DESTROY THIS WORLD

IF THESE STRUCTURES WERE TRULY WAR MACHINES, WHAT KIND OF ENEMY WERE THEY UP AGAINST?

FINALLY, BASTAIN SPOKE, HIS VOICE FIRM, CUTTING THROUGH THE FEAR. "OUR MISSION IS CLEAR. WE'RE HERE TO FIND THE LAST FLAME OF CREATION, THE FIRE OF ORIGIN. THAT'S OUR ONLY WAY FORWARD."

HIS WORDS GAVE THE GROUP FOCUS, THOUGH THEIR UNEASE DIDN'T ENTIRELY FADE. THE TASK AHEAD WAS MONUMENTAL. BASTAIN CAST A GLANCE TOWARD THE DISTANT HORIZON, WHERE A GOLDEN SHIMMER LAY ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE.

IN HIS SPIRITUAL SIGHT, THE REALITY WAS REVEALED, A MASSIVE CLIFF MADE ENTIRELY OF PHILOSOPHER'S STONES, GLOWING WITH THE POWER OF INFINITE MAGIC. THE STONES WERE NOT JUST SCATTERED, BUT HAD FUSED TOGETHER, FORMING A VAST AND GLITTERING MAGICAL CRYSTAL WONDER, A NATURAL FORTRESS OF RAW, UNTAMABLE POWER.

"THIS," BASTAIN MUTTERED TO HIMSELF, "IS THE TRUE CHALLENGE."

THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE FORMATIONS SEEMED FRAGILE, LIKE GLASS, BUT BASTAIN KNEW BETTER. THEY WERE IMPENETRABLE BY NORMAL MEANS. NO SIMPLE STRIKE WOULD SHATTER THEM; NO MERE MAGIC COULD UNDO THE LAYERS OF TIME AND POWER THAT HAD FORGED THEM TOGETHER.

THE OTHERS HAD NOT YET GRASPED THE ENORMITY OF THEIR SITUATION. BASTAIN KNEW THAT EVEN WITH HIS OWN DEATH FIRE, A FLAME CAPABLE OF DISSOLVING MOST SUBSTANCES, IT WOULD TAKE HIM CENTURIES TO BURN THROUGH THIS CRYSTALLINE FOREST.

BUT TIME WAS NOT ON THEIR SIDE.

"IF WE'RE TO DESTROY THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONES AND ALL THEY REPRESENT, WE NEED MORE THAN JUST ONE FIRE. WE MUST COMBINE THE THREE FLAMES OF CREATION, THEIR POWER UNITED INTO THE FIRE OF ORIGIN. ONLY THEN CAN WE BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND AND SEND THE SPIRITS TETHERED TO THIS PLACE BACK TO WHERE THEY BELONG."

THE PATH WAS DAUNTING, THE STAKES OVERWHELMING. YET BASTAIN, IN HIS HEART, KNEW THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY. TO RESTORE BALANCE, TO END THE REIGN OF THIS ARTIFICIAL, ENDLESS MACHINE OF MAGIC, THEY WOULD NEED TO RECLAIM THE FLAME THAT STARTED IT ALL, THE FIRE CAPABLE OF UNDOING EVEN THE MOST ANCIENT OF WONDERS.

AND SO, THEY PRESSED ON, DEEPER INTO THE GLOWING WORLD OF LIGHT, KNOWING THAT WHAT LAY AHEAD COULD EITHER BE THEIR SALVATION OR THEIR DOOM.

BASTAIN HAD ALREADY SECURED TWO OF THE THREE CRITICAL FIRES: THE "FORESEEING FLAMES," BORROWED FROM THE ANCIENTGWENITH, AND THE "FIRE OF DEATH," GRANTED BY THE GOD OF DEATH HIMSELF. THE ONLY THING LEFT TO COMPLETE THEIR MISSION WAS THE ELUSIVE "FLAME OF ORIGIN."

LEGENDS SPOKE OF THIS FLAME AS THE KEY THAT ONCE ALLOWED A SAGE TO GLIMPSE THE DEEPEST MYSTERIES OF THE SOUL AND THE EARTH'S VEINS. THAT REVELATION HAD SET IN MOTION A SERIES OF EVENTS THAT LED TO THE CURRENT CONFLICT. THE FLAME OF ORIGIN WAS A TREASURE, A SOURCE OF IMMENSE POWER, SOMETHING SO VALUABLE IT WOULD NORMALLY BE CARRIED CLOSE AT HAND. HOWEVER, THE TOWER OF ORIGIN, THE HEART OF THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE PROCESSING, NEEDED THE FLAME TO PURIFY AND SMELT THE STONES.

