Blood. Screams. Chaos.
Deep beneath the surface, the Baniek Ruins had become a battlefield drenched in carnage. The vast underground expanse, once a silent relic of a forgotten age, now trembled with the fury of war. Corpses of humans, elves, reliards, leporids, pesterios, and dragoons littered the shattered stone. Broken limbs. Severed heads. Skulls crushed underfoot. The air was thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh, as warriors tore each other apart in a savage struggle for survival.
Some fought. Some ran. But none were spared.
Across the ruin, Unbound factions clashed with the Ignir forces, their weapons carving through bodies like scythes through a field. Swords met flesh. Spears punctured throats. Fists shattered bone. And in the shadows, something worse lurked—creatures not bound by the petty squabbles of men. These monsters descended from the darkness, tearing through anything and anyone in their path. Teeth gnawed through armor. Clawed hands ripped warriors in half.
It was a war within a war.
A King's Desperation
Amidst the chaos, a bloodied elf stood tall, his golden hair stained crimson, his blue eyes burning with desperation. His armor, once regal and unblemished, was now cracked and covered in the blood of both friend and foe. He raised his sword high, his voice booming over the battlefield.
"My daughter! Where is my daughter?! Find her—NOW!"
His warriors, though battered and broken, scattered at his command, their feet kicking up dust and blood as they vanished into the fray. But the ruin was vast. And death was faster than them all.
The elf king's mind raced. She's all I have left. If I lose her… His grip tightened on his sword as he charged into the chaos, cutting down any who stood in his way. He couldn't fail. Not again.
A Leporid's Curse
Not far from the elf king, a furred warrior sprinted for his life, weaving through the battlefield with frantic speed. Behind him, monstrous figures gave chase, their claws shredding the ground beneath them as they closed in.
"Damn it all!" he spat, leaping over the crumbling remains of a fallen warrior. "Ever since I met those damn kids, my life has been nothing but shit! Curse you, Quihote!"
A shadow loomed over him—a massive beast lunged, its fangs inches from his throat. And then—SLASH. A single blade cut through the darkness, slicing the creature clean in two. The force of the swing sent a shockwave ripping through the battlefield, bodies tumbling away like ragdolls.
The leporid didn't stop to look back. He just kept running, his mind a whirlwind of regret and rage. This isn't how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to be free.
A Sister's Despair
On the other side of the ruin, amidst the wreckage of war, a young elvhein girl knelt in agony, her hands clutching the bloodied body of her brother.
"Eryndor! Wake up! Please, wake up!"
Her voice cracked with despair as she shook him, tears mixing with the blood on his face. He didn't respond. His left leg was gone, severed below the knee. His body was covered in gashes, his once-strong frame now nothing but a broken husk.
All around her, chaos raged on—the screams of dying men, the clash of steel, the roars of beasts echoing through the ruins. BOOM. The air shook. A violent shockwave blasted through the battlefield, sending Ziraiah and Eryndor hurtling through the air. The ground beneath them shattered, splitting apart as massive chunks of stone crumbled into the abyss below.
They fell.
A Desperate Plea
Not far from the battlefield, a woman with orange skin, blue eyes, and flowing blue hair gasped for breath. Her left eye was gone, blood dripping down her face as she struggled against a monstrous beast crushing its claws around her throat. Even as her vision blurred, she forced out a final cry.
"We can't let them die! Save them, Beily!"
Her words echoed into the chaos—but was there anyone left to hear them?
The Four-Armed Warrior
The moment the plea rang out, a four-armed warrior with a single horn moved. His body blurred with speed, his massive frame barely disturbing the blood-soaked ground as he rushed toward the collapsing abyss. With a single, earth-shaking leap, he slammed into the ground, creating a deep crater beneath him before launching himself skyward.
His massive form struck the ceiling of the ruin, his four hands digging into the stone, bracing himself against it. He pushed. The sheer force of his launch shattered the ceiling, sending stone and dust raining down as he soared toward the hole where the siblings plummeted into darkness.
Falling faster than gravity should allow, he dived into the abyss, his keen eyes locking onto their broken forms. Got them. His arms wrapped around both Eryndor and Ziraiah. As they plummeted deeper, a green energy disk formed beneath his feet. The second it materialized—he launched upward.
The force of his ascent ripped through the cavern, sending shockwaves booming through the battlefield above. His body erupted from the abyss, carrying the siblings toward safety—
And all of a sudden—PAIN.
A black blur moved through the air, a furred beast of a man, claws sharp as blades, fangs bared in a monstrous grin. With a single thrust, his hand punched through the four-armed warrior's back—tearing out through his stomach.
