The ground cracked beneath Soren's knees.
His armor was shattered.
His chest heaved, ribs screaming with each breath.
Aurelian stood in front of him like a monolith of frostfire divinity.
Luxarion hovered above—wreathed in divine silence, eyes gleaming with cold judgment.
Dimitri Volkov moved through shadows like a predator circling its prey.
All three of them advanced. Slowly. Methodically.
Soren tried to lift his arms. They trembled. His flames sputtered. His lungs burned.
And Seraphina?
She was behind them, her hands raised over the swirling portal, her voice a haunting whisper laced with venom and power.
"Come forth, children of Eldorwyn… Come to your Sovereign!"
The portal cracked open wide, like a wound in reality, and from it…
They poured out.
Dark Elves. Thousands.
Armored in obsidian. Banners bearing the sigil of the fallen stars. Blades humming with corrupted mana.
Each one loyal.
Each one fanatical.
Each one ready to die for Aurelian.
The desert sky turned black—not from nightfall—but from the swarm of darkness rising to conquer the last light of Earth.
Soren looked up.
"Shit…"
He knew what he had to do. Even if it broke him.
He threw his hand out, and black flames erupted like a volcano from his soul. Abyssal Bloom detonated across the battlefield, Hellpyre Severance flared around his fists, and Voidflare Execution began to swirl again—his last weapon.
"JUST STAY DOWN!" he roared as he hurled the void orb toward the army—
But it was too late.
Before the blast could hit more than the first line of elves, Luxarion blurred forward, struck with divine light, and shattered the orb mid-air.
A chain of divine shockwaves slammed into Soren and launched him back like a missile. He tumbled through the air, blood arcing from his mouth, bones cracking as he hit the sand like a meteor.
All three—Aurelian, Luxarion, Dimitri—moved in.
A flurry of attacks. Unrelenting.
Fists. Light. Void. Slicing magic. Kinetic destruction.
Soren couldn't stand anymore.
His head was low.
His fingers twitched in the sand.
And then…
Memories.
A flicker of Hakan smiling, slapping him on the shoulder.
His earliest sparring matches with his mates.
Falling in the mud as a trainee. Getting up. Always getting up.
His first mission. His first kill. His first time saving a life.
The first time he was called "One of the 7."
The world watching. The people cheering.
Victory after victory.
He remembered it all.
But then came something deeper—
His pride.
His rage.
His refusal to be forgotten.
"I am… Soren Raihan."
His voice was hoarse, but it shook the wind.
"I don't DIE in the dirt."
He clenched his fists—
And then… something changed.
His black flames ignited again—furious, wild—
But now white fire danced inside them.
Not pure.
Not holy.
But resolute.
Flames of ego. Flames of defiance. Flames of a man who refuses to lose.
The explosion of this mixed flame created a detonation wave that blasted all three of his enemies backward—
Aurelian stumbled. Dimitri was launched into rock. Luxarion skidded back through the sky.
Even Seraphina's eyes widened. For the first time, she stepped back from the portal.
"Impossible…" she whispered. "He's still… evolving?"
But the moment passed.
Soren dropped to one knee again—burning, but barely conscious.
And that's when—
"VALKYRIES, FORM UP!"
Iffah Saeed arrived like a comet crashing into war, her silver armor shining through the storm.
Behind her—Emaan Shah, Amara, Sana, Naila—each wielding the divine light of the Silver Valkyries, blades drawn, radiant.
Their powers ignited:
Radiant Edge danced through the dark elven ranks.
Luminous Shroud cloaked Soren for a moment of breath.
Aurora Veil disoriented the elf commanders.
Solar Bloom exploded in blinding bursts across the battlefield.
From the opposite side—
Kaelen Drakenhart surged in, lightning arcing along his twin blades.
And at his side—Alaric the Blade-Torn, recovered, reborn, and burning with kinetic rage.
They tore through the flanks, carving a path with unrelenting ferocity.
"looks bad ," Alaric muttered, eyes locking briefly with the unconscious Soren.
"and some one is even badder ."
Then—
From the eastern ridge, a streak of white light fell—
A woman from the Celestial Dominion, her silver fan blades spinning with gravity-defying precision.
"Let's see what makes these monsters bleed," she whispered.
All around the battlefield, humanity's strongest now converged. The last light against Seraphina's army.
She watched from the portal's edge, her smile returning.
"Let them come."
