THE WRATH OF THE WARLORD

Chapter 5

The void of space trembled. Across the cosmos, the Enders were known as a force beyond comprehension—annihilators of civilizations, reapers of existence. To speak their name was to invoke dread. To witness their arrival was to gaze upon the end of days.

Yet, even among these executioners, there was an order.

Two-eyed Enders—foot soldiers, nightmares clad in flesh and darkness, wielding power enough to crush planets beneath their grasp.

Three-eyed Enders—commanders, beings so fearsome that their presence alone spelled the extinction of entire star systems.

And then, above them all, stood one. A force of destruction incarnate.

The Warlord of the Enders.

Where others wielded scythes, tools of cold efficiency, the Warlord bore a blade unlike any other—a sword of pure dread. It was no mere weapon; it was the embodiment of death itself. It did not cut. It did not pierce. It erased.

It was this very being who had wiped the Dragwart race from existence—one of the mightiest warrior civilizations in the known universe. Their warriors, each capable of sundering continents, had fought. Their greatest champions had risen. But it was all for naught. They were swept away like dust in a storm.

And now, this destroyer stood before them.

The remaining warriors, battered and bloodied, watched as the Warlord took a single step forward.

The ship, a behemoth capable of withstanding planetary sieges, shook beneath his movement. The very metal groaned in protest, unable to endure the presence of something so unfathomably powerful.

His voice slithered through the silence, each syllable laced with an unnatural weight.

"I must admit… for a bunch of irrelevant lifeforms, you hold your ground well."

It was not praise. It was mockery.

His red glowing, hollow eyes scanned them with detached amusement. There was no emotion. No anger. No joy. Just the cold certainty of execution.

"But it is useless now."

A pause.

"Irrelevant life… must end."

With deliberate slowness, he reached for his blade.

The moment his fingers touched the hilt, reality itself shuddered.

Irys did not hesitate.

A split second was all they had.

He exploded forward, his draconic body a blur of movement. Golden scales rippled as his arm shot toward the Warlord's chest, his claws igniting with raw energy. He had faced death countless times before. He had fought against beings powerful enough to shatter moons.

But this… this was something else.

The Warlord did not flinch.

CRACK!

A single movement. A backhanded strike.

The next thing Irys knew, he was no longer standing.

His body was flying. No—he was being thrown.

Metal walls crumpled like paper as he tore through them. Sparks erupted. Air vents collapsed. Gravity itself seemed to betray him as he spun wildly, barely comprehending the force that had struck him.

Then, pain.

He hit the ground hard, his impact carving a deep trench across the battlefield.

He coughed, blood staining the white scales around his mouth.

"This… strength…" His golden eyes widened. He had expected power. But this? This was not normal.

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

The Warlord approached, his presence an unstoppable weight upon the battlefield.

"Ah… a survivor of that lizard race?" The Warlord's voice was almost amused, as if recognizing an old relic of a long-forgotten war.

Irys forced himself up, claws digging into the cracked floor.

"To be fair… your people were the most powerful irrelevant lifeforms I have encountered."

Then, a dark, twisted smile.

"But irrelevant… is still irrelevant."

A pause.

"And all must die."

"All of you, focus!" His voice thundered across the battlefield, commanding the last remnants of their forces. "We will give it everything we have! He is not omnipotent!"

The survivors moved as one.

Furnal roared, erupting into flames, his body wreathed in molten fury.

Friz exhaled a mist of pure frost, her breath alone dropping the temperature to subzero levels.

Lazel silver sword shimmered with power, his purple eyes flashing into a brilliant silver hue.

Kalynda shifted, her form twisting into a half-serpent, fangs glinting with lethal intent.

Buza's horns thickened, his tail slamming into the ground, cracking the floor beneath them.

Even Bettus—his body covered in eyes, his form jittery with nervous energy—struck a martial arts stance.

"YAAAH!" he yelled, attempting to appear menacing.

Irys sighed internally. At least he's still Bettus…

And then—

Golden clouds erupted around Irys, swirling like a violent storm.

His form shifted.

Muscles expanded. Scales stretched. Power boiled within him, rushing to the surface.

Then—

A guttural roar tore through the battlefield.

Where once stood a warrior… now loomed a beast.

A massive white dragon, his two golden horns radiating an energy so pure it clashed against the suffocating darkness of the Warlord's presence.

The Warlord did not react.

Not in the way a normal being would.

He did not step back. He did not raise his weapon in caution.

Instead, he simply… shook his head.

He did not acknowledge them.

And then—

They charged.

"Useless struggle".

The Warlord swung his blade.