A deep, guttural groan rumbled from the warrior's throat as blood spilled from his mouth. His vision dimmed, but his grip on the siblings never wavered. The beast-like man laughed, his fangs gleaming under the ruin's dim light.
"They are mine."
His voice was a mixture of amusement and hunger, his predatory gaze locked onto the unconscious bodies. The four-armed warrior's teeth gritted through the pain. His body was failing him—but he refused to fall just yet. With every last ounce of his strength, he roared—
"ANUEL!"
And then—he threw the siblings forward with all his might.
A Blur of Motion
A figure moved. A flash of golden hair. Blue eyes sharper than daggers. The instant the names echoed through the battlefield, a blur bolted forward—so fast that the air cracked in her wake. She leapt off the ruin's shattered walls, twisting mid-air, her arms snatching the falling siblings in one fluid motion.
She ran. Her feet barely touched the ground, her speed blurring the world around her as she maneuvered through the wreckage. But—BOOM. A deafening shockwave erupted, tearing through the battlefield like a vengeful god's wrath. The ground shattered. The terrain ruptured. And the force flung her away—sending her and the siblings spiraling through the air once more.
The Machine's Rampage
The ground shuddered violently, the deep tremors splitting the bloodstained stone apart. Dust and debris ripped free from the battlefield, swirling through the air like a storm of shattered earth. Chunks of stone lifted unnaturally, hovering midair before launching forward, crashing into the monstrous beasts that had invaded the ruin.
Floating above the chaos, a woman in a pristine white uniform, the number "5" emblazoned across her chest, extended her hands. Her glowing eyes pulsed as she controlled the battlefield itself. With a single motion, massive boulders twisted through the air, slamming into the monstrous creatures with the force of siege weaponry.
In the same area—a red blur streaked across the battlefield. Faster than sight. Faster than sound. A red-skinned warrior moved like a phantom, his body drenched in blood, his fists coated in the remnants of war. Without hesitation—he struck. With one devastating blow, his fist buried itself into the skull of the largest beast, punching straight through bone and brain.
BOOM. The impact ruptured the very ground beneath them, sending out a shockwave so violent that bodies were flung like ragdolls, the terrain itself cracking apart. Blood erupted from the creature's head, its massive body collapsing lifelessly into the battlefield.
But the red-skinned warrior didn't stop. As the monster's corpse crumbled, he twisted mid-air, his predatory gaze locking onto the floating woman above. He then vanished. A sonic boom shattered the air. One moment, he was on the ground—the next, he was right in front of her.
The woman's glowing eyes widened—but before she could react—SHLKK. His hand tore straight through her chest. Her breath hitched, a gasp frozen in her throat as she stared at him in disbelief. Her fingers twitched, the power surging through her body flickering—and then she died.
The floating debris collapsed, boulders and jagged stones raining down upon the battlefield below. The red-skinned warrior ripped his hand free, watching as her lifeless body convulsed. He tossed her aside, her form crashing to the blood-soaked ground with a dull thud.
Silence. For the briefest moment, the battlefield stood still. The red-skinned warrior turned his head, his piercing eyes locking onto the leporid warrior standing nearby. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other. Then—he vanished. A thunderous sonic boom erupted as he disappeared, the force of his departure sending another shockwave blasting through the battlefield.
The leporid stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest, his fur standing on end. He knew. He had just witnessed something beyond terrifying. But there was no time to process it.
The Wounded and the Desperate
Breathless, the leporid turned and ran, his feet kicking up dust and blood as he rushed toward the only person he could trust in this hellish war. Through the chaos, he spotted a figure with golden hair kneeling beside a fallen warrior. The elf's sharp blue eyes flicked toward him as he approached, his expression unreadable.
But the leporid's attention dropped to the ground, where a bloodied warrior lay, his leg severed, his body trembling from the blood loss. The sight was brutal. But there was no time for hesitation. The leporid dropped to his knees, pressing his hands over the wounds, focusing his energy.
"What happened?" he demanded.
The elf's voice was sharp, urgent. "It doesn't matter. Just heal him."
Without another word, the leporid got to work. But deep down—he knew. This battle was only getting started.
The Awakening
Amidst the endless war and devastation, in the deep recesses of the ruin, a man stirred from unconsciousness. His body ached, his head pounding from the force of his fall. Dust filled his lungs, the thick scent of blood and decay clinging to the air.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. All around him—destruction. The ground above had collapsed, sending debris, bodies, and the remnants of battle tumbling down into the abyss below. He coughed, his body protesting as he pushed himself upright, his gaze scanning the darkened chamber he had landed in.