"Let them try."
She raised her hand again—and the portal surged.
"This… is only the beginning."
The battlefield was chaos—light, shadow, flame, and blood clashed under a stormless sky.
The dark elves surged forward like a tide of void and hate. Thousands of them.
And behind them—
Seraphina.
Tall. Regal. Her dark gown swirling with shadows. Her crimson eyes locked on the horizon like she owned it.
"Come, humans…" her voice dripped venom and hunger, echoing across the field, "I will kill all of you."
But even as her army thundered forward, another clash was already erupting behind the lines.
Soren stood tall again, black flames ripping around his armor as the ground burned beneath him.
Across from him:
Luxarion hovered, divine wings unfolding in radiant silence.
Dimitri Volkov, a phantom of shifting shadow and nightmare.
Aurelian, composed and cruel, his eyes glinting with the arrogance of a king of countless lifetimes.
The pressure in the air thickened. It was no longer battle—it was reckoning.
Soren dragged one hand across the scorched earth.
"Hellpyre Severance."
His fist lit up—black flames in the shape of jagged claws—and he launched forward in a blur of rage and vengeance.
Luxarion raised a shield of holy light—shattered.
Dimitri countered with a blade of pure void—melted.
Aurelian summoned frostfire winds—torn apart.
In a single slash, Soren blasted the three of them back, through the skies, through rock, through broken desert.
The shockwave tore across the land, splitting the dunes in half.
He wasn't trying to kill them. He was buying time.
He turned back toward the army behind him, flames still burning on his arms.
"You lot focus on the portal and that woman," he roared, voice cracking the silence like thunder.
"I'll handle these three."
He took one step forward, then stopped.
Looked over his shoulder.
Eyes locked with Iffah, who stood at the front lines, sword drawn and glowing silver.
His voice dropped—gentle, for the first time in hours.
"And sister…"
"Don't die."
"Or I won't be able to face him."
Iffah's eyes widened—just for a moment—but she nodded. Her lips pressed tight.
"We won't. Now go."
Then, Soren turned to the broken sky and took off like a black comet, chasing the three fallen titans into the distant ridge, ready to fight them alone.
The others watched him vanish—just a blur of black fire and stubborn fury.
There was silence.
But only for a second.
Because then—
"CHAAAAAARGE!!"
Alaric's voice ripped across the field like a war cry.
He lunged into the oncoming wave of monsters, blades blazing.
Kaelen followed, lightning crackling.
Iffah led the Silver Valkyries into formation, a phalanx of radiant discipline.
The Celestial Dominion girl soared overhead, blades spinning.
Emaan, Sana, Naila, and Amara scattered into position—light weaving around them like a living shield.
The Armies of Earth met the Legion of Eldorwyn.
Steel against darkness. Flame against shadow. Hope against extinction.
And at the far edge of it all, Seraphina walked calmly forward, untouched by dust or fear.
"This is it?" she whispered, amused.
"Then I'll make it beautiful."
The sky screamed.
And war began.
The wind howled across the scorched battlefield.
Soren slammed into the side of a jagged obsidian ridge, blood spilling from his mouth. The impact left a crater—black flames sputtering around him like dying embers.
Luxarion hovered above, his expression blank, halo spinning behind him like a judgment wheel.
Dimitri blurred from the shadows, his scythe tearing through the air like a nightmare given form.
Aurelian walked slowly, not even winded, his steps casual, cruel—his voice calm:
"Still standing, Soren?"
"Admirable. But this is beyond you."
Soren coughed, forcing himself up. His coat was torn. Armor cracked. Flames flickered along his arms—but not like before.
They were unstable.
Wavering between pure black and sudden flashes of blinding white.
He didn't understand it.
He didn't care.
"Not... yet..." he growled, dragging his broken body forward.
Dimitri struck first—a blur of void, slicing across Soren's ribs.
Luxarion followed, dropping a divine spear like lightning from the heavens.
And Aurelian? He simply raised his hand, bending the space around Soren and locking him in a cage of burning frost.
He was being torn apart.
Still, he moved.
Still, he fought.
Each time his flames struck back, there was a flash—not just of heat, but something purer.
White.
He didn't notice it yet.
MEANWHILE – AT THE FRONTLINES
Kaelen, the The King of Land, stood like a mountain in motion.
Every time he stepped, the ground cracked. Every punch sent shockwaves through the battlefield, launching dark elves into the air like ragdolls.
