"Let us go, and we will spare everyone!" Rorik proclaimed, his voice cutting through the air like thunder.
But the hooded man raised his hands and waved as if to say there was never any threat. The battle was imminent, and both sides knew that victory would only be granted through blood and death.
Countless soldiers, known throughout the region, gathered on both sides, each bearing numerous titles. Their auras clashed, causing the earth to tremble, and everyone's breath grew heavy.
Finally, the first step was taken. Rorik began to cover himself in plates of stone, forming a massive armor. The dwarf was now a titan at least five meters tall. Armed with a proportionally sized sword, he advanced, leaving deep imprints with each step.
"Freedom or Death!" Rorik shouted as he charged forward, his men following closely behind. On the other side, a man with incredible agility and superhuman strength rushed to intercept Rorik, his stats far surpassing the dwarf's. Light witnessed firsthand the difference in status and rank.
Despite his lesser stats, old and weary, Rorik cleaved the man in two with a horizontal slash, with little effort. Seeing this and already knowing of the hermit's feats, the bravest knights of Dirgrad advanced, realizing that only together could they even hope to hold back this adversary.
The hooded man watched the situation calmly, as if it were something distant from him. In mere moments, five more men fell to StoneHeart. With a chuckle, he finally stepped forward.
***
Name: Ekichar
Title: Bloodthirsty Disciple
Status: Servant of Phantaminum
Rank: Disciple
Race: Tiefling
Aura: 130
Strength: 10
Agility: 15
Endurance: 5
Skills: Flame Manipulation, Infernal Flames, Blood Manipulation…
Characteristics: Oppressive, bloodthirsty, sadist, demonic descendant.
Observation: Ekichar has long followed Phantaminum, never caring about his plans or desires as long as he respected Ekichar's desire for entertainment. He has turned the lives of many into a living hell.
***
Removing his cloak and hood, the enemy leader's figure was finally revealed. He had large, curved horns and red skin, his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.
As soon as he stepped onto the battlefield, several prisoners were killed and incinerated, pillars of flame rising wherever he walked, as if he were on a fashion parade. Face to face, the leaders exchanged sharp looks before engaging in a devastating battle that caused numerous accidental deaths. Their strikes spilled over onto many others.
Powerful flames met the titan, who seemed unaffected. The stone colossus swung his blade at the demon, who dodged with ease, his movements agile and graceful. Momentarily retreating, Ekichar crouched and placed both hands on the ground. Two serpents of orange fire slithered toward the giant, attempting to restrain and devour him.
Rorik's movements were halted. Taking advantage of the situation, Ekichar summoned the blood of all the dead into his hand, forming a massive scythe larger than the giant. The enormous blade slashed through him in a decisive move, leaving the dwarf with no choice but to abandon his armor.
Several stone columns formed, trying to strike the tiefling, but missing again. Standing beside them with great pleasure, the tiefling taunted.
"Is this all you've got? Oh, great StoneHeart?" the blood mage said, euphoric. Rorik gritted his teeth, unsure of how to respond. The soldiers continued to fall around him, the enemies were greater in number, and his allies depended on him to turn the tide.
From atop the columns, Light emerged, out of the tiefling's sight, his blade pointed downward as he propelled himself with strong winds.
[Light used Dash (Swift)]
[Mana 10/100]
The strong wind did not go unnoticed; the mage quickly dodged back, his hands summoning flames to strike the one daring to interfere in his battle. A torrent of flames surged toward Light; the dwarf, due to his stone plates, suffered little against the flames, but that was not the case for Light.
[Light used Dash (Swift)]
[Mana 0/100]
The flames soon obscured the mage's vision, surprising him as his enemy pushed through his flames. Light's face was contorted with agony and pain, his skin burning along with his clothes. In a desperate move, the mage raised his arms in a defensive position.
Both fell to the ground, the mage spewing blood with both arms severed. Light, his body completely burned, screamed in pain. However, it all ended quickly as the blood mage stopped the bleeding and glared at Light with hatred, muttering some hostile words that went unnoticed before retreating.
Light propped himself up on his sword to stand; the battle was not over yet. Soldiers were already descending upon him, and in a furious impulse, he defended himself with all his might, violent cuts marking his skin. From a distance, Rorik saw the enemy approaching and tried everything to get closer and help Light.
"Run!" Rorik shouted, the urgency in his voice slicing through the heavy air of the battlefield.
But before Light could react, one of the initiates, an implacable warrior, noticed him. With terrifying speed, the enemy charged, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision.
"Get out of here!" Rorik cried, his voice laden with desperation and urgency. It was a shout that echoed not only across the battlefield but also through the very heart of the dwarf. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush to Light, to shield him with his own body if necessary. But the distance was immense, and time, relentless. He felt a knot of panic form in his chest, his lungs tightening as if being crushed by an invisible hand.
With a single blow, the enemy sent Light's sword flying, the blood-stained weapon landing brutally, ready to end his life.
"Light!" Rorik screamed again, his voice now choked with pain and despair. The dwarf felt as if a part of himself was being torn away as he watched, unable to intervene. Every second that passed was torture, time dragging on as if to prolong his suffering. He fought against the forces holding him back, his legs heavy as lead, his heart beating frantically, almost out of control.
And in the second attack, the enemy sent Light crashing against the prison walls, his ribs breaking with the impact, a fatal cut slashing across his chest. Life began to slip through his fingers, the warmth fading, his pulse quickening, his breath shallow and agonizing.
Rorik was in a panic; his liberator was dying in front of him, and he was powerless to do anything. Light's eyes lost more life with each passing moment, his skin growing paler, like snow. Tears welled up in both their eyes.
Why? Why was his liberator dying like this? Weren't heroes supposed to live, no matter the trials? Weren't they supposed to always rise, no matter the adversity? Light was being killed here on the battlefield, just another man, another warrior.
He would be thrown into a mass grave, his body incinerated like all the others.
This time, Light did not rise; his body fell like the thousands of corpses around him.