A blood-red moon loomed over the battlefield, casting an eerie glow upon the land. The stench of death filled the air. The roars of ravenous beasts, the shouts of warriors, and the clash of steel against flesh merged into a single, deafening symphony of war.
A towering gate, cracked and pulsating with unnatural energy, stood at the battlefield's edge. From its depths, monsters poured forth like a flood, their twisted forms writhing in the dim light.
And yet, amid the chaos, one figure stood alone.
Seraphine.
She did not tremble. She did not hesitate.
A deafening roar erupted as hundreds of monsters surged forward, their glowing red eyes fixated on the human soldiers ahead.
Snarling wolf-like creatures, their bodies covered in jagged black fur, led the charge. Their elongated claws, sharper than steel, glistened as they lunged forward, saliva dripping from their snapping maws.
Seraphine did not wait.
The moment the beasts entered her range, she moved.
With a single step, she vanished—her speed too fast for the eye to follow.
And then—
SHING!
The first wolf never even saw the blade.
Its head detached from its shoulders, a clean, perfectly smooth cut.
A spray of dark blood followed, painting the air as the lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Silence.
For a brief second, the monsters hesitated.
But then—
Chaos erupted.
Seraphine moved like a shadow, her blade a fluid extension of her will.
Her strikes held no hesitation, no wasted motion. Each swing was effortless, cutting through the air like a river flowing down a mountain, smooth yet unstoppable.
She sliced through one beast, and before its body could even hit the ground, she was already on the next target. There was no resistance, no obstruction—just pure efficiency.
She wasn't using magic.
She wasn't using elemental abilities.
This was raw power. Physical dominance.
Her body moved on instinct, her muscles guiding her like a practiced warrior who had fought a thousand battles.
A clawed monstrosity lunged at her from the left—
She tilted her body, just enough to let its strike graze past her, missing by a hair's breadth.
In that same breath—
SHING!
Her sword carved straight through its torso, splitting it in two.
Before the blood could even spill onto the ground, Seraphine had already turned—her next strike already in motion.
She was unstoppable.
A wolf-like creature, three times the size of a normal beast, lunged at her from behind.
Its fangs bared, saliva dripping as it aimed for her neck.
Seraphine didn't look.
She simply twisted her wrist—her blade curved backward in an unnatural angle—
SCHLUK!
The creature's head flew into the air, spinning before landing with a dull thud on the blood-soaked ground.
Even now, with dozens of corpses piling up around her, she didn't slow.
Her sword never hesitated.
She moved like a force of nature, a whirlwind of death and precision.
And yet—
Her breathing was steady.
Her expression was calm.
As if this was nothing more than practice.
While Seraphine cut through enemies with ease, the same could not be said for the other awakeners.
Further back, a burly warrior, his muscles bulging beneath his armor, swung his flaming axe with desperate force.
"Burn to ash!" he roared, his weapon igniting in brilliant flames.
With a mighty swing, he cleaved through three creatures at once, their bodies engulfed in fire before they could even scream.
Yet his breathing was heavy. His stance wavered.
Not far from him, a lithe woman with twin daggers, each glowing with icy blue light, darted between enemies with blinding speed.
"Keep them contained!" she shouted, her voice sharp with urgency.
Her blades danced, carving frosted trails into the air as they sliced cleanly through flesh.
But no matter how many they killed, more replaced them.
The sheer number of enemies began to overwhelm them.
Yet Seraphine?
She never slowed.
Her expression remained calm, her breathing steady—as if she were merely warming up.
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Captain Reynard – The Unshakable Wall
Reynard had fought in more battles than he cared to remember.
The scent of blood and burning flesh was nothing new. The screams of dying men, the clash of steel, the roars of monsters—this was his world.
And yet, every battle was the same in one way:
The weak always died first.
The first wave was already in full swing, the monsters slamming into their formation like a tidal wave.
Reynard stood at the frontline, a towering presence clad in heavy armor, his massive tower shield dug into the ground like an unbreakable fortress.
A massive ogre barreled toward him, its club raised high.
With a deep breath, he activated his skill—
Titan's Bastion.
A golden glow surrounded his shield as the ogre's weapon came crashing down.
BOOM!
The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, but Reynard stood firm. His shield didn't even budge.
"Pathetic," he growled, shifting his weight.
With a powerful bash, he slammed his shield forward, sending the ogre staggering backward.
His soldiers seized the opportunity, lunging forward with spears and swords, tearing into the beast's flesh.
More monsters came.
More ogres.
More goblins.
More horrors.
Reynard did not waver.
He had one duty—to hold the line.
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Captain Lyra – The Gale Blade
Lyra moved like a whisper of wind, darting through the battlefield with lightning-fast speed.
Her dual sabers, enchanted with wind magic, cut through the monsters with surgical precision.
A shadow beast lunged at her from the side—
She twisted, her blade severing its throat before it could even land a hit.
A pack of goblins rushed her, shrieking.
She vanished, reappearing behind them.
Flash Step.
In the blink of an eye, their bodies collapsed into pieces, their heads rolling across the ground.
"Faster! Keep up the momentum!" she called out to her unit.
Her soldiers—rogues and swift-blade users—danced between enemies, weaving through the chaos with deadly efficiency.
She saw a group of low-ranked awakeners struggling—monsters overwhelming them.
She clicked her tongue.
"Amateurs."
Her figure blurred, and in an instant, she was among them.
Her sabers became a storm of silver light, cutting down half a dozen monsters in mere seconds.
She barely spared the struggling awakeners a glance.
"If you can't fight, then die elsewhere," she snapped before dashing back into the fray.
There was no time for the weak.
-------------------------
Captain Darius – The Crimson Executioner
Darius was not a man of words.
He spoke through violence.
His greatsword, massive and drenched in blood, carved through monsters like a reaper's scythe.
A lumbering troll roared and swung its spiked club—
Darius met it head-on, his greatsword slicing through flesh and bone like butter.
The troll collapsed, split clean in half.
He barely slowed down, moving to his next target.
His ability—Bloodrage—was in full effect.
Every kill made him faster, stronger, his body pulsing with energy.
He felt unstoppable.
An ogre tried to crush him—
Dodge.
A shadow beast lunged—
Cleave.
A goblin stabbed at his blind spot—
Counter.
It was perfect.
This was where he belonged—in the heart of battle, where blood and steel determined who lived and who died.
A feral grin split his face.
"More," he whispered, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Send me more!"