Miles Away…

The vast emptiness of space stretched endlessly, a dark, infinite abyss speckled with distant stars. Yet, within this abyss, a streak of blue energy tore through the void, faster than light itself.

Max pushed himself harder, his body igniting with a fiery aura, warping the space around him. He wasn't just flying—he was breaking through barriers, forcing himself past his own limits.

Faster. I have to go faster.

Behind him, two figures struggled to keep up.

"Does he even realize we're still here?!" shouted Solia, her green skin shimmering as she propelled herself forward. Each thrust of her energy sent shockwaves through space, but no matter how much power she exerted, Max only widened the gap.

Beside her, Anal, the girl with the red gemstone embedded in her forehead, clenched her fists. A crimson glow pulsed from the gem, her body surrounded by a faint, shimmering aura.

"I know he's desperate to save the base… but shouldn't he at least slow down?!" Solia huffed, frustration clear in her voice.

"We can't stop him." Anal's voice was calm, yet laced with urgency. "All we can do… is catch up."

Her eyes narrowed, sensing the desperation radiating from Max like an inferno. He wasn't just flying—he was fleeing from failure.

Max's red/ blue eyes burned with raw emotion, every fiber of his being focused on a singular thought—

Lord Irys.

The one who raised him.

The one who trained him to be more than just a warrior.

A Universal Guardian.

Memories flashed through his mind—

The harsh training.

The endless battles.

The wisdom behind every lesson.

"Strength is not just power, Max. It's the will to protect."

And now—

His home was under attack.

His family—his people—were fighting against something beyond mortal comprehension.

And he wasn't there.

Not yet.

His fists clenched so tightly that sparks of energy crackled between his fingers. The rage, the fear, the guilt—it all fueled him.

His aura flared, distorting the space around him.

I can't be too late.

I WON'T be too late.

And so, he blazed forward, tearing through the cosmos, leaving behind streaks of brilliant blue light.

Back at the Ship…

The battlefield was a graveyard of the fallen, a silent testament to the power of the being that stood before them.

The walls were slick with blood, the metallic floor drenched in the remains of those who had dared to resist. The air reeked of burnt flesh and raw death.

Friz's body had fused into the wall, her once fierce blue skin now a twisted, melted husk. Her severed head rested in a pool of thick, red blood, her frozen eyes staring into the void.

Furnal was barely recognizable. His once-mighty flaming arms lay severed beside him, his left eye carved out, leaving behind a hollow, bleeding socket. The fire that had once raged within him flickered weakly, a dying ember.

Buza—the warrior who had shattered mountains with his fists—lay lifeless. His horns, symbols of his unbreakable might, had been cut from his skull like mere decorations. His tail, once capable of piercing battleships, was now limp, severed from his body.

Kalynda…

She was split in two.

Her upper half slumped forward, her mouth still open as if she had been mid-scream when the blade ended her existence.

Amidst the massacre, one stood.

Lazel.

His breath came ragged, his silver eyes dull. His once-pristine sword of light, the weapon that had cleaved through legions, now lay in his grip—shattered. Only a jagged fragment remained, flickering with fading power.

Across from him, Irys gasped for air, his massive dragon body riddled with wounds. His right hand was gone, severed and discarded somewhere among the corpses. Deep gashes ran across his white scales, golden blood leaking from his form like a dying star bleeding its last light.

And the one responsible?

The Warlord of the Enders.

He stood untouched, save for a single missing arm—an injury that, even now, meant nothing.

Dark energy swirled around his severed limb, the twisted aura of death and entropy binding flesh back together. Within seconds, his arm reattached itself, the wound sealing as if it had never been.

He flexed his fingers, testing his restored limb.

Then, his piercing gaze fell upon the survivors.

"You… monster," Bettus rasped before collapsing lifeless.

The Warlord tilted his head, unfazed.

"Did you truly think you could compare yourselves to me?" His voice was devoid of emotion, like a god speaking to insects. "How insolent."

Silence.

Then—

A step forward.

Lazel moved.

His fingers tightened around the broken hilt of his sword, his silver eyes burning with something unreadable.

"Lazel, no—"

Furnal, barely alive, reached out weakly.

SHNK.

Lazel slit Furnal's throat.

The world seemed to freeze.

Furnal's remaining eye widened in shock, his mouth opening and closing, trying to form words that never came.

He stumbled—then collapsed.

Dead.

"Why…?" Irys coughed, his golden eyes trembling.

Lazel calmly wiped the blood from his blade.

"We were fools to think we could win," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "I've seen a greater truth. I won't waste my life toying with death."

Then, he kneeled.

Before the Warlord.

