Everything was falling apart.
The sky raged in violent hues—pink lightning forked through clouds of deep crimson and blue, each thunderclap a war cry from the heavens. But it wasn't rain that poured. It was blood. Red droplets fell from the sky like the tears of the damned—perhaps even death itself sought peace now. But what peace could exist when the dead had no rest?
He could summon them—slaughter them—and raise them again to fight for him. Corpses twisted into grotesque soldiers. Bones clacked in unison as hollow eyes burned with unnatural flame. What was left for humanity… for the rest of the races? Nothing. He took everything. And now, the bastard was toying with us—hunting us down like prey in a game only he enjoyed.
The Celestial Realm had crumbled into stardust. The last Dragon Lord had fallen—resurrected only to become his undead puppet.
Nytheren was all that remained—the final stronghold, where we stood, desperate and trembling with borrowed courage. But deep down, we knew the truth.
He let us live.
He let us survive… just to enjoy the spectacle of watching us struggle.
And today? Today, I guess he got bored.
The thunder howled louder, an omen of what was to come. Then the sky split open, and meteors fell—glowing orbs of chaos in red, blue, gold, and green—blazing across the sky with the fury of a dying star. Each one targeted the barrier, slamming down with earth-shaking force.
"Prepare yourselves!" the Grand Lord bellowed, his voice barely audible above the chaos.
Fighters rushed forward in a storm of flashing blades and flaring spells. I clenched my fists, light magic already pulsing at my fingertips. Healing and purification—that was my gift. I wasn't a master yet, but I had something the others didn't.
Hope.
I surged forward—only to be yanked back by a firm hand.
"Liora," Brother Lucien's voice was low, tight with urgency. "You're staying back."
"What? No!" I protested, twisting against his grip. "Brother—senior brother—you know only my light can counter his darkness! You need me out there!"
Lucien's eyes darkened with resolve. "Exactly. And that's why you're not going."
He placed both hands on my shoulders, holding me steady as the ground trembled beneath our feet. "Look around, Liora. You're not just another fighter. You're the key. Our last card. If you fall now… there won't be another chance."
My lips parted in protest, but he shook his head.
"We'll hold him. We'll weaken him. Even if it means our lives. All you have to do is wait. When we bring him to the place, you remember the spell. Unleash it."
He gave me a sad, crooked smile—the kind that carries goodbye in its bones.
"Let's make sure we get the last laugh… just once."
Then he was gone—rushing into the chaos with the others, a blaze of defiance against a dying sky.
And I was left standing there, trembling…
"Liora!"
Senior Sister Syra stormed in, her long white robes stained with the dust of magic and blood. She was in charge of the barrier. Three elves followed closely behind—Sylia, Kreane, and Julian—their bows resting against their backs, faces set with grim resolve.
"What is it, Senior Sister?" I asked, heart still racing.
"We have to secure the lessers!" she said quickly, her voice tight. "The barrier won't hold much longer. I need you to help me take the survivors to Endrake!"
"Right!" I responded without hesitation.
With a flick of my wrist, I summoned a beam of light and shot it into the sky, forming ancient runes that began to pulse across the heavens. The spell branched outward in glowing strands, trying to bring order to the chaos around us. From the center of my mind, I sent the command—calm and clear—ordering all lessers and wounded to retreat.
But then I saw him.
He rode upon a massive black dragon, wings unfurled like a storm incarnate. Behind him, his army surged through the clouds like a tide of doom. On wyverns beside him were his six dark generals—each one a nightmare given flesh. The Blood Witch sat nearest, her crimson eyes reflecting the storm as she whispered chaos into the air. No doubt, she was the reason the weather had twisted into a kaleidoscope of rage.
Then… she saw me.
Her lips curled into a smile. A wicked, knowing thing.
And she raised her hands.
A bolt of lightning so massive and vile it turned the sky white roared down like a god's fury. It shattered the remains of the barrier and ripped through our formation, the protective magic dissolving like ash in the wind. Then came a second wave—an onslaught of deadly spells from their side, raining down on our ranks. Screams filled the air as warriors of every race fell. Elves, dwarves, humans, beastmen—all perished in blinding blasts of death.
We were being erased.
Just when it felt like all was lost, a voice thundered from above.
"Head for the Floating Mountain!"
From the clouds, Second Sovereign descended like divine judgment, his silver cloak billowing behind him. Beside him stood the Elven Lord Stain, calm and fierce, and the Dwarven Lord Drane, already chanting his golem spells with a roar.
"Leave these minions to us!" Drane bellowed as pillars of stone and fire erupted behind him. "That bastard's yours!"
"But Lords—" I began, unwilling to flee.
"You can still help, Liora," came another voice—Second Senior Brother. He landed beside me, flanked by juniors and seniors alike, warriors from all five races. Faces scarred, eyes burning. United.
"You heard the Lords," he continued. "These monsters are ours. But he—the Chaos King—you're the only one who can reach him."
"Hear me, children!" roared the Second Sovereign, lifting his spear high. "This is the battle that will rewrite our fate! GIVE IT EVERYTHING YOU HAVE!"
"YES!" the warriors responded in unison, shaking the mountain with their war cry.
I had no choice but to trust them.
I flew—praying, hoping—forcing my heart to be steady. Behind me, I heard Senior Brother yell, "You better win, Mint! Give him a taste of what we immortals can do!"
I smiled despite the terror. "Yes!"
When I arrived at the Floating Mountain, the battle had already begun.
The First Sovereign, the Third, and First Senior Brother were engaged with five of the six Dark Generals. Blades clashed, spells crackled like wild lightning, and the air itself trembled from their power.
And then I saw him again.
Still seated on the dragon, calm amidst the storm. The Blood Witch sat beside him, smiling. No longer casting—just watching. Amused. Arrogant.
My blood boiled.
The divine spark within me flared. I summoned my spirit energy, drawing the light of the skies into my soul. My hands moved in ancient patterns, calling forth my Divinity Bow, radiant and pulsing in gold.
Without hesitation, I aimed—straight at his chest.
The arrow released with a deafening hum of sacred power. It sliced through the wind like fate itself.
The Blood Witch raised her hand, forming a dark shield—but it shattered like glass under the purity of the light.
The arrow struck him.
Right through the chest.
He dropped from the dragon.
"LORD!!" the generals screamed, stunned.
I froze, disbelief numbing me for a breath. Did I… win?