The First Storm

The wind howled like a wounded beast, kicking up ash and dust as Kael strode across the broken plains.

Behind him, the sky bore a deep crimson hue. It wasn't sunset—it was the blood-soaked mark left behind after his last purge. A message written across the heavens for all who dared to look.

Ahead, on the horizon, flags were rising.

Banners of the noble alliance.

A hundred emblems stitched together from every corner of the continent. Once symbols of pride and tradition—now desperate masks hiding the fear of extinction.

Kael stopped at the top of a jagged hill, his black cloak billowing like smoke. The wind tugged at his clothes, but his body remained still, carved from the same stone as the mountains that once watched over ancient wars.

Below him, the first army waited.

Ten thousand strong.

Knights in full plate.

War mages with glowing staves.

Beast tamers riding armored hydras.

Even cannons enchanted by the Forgotten Engineers of the East.

They had brought everything.

Everything... except hope.

Kael's gaze scanned them, unbothered. "So," he murmured, voice low and grim, "they sent their bravest."

He stepped forward. One step. The earth responded.

The hill beneath him cracked. Thunder rumbled overhead.

Kael wasn't walking into war. He was war.

---

The nobles' frontline commander—General Dastrem, the "Titan of Twelve Campaigns"—stood atop his siege elephant, glaring through a spyglass.

"He's alone," the general muttered. "What arrogance."

"Should we wait for him to come closer?" asked his advisor, a pale woman with glyphs etched across her skull.

Dastrem grinned. "No need. Fire."

The command rang out.

In seconds, dozens of cannons flared. The air split as mana-charged shells screamed toward the black silhouette on the hill.

They struck in unison. Fire exploded. Dirt rained from the sky.

The hill disappeared in smoke and chaos.

Cheers erupted among the soldiers.

But it was too soon.

Too naive.

The smoke cleared... and Kael stood there.

Untouched.

One hand stretched forward, a translucent barrier humming like a wrathful god's breath. His eyes—those infernal, glowing green eyes—pierced through the smoke as if it were mist.

Then, Kael raised his other hand.

He clenched his fist.

From the ground beneath the front line, obsidian thorns erupted—sharp and fast. They tore through armor like paper, impaling dozens in a heartbeat. Cries rang out. Chaos bloomed.

"Move! Scatter!" Dastrem barked. But it was already too late.

Kael descended the hill like a god stepping into the mortal realm.

With each step, the ground responded.

Lightning danced across the dirt.

Blades of shadow split from his sides, moving with a will of their own.

An aura of crushing pressure weighed down on everything around him.

A war mage launched a firestorm toward him. Kael didn't flinch.

The fire twisted mid-air—then reversed, swallowing its caster whole.

A beast tamer screamed as his hydra turned against him, eyes glowing with Kael's green sigil.

He had turned the beast's will.

"Impossible..." the glyph-marked advisor whispered. "That's not mimicry—that's dominion!"

Dastrem roared in rage and charged with his elite. "Bring him down! Now!"

Ten knights lunged at Kael with blessed swords.

Kael stopped. His hands vanished into blurs.

Ten hearts stopped beating.

Their bodies crashed to the ground like discarded dolls.

The Titan himself leapt from his elephant, landing with a quake, his warhammer glowing with divine energy. "Die, you monster!"

Kael blocked the hammer with a single hand. Not his arm—his hand.

Dastrem's eyes widened as his divine weapon trembled.

Kael whispered, "Feel what your sins are worth."

He twisted.

Bones shattered. Dastrem screamed.

The commander of twelve campaigns collapsed—broken, humiliated, breathless.

Kael let him live.

To spread the fear.

To carry the message.

---

By nightfall, the battlefield was silent.

Smoke coiled in the wind.

Ash covered armor.

The noble alliance's first army had been utterly, undeniably annihilated.

Kael stood alone, blood dripping from his sleeves, looking at the horizon.

He knew more were coming.

This was only the first storm.

And he… he was only warming up.

---