"LAND'S MIGHT—AMPLIFY!"
He punched into the earth, and pillars of rock erupted beneath enemy formations, splintering their ranks.
Dark elves swarmed him, trying to pierce his armor with blades of shadow and magic—they bounced off his Stoneform like glass against steel.
"You want Earth?" he roared.
"I AM EARTH!"
He lifted both arms, summoning a wave of boulders, and sent a Rock Barrage crushing into the enemy line.
Behind him, Amara threw up a veil of light to hide wounded allies.
Sana's Aurora Veil shimmered over their team, giving them speed like lightning.
Alaric, with blades drenched in kinetic momentum, moved like a ghost, cutting through monsters left and right.
But Kaelen held the center.
He was the anchor.
Soren crashed again—this time into the black sand, coughing blood.
Luxarion moved without sound. Dimitri's scythe curved through space. Aurelian flicked his fingers and another spatial rupture cracked across Soren's leg, nearly shattering the bone.
He was on one knee.
Eyes dazed.
Breath ragged.
The flames around him trembled—then burned brighter.
Another strike from Luxarion—and this time when Soren blocked, the flames on his arm flared white.
He didn't realize it—but the others did.
Aurelian's eyes narrowed.
"That power... what is he channeling?"
Luxarion blinked. "His flames... they're not void anymore."
Dimitri paused mid-swing, eyes flickering. "That's not magic. That's something else."
Soren rose.
Slowly.
He was bleeding from his lip. His body felt like it had been dragged through hell—because it had.
But his fire was shifting.
Every few attacks… it wasn't just black.
It was white. Bright. Blinding. Pure.
Soren clenched his fists and stood tall, wobbling but defiant.
"I don't know... what this is," he hissed.
"But if I die… I'm taking all three of you with me."
And for the first time—
The sky cracked with light that wasn't born of flame.
A new fire had begun to awaken.
The land was chaos.
The heat of the desert was nothing compared to the torrent of magic, steel, and screams that filled the air now. Dark elves poured from the portal like a plague, thousands upon thousands, accompanied by grotesque, mutated beasts from Eldorwyn. Their war cries echoed across the valley, drowning out even the sound of the dying wind.
Iffah was a beacon of light amid the dark tide, her twin sabers glowing white-hot, slicing clean through waves of enemies.
To her right, Emaan Shah fought like a blade of divine will—her Radiant Edge cutting clean through armor and bone.
Naila's Solar Bloom detonated near the backlines, blinding a battalion of monsters as Sana's Aurora Veil kept the remaining Silver Valkyries fast, fluid, and evasive.
Still… they were being pushed back.
The elves weren't dying fast enough.
The beasts weren't slowing down.
Alaric was in the middle of it all, drenched in blood—not all of it his own—his blades a blur of kinetic force, momentum, and pain.
"Come on!! COME ON!!" he roared, dashing through a squad of enemies, cutting a dozen down in a single flash of motion.
He was faster.
Stronger.
Sharper.
But even then… it wasn't enough.
There were just too many.
He looked up—eyes blazing, blood dripping down his cheek—and saw more coming. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.
For a second—just a second—he hesitated.
And that's when the ground shook.
BOOM.
A sound like the roar of a collapsing star echoed through the battlefield. The entire desert floor rippled, dust spiraling up into the air like the hands of the dead.
Then a voice, distant at first… but it grew.
Low.
Commanding.
"ATTACK."
It wasn't just a word. It was a roar that pierced through the sound of war, and every dark elf froze for a split second, the primal part of their brain recognizing something that should not be challenged.
Then—another voice.
Not a roar. Not a scream.
Just a cold, royal decree.
"PERISH."
And the sky exploded.
From the east—cutting across the burning sun—two figures descended like judgment.
Ren Tainlong. Cloaked in light and void, his eyes like collapsing stars. His presence bent time.
Hakan Raihan. Crownless king of fire and flesh. His fists crackled with pressure and power, and every step he took shattered the ground.
Both of them landed like meteors at the front of the battlefield.
Ren didn't even look at the army—his hand simply rose, and a thousand dark elves within a hundred-meter radius froze mid-charge.
He whispered it.
"Perish."
And they did.
Bloodless. Silent. Gone.
Hakan, meanwhile, launched forward like a missile, fists crackling with raw martial force. The first beast he encountered didn't even see it coming—its skull caved in, entire body thrown back into its own allies like a meteor strike.