THE TIMING WAS PERFECT. THE SAGE, WHO WOULD NORMALLY SAFEGUARD THE FLAME, WAS NOT ON THIS PLANE. THIS LEFT THE FLAME OF ORIGIN VULNERABLE. PERHAPS IT WAS STILL PROTECTED, BUT BASTAIN REASONED IT WOULDN'T BE BY ANY ELVES. THE SAGE HAD EXPELLED EVEN HIS OWN PRINCES FROM THE TOWER, SO IT WAS UNLIKELY HE WOULD ALLOW ANY OTHER ELVES TO REMAIN. WHATEVER THE GUARD WAS, IT WOULDN'T BE AN ELF, AND THUS, IT COULDN'T BE ANYTHING THEY COULDN'T HANDLE.

"WHERE EXACTLY IS THIS FLAME?" ONE OF THE TEAM MEMBERS ASKED, THEIR VOICE TINGED WITH FRUSTRATION. THEY WERE STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS MASSIVE, AUTOMATED CITY WITH NO CLEAR DIRECTION. "THIS PLACE IS HUGE, HOW DO WE EVEN BEGIN?"

"I'M NOT SURE," BASTAIN ADMITTED, "BUT I KNOW WHO DOES." HE POINTED TOWARD THE BUSTLING STREET NEARBY, WHERE AN AUTOMATIC CARRIAGE WAS SPEEDING ALONG A CONVEYOR BELT. THE OPEN TRANSPORT COMPARTMENT REVEALED THE UNMISTAKABLE BLACK ORE THEY HAD SEEN BEFORE, RAW MATERIAL THAT HAD YET TO BE PURIFIED AND SMELTED.

"THAT ORE HAS TO BE HEADED TO A FACILITY WHERE IT WILL BE PROCESSED," BASTAIN CONTINUED. "AND WHERE THERE'S PROCESSING, THERE'S A GOOD CHANCE THE FIRE OF ORIGIN WILL BE THERE, POWERING IT ALL. IF WE FOLLOW THE CARGO ROUTES, WE'LL EVENTUALLY FIND WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR."

THE TEAM NODDED IN UNDERSTANDING, THOUGH THE URGENCY OF THEIR MISSION WEIGHED HEAVILY ON THEM. THEY HAD LIMITED TIME. THEY HAD TO ACT BEFORE THE SAGE RETURNED, OR ALL WOULD BE LOST. BASTAIN'S VOICE SHARPENED. "LET'S MOVE QUICKLY. AND REMEMBER, NO ONE TOUCHES ANYTHING WITHOUT THE ALCHEMIST'S GO-AHEAD. WE CAN'T AFFORD MISTAKES."

IN A WAY, BASTAIN THOUGHT, THEIR SITUATION WAS BETTER THAN EXPECTED. SO FAR, NO ALARMS HAD BEEN TRIGGERED, AND NO TRAPS OR DEFENSE SYSTEMS HAD ACTIVATED. THAT MIGHT CHANGE SOON, BUT THE LONGER THEY STAYED OFF THE RADAR, THE BETTER. BASTAIN SILENTLY PRAYED FOR MORE TIME, KNOWING THAT ONCE THE SAGE BECAME AWARE OF THEIR PRESENCE, THEIR CHANCES OF SUCCESS WOULD PLUMMET.

"SCORMETHEUS," BASTAIN MUTTERED UNDER HIS BREATH, GAZING TOWARD THE HORIZON. THE MENTION OF THE NAME PULLED AT HIM, SCORMETHEUS, THE GREAT WOLF, WAS THE OTHER GOAL OF THIS MISSION, THOUGH IT WAS A GRIM ONE.

SCORMETHEUS HIMSELF HAD WARNED BASTAIN, "IF WE FAIL TO STOP THIS, THE DISASTER THAT FOLLOWS WILL ENGULF THE WORLD. PERSONAL LIFE AND DEATH WON'T MATTER IN THE FACE OF THAT DESTRUCTION."

BASTAIN SIGHED, SHAKING HIS HEAD. WHAT A CURSED WORLD THIS HAD BECOME.

---

WHILE BASTAIN'S TEAM WAS RACING AGAINST TIME TO LOCATE THE FLAME OF ORIGIN, THE MAIN BATTLEFIELD HAD DESCENDED INTO CHAOS AND MADNESS. BOTH SIDES WERE LOCKED IN AN UNENDING CYCLE OF BLOODSHED, AND THE SITUATION HAD GROWN DIRE.