His broken sword was placed at the Warlord's feet, a symbol of surrender.

"Let me worship you."

The Warlord's expression remained unreadable.

Then—

"No."

SHWING.

Lazel braced for death—

But it did not come.

Instead—

A voice echoed within the Warlord's mind.

"Bring back the creature."

The Warlord's brow furrowed slightly.

"What?" he replied, his mental voice laced with mild irritation. "What do you want with an irrelevant lifeform?"

"For an experiment."

A pause.

Then—the Warlord lowered his sword.

He motioned toward his subordinates.

Two two-eyed Enders stepped forward, their black void-like hands grabbing Lazel by the arms. Without resistance, he allowed himself to be dragged away, his face void of expression.

Silence fell upon the battlefield once more.

Only one remained standing.

But he didn't move.

The Warlord gazed at him curiously.

"Why don't you run?"

Irys exhaled softly.

Then, he smiled—a weak, broken thing.

"Running… changes nothing"

The Warlord's blade gleamed, dark energy crackling along its edge. He raised it high—

And swung.

BOOM.

Just then —

Another attack collided repelling the warlord attack.

A new presence stood before Irys.

His body burned with cosmic energy, his blue aura turning red-hot as he clenched his fists.

His red eyes glowed, filled with an undeniable fury.

"Father…" he whispered, voice trembling.

Irys barely managed to tilt his head.

"Max…"

Max's gaze swept across the slaughtered remains of his comrades, the walls stained with their blood and agony.

His home—in ruins.

His family—gone.

His mentor—dying in front of him.

A cold, suffocating silence swallowed his thoughts.

Then—

Solia and Anal arrived.

They froze.

Anal's breath hitched.

Solia's green skin paled, her normally vibrant energy now choked by horror.

Irys, noticing them, gave a weak smile. Maybe… not all hope was lost.

Then, with the last of his strength, he grabbed Max and bolted toward the command room, his body screaming in pain.

"Anal, follow us!" he ordered.

"Solia—hold him off!"

Solia stepped forward, planting herself before the Warlord.

Her hands trembled.

But she stood firm.

The Warlord barely acknowledged her.

Then, with a casual swing of his black blade—

CRACK!

Solia's barrier shattered like fragile glass.

The impact snapped her fingers backwards, the sickening crunch of breaking bones echoing through the room. Blood poured from her hands as she stumbled, her screams lost beneath the carnage.

The Warlord kept walking.

---

Inside the Command Room…

Max spun on Irys, rage in his eyes.

"What the hell are we doing here?!"

Irys stumbled to the control panel, gritting his teeth through the pain.

"There's… a way to beat them," he coughed.

Max froze.

His heart pounded.

"…A way to stop the Enders?"

Irys didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out a crystal-like ring, its surface pulsating with unfathomable energy.

"Stand there," he commanded, pointing at a marked section on the floor.

Max, hesitating for only a moment, stepped forward.

Instantly—he couldn't move.

His muscles locked, his body paralyzed by an unseen force.

"W-What is this?!" Max shouted.

Irys sighed, his expression pained.

"I know you won't like this decision," he admitted, blood dripping from his lips, "but… only you can save the universe now."

Anal turned back, her breath shaky.

Her hands trembled as she reached for Max's face, cupping it gently.

She knew.

This was goodbye.

"I… I never got to say it properly," she whispered.

Max's red eyes widened.

"I love you, Max."

Her voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks like fragile glass.

"I always have."

Her fingers tightened around his collar, as if begging fate to give them more time.

"Find them, Max," she said, her voice steady.

Max struggled.

"Find who?!"

BOOM!

The door shattered into pieces.

The Warlord stepped inside, his blackened aura swallowing the room.

Anal turned back.

Irys gave Max one last look—

And smiled.

"Find them, Max…"

Max clenched his teeth.

"WHO?!"

Irys' smile remained.

"Find the Avengers."

Anal smiled—a sad, broken smile.

"Go."

Her gemstone glowed, light surging from its core.

Max's body burned with energy, the force dragging him away from her grasp.

"ANAL!" he roared, his eyes wild with panic and fury.

Her hands shook.

The gem on her forehead cracked.

Pain exploded through her skull, but she didn't stop.

She forced every ounce of her power into the teleportation—

A blinding white light consumed Max.

Max vanished.

Elsewhere…

Max's body plummeted through a wormhole, his consciousness fading fast.

His limbs felt heavy, his mind blurry.

Who…?

Who were they?

Who were the…

Avengers?

And with that final thought—

Darkness took him.

Hey everyone,

This isn't just a novel—it's a dynamic experience, a story dedicated to every true Avengers fan out there!

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