He moved through the enemy like a storm of precision—Heaven's Breaker in his fists, Iron Tempest in his footwork, his Sky Rend tearing apart monsters mid-air.
Alaric, stunned, watched as the tide began to shift.
Iffah's eyes widened, then narrowed with relief.
"He came…"
Ren appeared beside her in a blink.
"I suggest we clean this up quickly," he said flatly, eyes scanning the battlefield. "Because whatever's about to come out of that portal… isn't like the rest."
Hakan landed next to Alaric, both covered in blood and grime.
The Dragon Monarch didn't even glance at the Vice-Captain.
"Still standing?" Hakan asked.
Alaric grinned through bloodied lips. "You're late."
Hakan cracked his knuckles.
"Then let's make up for it."
The war had begun.
But now, so had humanity's retaliation.
And the monsters?
They were about to learn fear.
The air screamed with energy.
Flames, lightning, divine strikes, and magical bursts lit up the battlefield like a shattered aurora. Corpses of monsters and elves littered the sands, but still—they kept coming.
And then—
A shadow rolled across the sky.
No... not a shadow. A fleet.
Wings. Claws. Scales. Flame. Thunder. Fury.
A legion of dragons, their numbers blotting out the sun, descended behind Hakan like a storm of wrath. They roared as one, the sky rupturing under their combined fury, led by the one whose eyes glowed like molten gold—
Rhalvion.
He soared at the front, his humanoid-dragon form encased in gleaming obsidian armor, eyes locked onto the battlefield below. With him, dozens—no—hundreds of dragons, each older than nations, deadlier than wars, followed behind.
Hakan turned, now levitating mid-air above the battlefield, watching the tide of scales and fire.
He landed beside Iffah and Alaric, panting and bloodied but standing.
"Where's Soren?"
Iffah's face tensed. "He's gone after them. Luxarion. Dimitri. And… someone else. Aurelian, the elf leading this madness."
Alaric nodded grimly. "He took them all on alone. He didn't want to risk them interfering with us here."
Hakan's jaw clenched.
He turned sharply to Rhalvion.
"No human dies. Not one. Burn everything that dares touch them."
Rhalvion bowed mid-air, hand raised.
"Understood, my liege."
And then—Oblivion.
A single breath escaped Rhalvion's lips, and from it exploded a pulse of light and flame, dark and radiant, a divine catastrophe. The wave tore across the battlefield, incinerating every dark elf, monster, and twisted construct within sight in an instant.
Not even ash remained.
But the war wasn't over. From the portal, more emerged.
Thousands more.
Behind the first wave were elites, warpriests, warlords, beings that had seen millennia of bloodshed.
Seraphina's army was endless.
Hakan rose into the sky, wind curling around his fists. His voice dropped, low and sharp.
"I'm going to get him."
Without another word, he shot into the sky, a sonic boom ripping the air as he blasted toward Soren's location.
Just then, Ren Tainlong appeared beside him mid-flight.
"I'm coming too."
Hakan didn't argue. He nodded once. The old tension between them—forgotten.
Before leaving, Ren turned back toward the battlefield—toward his guild.
Standing at the edge of the skirmish was his second-in-command—a tall, graceful figure with long black hair tied in a knot, sharp jade eyes glowing with celestial energy.
Name: Xue Lian
Ability: "Starwoven Dominion" — She can conjure threads of cosmic starlight that wrap around reality itself, stitching wounds, slicing enemies, and halting time in isolated threads. Offensive. Defensive. Precise.
Ren's voice echoed in her mind through their link.
"Lian. Win this. Protect them. And make sure Seraphina doesn't leave alive."
She nodded once, solemnly.
"I'll see you both after the ashes."
Ren vanished, chasing Hakan into the skies.
The Ground Below
Iffah looked at Lian, her sabers humming with light.
"She's in there," Iffah said, pointing toward the heart of the army, where Seraphina stood, surrounded by elite guards and dark energy that warped the terrain.
"Let's end this at the source."
Lian nodded, her fingers lighting with glowing threads.
"Then we tear the veil and stitch her into the dirt."
They sprinted forward—Iffah, Lian, Emaan, and the Silver Valkyries—cutting a burning path through the enemy.
Seraphina, from atop her obsidian platform, saw them.
And smiled.
"Come, little lights."
"Let's see how bright you burn before you die."