THE DEATH TOLL CLIMBED BY THE MINUTE, AND BOTH ARMIES FACED CRITICAL SHORTAGES IN FOOD AND SUPPLIES. IT WAS CLEAR TO EVERYONE INVOLVED THAT IF THE WAR DRAGGED ON, MUTUAL ANNIHILATION WAS INEVITABLE. THE ONLY PATH TO SURVIVAL WAS TO CRUSH THE OTHER SIDE COMPLETELY.

FOR THE ELVES, DESPERATION HAD PUSHED THEM BEYOND THEIR INTERNAL DIVISIONS. UNDER THE LEADERSHIP OF THE ELVEN PRINCES, THE VARIOUS TRIBES SET ASIDE THEIR OLD PREJUDICES AND GRIEVANCES, FORMING A TEMPORARY, UNITED ARMY. THEY BEGAN TO LAUNCH A STRATEGIC AND RELENTLESS ENCIRCLEMENT OF THE COALITION FORCES, AIMING FOR THEIR MOST CRITICAL STRONGHOLDS.

THOUGH THE COALITION INITIALLY HELD THE ADVANTAGE WITH GREATER NUMBERS AND SUPERIOR POSITIONING, THE ELVES' FEROCIOUS RESOLVE QUICKLY TURNED THE TIDE. THEY THREW WAVE AFTER WAVE OF WAR PUPPETS AND WAR MACHINES AT THE FRONT LINES, KNOWING FULL WELL THAT THE COALITION'S HUMAN SOLDIERS COULDN'T MATCH THEIR ENDLESS MECHANICAL FORCES. THE COALITION'S RESOURCES, NO MATTER HOW ABUNDANT, COULDN'T LAST AGAINST AN ARMY THAT SEEMED TO REGENERATE ENDLESSLY, TURNING THEIR HUMAN SOLDIERS INTO SACRIFICIAL PAWNS IN A GAME THEY COULDN'T WIN.

ONE BY ONE, THE COALITION'S VITAL BASES FELL, AND THEY WERE FORCED TO RETREAT, LIMITING THEIR MOVEMENTS AND GIVING UP PRECIOUS GROUND. THE SITUATION WAS BECOMING DIRE.

THEN, ON A CRUCIAL BATTLEFIELD, THE SAGE HIMSELF APPEARED. THE COALITION, ALREADY BATTERED AND STRETCHED THIN, SAW THIS AS THEIR MOMENT. THEY PREPARED A FINAL, COORDINATED STRIKE TO ENCIRCLE AND ELIMINATE THE SAGE, HOPING THAT HIS DEFEAT WOULD TURN THE TIDE OF THE WAR.

BUT AS BASTAIN KNEW ALL TOO WELL, THE APPEARANCE OF THE SAGE MEANT THE CLOCK WAS RUNNING OUT FOR THEM. IF THEY DIDN'T SECURE THE FIRE OF ORIGIN SOON, THE FULL POWER OF THE SAGE WOULD BE UNLEASHED, AND NO AMOUNT OF PLANNING OR STRATEGY COULD SAVE THEM THEN. TIME WAS THEIR TRUE ENEMY NOW.

***

THIS IS NO ORDINARY BATTLEFIELD. HERE, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS JUSTICE OR A CLEAR LINE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL. ON EITHER END OF THE FIELD, THE ELITE FORCES OF THE COALITION AND THE ANCIENT ELVES STAND POISED FOR BATTLE, DRIVEN BY A SINGULAR PURPOSE, TO ANNIHILATE ONE ANOTHER.

THE VERY EARTH TREMBLES BENEATH THEIR FEET. FLAMES ROAR IN CONCERT WITH VIOLENT STORMS, AND THE ONCE-DORMANT FORCES OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES NOW ERUPT IN CHAOTIC UNISON. IT IS AS THOUGH EVERY NATURAL DISASTER IMAGINABLE HAS COME TO COMPETE FOR THE TITLE OF THE MOST DEVASTATING. IT'S NOT JUST NATURE'S WRATH ON DISPLAY, ARCANE FORBIDDEN SPELLS, DIVINE RELICS OF UNTOLD POWER, AND THE FURY OF THE GODS THEMSELVES SEEM TO DESCEND UPON THE LAND, EACH FORCE COLLIDING IN A CATACLYSMIC DANCE OF DESTRUCTION.

THIS PLACE, ONCE INSIGNIFICANT AND FORGOTTEN, WILL FOREVER BE SEARED INTO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD AFTER TODAY.

"BOOM!"

THE GROUND QUAKES UNDER THE WEIGHT OF SOMETHING IMMENSE. THE FOOTPRINTS OF GIANTS ECHO LIKE THUNDER ACROSS THE BATTLEFIELD. METAL GIANTS, ANCIENT COLOSSI, AND TOWERING BEINGS OF FIRE AND ICE EMERGE FROM THE HORIZON, EACH DISTINCT IN SIZE AND FORM, BUT UNITED IN THEIR EXPRESSIONS OF PURE RAGE.