He turned his head and saw it. At the far end of the room, a soft glow pulsed through the shadows. A single object levitated above an ancient altar, its light flickering, shifting, as if it were alive. It called to him—silent yet deafening. Something deep within his chest tightened.
What was this place? What was that?
But before his mind could race further—a scream echoed through the ruin. And somewhere far away—someone was falling into the abyss.
The Fall of Valerius
In another section of the ruin, where the stench of death hung heavier than the air itself, a young warrior dangled over a deep, bottomless pit. His feet barely touched the edge of the fractured ground, his body broken, a gaping hole in his abdomen leaking blood onto the cracked stone below.
A hand clutched his throat. A single, unshakable grip held him aloft, his body too weak to resist. The man before him stood unmoving, surrounded by bodies—beasts, warriors, monsters—all slain. This was not a battleground. This was a graveyard. And Valerius—he was about to be buried within it.
The man's grip tightened, his piercing eyes as cold as the abyss itself. His voice was devoid of emotion. Calm. Final.
"I cannot allow someone like you to live. Your bloodline should have vanished forever."
For a brief moment, time stood still. Then—he let go. Valerius's body lurched forward—and then he was falling. Falling. The air rushed past him, the shadows of the abyss swallowing him whole.
His mind screamed. Damn it… why am I so weak? The pain in his body was nothing compared to the agony in his soul. You can't do anything, you worthless bastard. His fingers twitched, but there was nothing to grab onto. Nothing to stop his descent.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! His body twisted deeper into the void, his thoughts spiraling with him. Damn it. DAMN IT! With a final, desperate cry, his voice roared through the abyss.
"DAMN IT ALL!"
The shadows devoured him. And there was silence.
The Calm Before the Storm
The air at the entrance of the Baniek Ruins was heavy with an eerie stillness, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged deep within. The colossal stone doors, engraved with ancient inscriptions, stood wide open, their secrets finally laid bare to the world after centuries of silence.
A man stood before them. He was calm, composed, as if the bloodshed and devastation inside were mere inconveniences. His black hair framed a face that bore no concern, no hesitation. A neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of quiet authority, but his eyes—his piercing, calculating eyes—held something far more dangerous.
He traced his fingers over the etched symbols, a smirk curling at his lips.
"Never thought I'd see one of these opened."
His voice was smooth, almost amused. Then, with measured grace, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pen-like device, pressing a button. A faint crackle of static, then—
"Are you there?"
The man tilted his head slightly, raising the device to his lips.
"Yes, I've arrived."
A brief pause. Then, the voice on the other end responded.
"Good. You know what you have to do."
The man exhaled slowly, his smirk widening just a fraction.
"Don't worry. It'll be over soon. Like nothing ever happened."
Another pause.
"Take this seriously. This is very important. No mistakes can be afforded."
At this, the man chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"You do your job, sir… and I'll do mine."
With deliberate steps, he walked through the ruin's threshold, his movements graceful, unhurried—as if he were strolling through a garden rather than stepping into a warzone. The moment his shadow passed over the ancient ground, something shifted. A presence. A weight in the air. And someone was watching.
The Warning
Perched atop a rocky outcrop not far from the entrance, a woman's sharp eyes narrowed as she watched the black-haired man disappear into the ruin. Her hand flew to her earpiece, voice low but urgent.
"That man is here."
Static crackled before a reply came through from the other end.
"What? Are you sure?"
The woman gritted her teeth.
"You have to get out of there. Now."
Deep within the ruin, a figure moved like a specter through the battlefield, weaving through monstrous creatures with deadly precision. Blood sprayed through the air as she drove her blade through the throat of a massive beast, her movements fluid, merciless. She exhaled, wiping blood from her cheek, before responding.
"I haven't gotten them yet."
The voice on the other end grew sharper.
"If you don't get out of there now, you're all going to die."
For the first time, she paused, her grip tightening around the hilt of her weapon. She turned, her gaze shifting toward the darkness ahead—toward where the black-haired man had entered. A chill ran down her spine. Something was very, very wrong.
Somewhere, deep in the ruin's core, fate shifted, like a blade poised to strike. The storm had begun.
Far Away, in Another World…
A world untouched by war. A world where the sky was still blue, where the air was free of the scent of blood and steel. On Earth, a place distant from the madness of Yilheim, a boy sat unaware.
Valerius Delindor.
He did not yet know what lay ahead. Not of his lineage. Not of his power. Not of the war that would soon consume him. Here, he was just another student. Just another boy in a classroom, living a life that—in only a matter of time—would be ripped away from him forever.
Because fate had already decided. And soon, his world would never be the same.
To Be Continued…