through the terror, snapping the Awakened back to reality.

The squad dispersed, following the rehearsed strategy.

But not all managed to move.

Fear had condemned them before Thalerius had even raised his blade.

And then came the destruction.

The sword descended with an indescribable weight.

The impact obliterated the entire plateau.

Mountains shattered.

The ground fractured like broken glass.

Men who hesitated were erased from existence before they even realized they were dead.

The thunderous crash echoed across the horizon like a primordial roar.

The battle had begun.

But it was futile.

The Awakened's blades, their most powerful abilities—everything ricocheted off the entity's impenetrable skin.

It didn't matter where they struck.

Thalerius remained unshaken.

He did not retaliate immediately.

He simply watched.

Waited.

Savored the growing despair.

He wasn't fighting; he was reveling in the futility of human effort.

Above, a group of Awakened hovered in the air, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

— Damn it… — Armstrong gritted his teeth as he watched ten of his finest soldiers being eradicated in a single blow. — He didn't even need to try…

Reality was imposing itself in the most brutal way.

— It's useless, Commander… — one of the warriors panted, desperation evident in his voice. — We can't even scratch him.

Armstrong, covered in dust and blood, analyzed the monster from a distance.

Something caught his attention.

A faint light, almost imperceptible, pulsed beneath that impenetrable skin.

A red point.

At the center of the creature's chest.

It was a risk.

But it was also their only chance.

— Focus on the red sp—

He never finished.

A colossal shadow loomed over him.

The black blade descended.

The impact was cataclysmic.

The world around Armstrong vanished in a storm of dust and destruction.

The right side of the battlefield was wiped out in a single strike.

Screams were silenced.

Where once stood allies, now only a cruel void remained—a scar upon the earth littered with pulverized bodies.

For a moment, everything moved in slow motion.

The metallic scent of blood.

The heat of flames devouring the wreckage.

The remnants of soldiers scattered across the ground like lifeless puppets.

The horror was absolute.

Armstrong rose.

If no one else remained...

Then he would finish this alone.

Thalerius raised his sword once more.

The black blade gleamed.

And the final battle began.

In Drayengard…

Lucanor watched the battlefield from atop the city walls. Chaos spread before his eyes, and the king, powerless, felt like a child before an unrelenting storm.

The forest burned. Flames licked the skies, and thick smoke veiled the stars. Amid the destruction, Thalerius's colossal silhouette loomed, his cracked skin pulsating with profane energy.

Then, the god lifted his head.

His unfathomable eyes fell upon Lucanor.

The king froze.

His entire body went numb. His lungs refused to draw breath. His knees buckled, and his nails dug into the cold stone of the wall.

It was as if death itself had marked him.

A soundless whisper, an inevitable promise of annihilation.

Back on the battlefield…

Armstrong could barely stand. His body was in shambles, his muscles screaming in agony. Every breath burned his lungs, and his armor—reduced to twisted scraps of metal—offered little protection to his bloodied frame.

But he could not stop.

— Jisung… — He turned to the ally who had just arrived.

The Awakened was just as exhausted as he was. His face was covered in cuts, and his left arm trembled uncontrollably.

— Did I make it in time? — Jisung smiled, trying to mask the desperation in his eyes.

— You never disappoint. — Armstrong clasped his hand. — But things are worse than we expected.

Jisung looked at Thalerius.

The divine creature stood still, merely watching them, like a predator toying with its prey before the final strike.

— So, what's the plan?

Armstrong drew a circle in the dirt. His finger traced a mark at the center.

— I saw something… On his chest. A glow. Faint, but it was there. A weak spot.

Jisung nodded.

— Everyone in sync, no mistakes. This will be our final strike.

— YES, COMMANDER! — the Awakened shouted in unison.

And then…

The true carnage began.

Thalerius's body convulsed. Cracks spread across his grotesque skin, and from them emerged indescribable creatures. Twisted shadows, eyes burning like embers. Serrated claws. Amorphous bodies writhing in impossible directions.

They surged forward.

Hell had been unleashed.

— THIS WASN'T PART OF THE PLAN! — Jisung roared, striking one of the abominations with his flaming blade.

But no matter how many fell…

More and more kept coming.

Screams of agony echoed across the battlefield. Men were torn apart, devoured by the dark tide. The scent of blood and burning flesh choked the air.

— HOLD THE LINES! — Armstrong bellowed. — I'M GOING TO END HIM!

Jisung gritted his teeth, his face smeared with blood. He looked at his team and shouted:

— PROTECT THE COMMANDER!

The team's tank grabbed Armstrong and, with a powerful spin, hurled him into the sky.

Time seemed to slow.

Armstrong saw Thalerius below. The god lifted his gaze to him.

But there was no time to react.

Armstrong gathered everything he had. Every fragment of energy left, every drop of power coursing through his veins. His fist blazed with a spectral blue light.

He descended like a meteor.

— DIE, YOU BASTARD!

The impact was devastating.

Thalerius's hardened flesh resisted, but cracks spread across his chest. The god roared in fury and, in a brutal motion, caught Armstrong mid-air.

The commander had no time to react.

His body was slammed into the ground like a ragdoll. The impact carved a colossal crater. Before he could move, a devastating kick sent him flying.

He crashed through the battlefield, colliding with a distant mountain. The deafening boom echoed through the valley.

Everything began to fade into darkness…

And then, a presence emerged.

Atop the mountain, a hooded figure revealed itself. Its black cloak billowed in the wind, an icy aura spreading outward.

Thalerius turned, his eyes blazing with fury.

The figure raised a hand.

Snapped its fingers.

The sky exploded with light.

A colossal blade of energy formed high above, gleaming like a fragment of an avenging god. In an instant, it was unleashed.

The blade slashed across Thalerius's chest, tearing through flesh and divine essence. The god staggered, dazed.

Armstrong, barely able to move, watched in disbelief. Who the hell was that?

Thalerius roared. His entire body radiated fury.

But the hooded figure moved like a shadow, and before the god could retaliate, dozens of spears of light materialized around him.

The spears pierced his body over and over.

He faltered.

Armstrong summoned the last of his strength. His feet dug into the ground as he leaped forward. His blade flared with radiant blue light.

The final blow was struck.

His fist smashed into Thalerius's face.

An inhuman roar tore through the heavens.

In his final moments, the god uttered a curse:

"From my blood, evil shall rise… From my flesh, the fatal hunger…"

And then, he unraveled.

Black ashes scattered into the wind.

But from them, something stirred.

Something was being born.

Indescribable horrors crawled out of the darkness.

The battle had been won.

But the war…

The war had only just begun.