THESE GIANTS, ONCE RULERS OF THE EARTH, HAVE BECOME NOTHING MORE THAN THE FIRST CASUALTIES IN THIS BROKEN FOOD CHAIN OF WAR. THEIR ANGER, THEIR HATRED, AND THEIR LONGING FOR VENGEANCE HAVE CONSUMED THEM. MANY HAVE ALREADY FALLEN, AND THOSE WHO REMAIN, THOSE COLOSSAL CREATURES WHO ONCE COMMANDED FEAR, NOW FIND THEMSELVES THE FIRST TO BE HUNTED, BUTCHERED TO SATISFY THE INSATIABLE HUNGER OF BATTLE.

AND YET, WHO COULD DENY THEM THEIR THIRST FOR VENGEANCE? WHO COULD SAY IT IS WRONG FOR THEM TO SEEK RETRIBUTION FOR THEIR FALLEN KIN, THEIR SHATTERED TRIBES?

A MASSIVE FIGURE LOOMS AT ONE SIDE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, FLAMES FLICKERING DEEP WITHIN HIS EYES. HIS VERY PRESENCE IS A BURNING MONUMENT TO WRATH, BUT HE RESTRAINS IT, NOT OUT OF MERCY, BUT BECAUSE OF THE UNSHAKABLE COMMAND OF THE ONE STANDING AT THE FRONT.

"MY PEOPLE... BE PATIENT," CAME THE VOICE OF ION, THE TOWERING GIANT OF LEGEND. HIS IMMENSE FRAME DOMINATES THE BATTLEFIELD, HIS HAND GRIPPING A SWORD SO LARGE IT COULD CLEAVE MOUNTAINS. BLOOD TRICKLES FROM THE WOUNDS THAT MAR HIS GODLIKE BODY, EACH CUT A TESTAMENT TO THE BROTHERS HE HAS LOST. THE NAMES OF HIS FALLEN BRETHREN ARE ETCHED INTO THE STEEL OF HIS SWORD, A CONSTANT REMINDER OF THE PRICE THEY HAVE ALREADY PAID.

BENEATH HIS CALM, STOIC EXTERIOR LIES A FURY THAT COULD SHATTER THE WORLD ITSELF, AND YET, HE RESTRAINS IT. HIS PEOPLE, HIS WARRIORS, CANNOT BEAR TO WAIT ANOTHER MOMENT, BUT STILL, THEY FOLLOW HIS WILL.

"NO," BRAM MUTTERS TO HIMSELF, HIS VOICE LOW, HEAVY WITH RESIGNATION. "THEY NEED MORE TIME."

SLOWLY, HE MOVES FORWARD. EACH STEP SENDS TREMORS THROUGH THE EARTH, A SEISMIC WARNING OF THE POWER HE HOLDS. THE ELVEN SOLDIERS AHEAD OF HIM INSTINCTIVELY RETREAT, NOT OUT OF COWARDICE, BUT AS A PRIMAL RESPONSE TO AN OVERWHELMING, UNSTOPPABLE FORCE.

"BRAM, BRAM THE GREAT!" THE VOICES OF THE BATTLEFIELD RISE IN AWE, PRAISING HIS MIGHT.

"BOOM!"

ACROSS THE BATTLEFIELD, CLOAKED SHADOWS EMERGE, SILENT AND SPECTRAL. THE ELVEN PRINCES ARRIVE, EACH BEARING THEIR OWN DIVINE ARTIFACT, THE VERY LAWS OF NATURE BENT TO THEIR WILL. FIRE, ICE, SNOW, AND WHIRLWINDS SWIRL AROUND THEM, ENSLAVED TO THEIR COMMAND, WHILE TITANIC WAR MACHINES STAND BETWEEN THEM AND THE GIANTS.

WAR DOES NOT WAIT FOR FORMALITIES. THE FIRST EXPLOSION IGNITES THE BATTLEFIELD, AND SUDDENLY, ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. THUNDEROUS BOOMS REVERBERATE THROUGH THE AIR AS FLAMES AND DEBRIS SOAR SKYWARD, TURNING DAY INTO NIGHT. THE SENSES, SOUND, SMELL, EVEN TASTE, ARE OVERWHELMED BY THE SHEER CHAOS. FOR MANY, DEATH IS A FLEETING WHISPER THEY HEAR ONLY AFTER THEIR HEADS HAVE ALREADY BEEN SEVERED.

"CURSED ELVES! THEY'RE THE ONES WHO WILL DESTROY THIS WORLD!"