The sky had darkened long before the first screams reached the gates of Asterholt. The city, with its towering spires and elegant streets, was a beacon of power and prestige in Espearia—until tonight. Swift's warnings had been heeded with an urgency he hadn't expected, but the preparations, the defenses, the knights and sorcerers—none of it was enough. Bones had come, and with him, the very air seemed to thicken with dread.
As the first distant rumbles of thunder echoed across the mountains, a cold, unnatural wind swept through the capital. The stars above, normally so bright and full of promise, flickered as if disturbed by an unseen hand. The people of Espearia, once so proud of their city's strength, now whispered in terror, wondering if they would even see the dawn.
Swift stood at the front gates of the palace, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the dark clouds gathering over the city like a blanket of death. His mind was sharp, but his body still felt foreign to him—twisted by the power of the green star, marked by Bones. The connection between them had only grown stronger, more invasive, like an ever-present shadow. Swift had tried to sever it. He had tried to ignore it. But now he could feel it—Bones was near. Closer than ever.
The king's advisors were in a panic. The royal knights, once the finest in the land, were readying their weapons and mounting their steeds, but even they seemed unsure. The sorcerers had gathered in the palace's great hall, preparing spells to ward off the coming storm, but Swift knew it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be enough.
"Swift," King Valtor called out from behind him, his voice tight with authority, yet undercut by an undeniable strain. "I don't care if you are cursed or broken. You're the only one who can help us. Where is he? Where is Bones?"
Swift turned, his heart heavy. The king was waiting for him to have an answer, but the truth was, Swift didn't know. He only felt the pull, the subtle tug of the god-star's presence, growing stronger by the moment.
"I don't know where he is, Your Majesty," Swift replied, his voice hollow. "But I know he's coming. He's been inside me since the moment I opened that prison. And now…" He clenched his fists. "Now he's coming to take everything."
Valtor's face twisted with frustration, but there was no time for words. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the distant rumble of thunder sounded once more. A low, guttural roar followed, echoing across the city, carrying with it a promise of destruction.
Swift's stomach turned as a ripple of green light spread across the sky, like a sickly aurora. It wasn't natural. It was Bones, spreading his influence, poisoning the stars themselves. And then, the screams began.
The first wave of chaos hit the city like a tidal wave. The gates of Asterholt, once a symbol of security, were torn apart by an unseen force. Bones didn't need to walk through them. He had become the storm. He descended like a nightmare made flesh.
Swift could feel it in his bones—Bones was near.
The palace shook as the ground split open. The great walls that had stood for centuries began to crack, crumbling beneath the weight of the green energy that radiated from the earth itself. Bones had arrived. He wasn't just a god. He was a destroyer—a force of nature, a living embodiment of annihilation.
The knights at the gate tried to hold their ground, but it was hopeless. Their swords, made of star metal, clanged uselessly against the ground, their blades bending and snapping like twigs under the pressure of the monstrous energy surrounding them. The sorcerers fared no better, their spells fizzling into nothingness as the green light engulfed them. It wasn't magic they were facing. It wasn't a battle of steel and blood. It was the end.
"Swift!" King Valtor shouted, his voice strained. "Get inside! We need a plan! We need to—"
But it was too late.
Swift's gaze snapped to the horizon. In the distance, rising from the ground like an apparition from hell, a massive figure emerged. Bones had come, his form towering and shifting, a grotesque mass of writhing tendrils of green energy and shadow. His eyes, if they could even be called that, burned with a malevolent light, watching the city crumble beneath him as if it were nothing more than a plaything. His laughter, cold and filled with madness, echoed through the streets.
He is here.
The city was already beginning to burn.
At first, it was small fires—a torch thrown into the marketplace, a building struck by lightning—but within moments, the flames spread, licking at the stone walls, crawling up the grand towers. The palace itself was not immune. Fire consumed the rooftops, smoke billowing from the broken windows. The king's advisors scrambled, trying desperately to organize a defense, but none of them knew what they were up against.
"Stay here!" Swift ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. He turned and ran toward the royal armory, leaving Valtor and his men behind. The king's voice faded into the background, swallowed by the growing roar of destruction.
Swift's mind was racing. He had to stop Bones. Somehow.
The armory was empty, save for the weapons stored for emergencies. Swift didn't need the royal blades—he needed something more. Something that would give him a fighting chance. He grabbed his star-forged broadsword, the one that had once belonged to him, the one he had used to kill enemies and charm lovers. Now, it felt like a weight in his hands, heavy and useless against the storm that Bones had brought. But it was all he had.
As he strapped the sword to his back, a piercing scream from the courtyard below jolted him to his feet. His heart sank. The city was falling faster than he had anticipated. He had to stop this.
Swift made his way to the grand balcony of the palace, where the king's forces were gathering, preparing for a final stand. He could see the fire and smoke rising from every corner of Asterholt, the flickering orange glow of destruction creeping closer and closer to the palace.
Bones was toying with them, like a child playing with fire.
Swift drew his sword and leapt into action, his mind focused. He had to buy time for the people of the city to escape. He had to make Bones pay for what he had done. Even if he was nothing more than a man caught in the web of this god's wrath, Swift would die fighting.
He was almost to the courtyard when the ground beneath him shook violently. A loud cracking sound filled the air, and before he could react, the entire wall exploded in a shower of stone and dust. The palace crumbled around him.
From the rubble emerged Bones, his towering form blocking the moonlight. His eyes glowed with malevolent joy as he stepped over the ruins of what had once been the capital's grand entrance.
"Ah, Swift," Bones crooned, his voice dripping with mockery. "You're still alive. I expected you to be more… useful." His form writhed as tendrils of green energy lashed out, smashing through the royal knights who had gathered to defend the palace.
Swift gritted his teeth. This was it. No more running. No more games. Bones was here, and Espearia was about to fall.
He charged forward, his sword raised high, but as he closed the distance, the ground beneath him trembled once more. Bones slammed his fist into the earth, and the entire courtyard shook as if the very foundations of the world were breaking apart. The impact sent Swift sprawling, his sword flying from his grip. The air was thick with green energy, and Swift could feel his skin crawl under its touch.
Bones' laughter echoed through the night as the city burned around them.
"I am the end, Swift," Bones sneered. "And you—well, you're just the first."
The flames were spreading, the air filled with the acrid scent of burning wood and blood. The once-great city of Asterholt was being consumed by darkness, and no one could stop it.
Not even Swift.