Everyone in Everdawn heard the massive explosion from Dareth's mana.
Dozens of guards rushed toward the source of the blast. When they arrived, their eyes widened in horror—Eldric's body lay on the ground, drenched in blood. Beside him stood Dareth, silent, his figure bathed in smoke and crimson light. The remnants of the spell had faded, leaving behind only the scent of burning mana and blood.
"Who are you?" one of the guards demanded, his voice trembling but brave.
They quickly surrounded Dareth in a circle, weapons drawn, their boots crunching against the debris.
"What have you done to him?!" another guard shouted.
But Dareth didn't respond. He didn't even look at them—his gaze was fixed on his father's lifeless body. For a moment, it seemed like he was lost in thought… or regret.
The lead guard motioned to the others, signaling to close in and capture him. They tightened the circle, approaching cautiously.
Just as they got close, Dareth slowly raised his hand. His voice was cold and hollow—
"Demon Art: Hell's Arise."
The ground cracked open.
Hundreds of black, glowing circles appeared across the entire city—each one radiating with crimson light.
From within them, thousands of dark entities began to rise—humanoid figures clad in spectral armor, their bodies leaking black smoke. Some wielded swords, others spears and shields. A few were barehanded, their massive arms pulsing with dark energy.
At the same time, other Black Troops members emerged from thin air, stepping out of shimmering shadows.
A few conjured new circles and summoned monstrous beasts—Shadowfangs, Stormclaws, Kraggors, and Iktomi—each roaring as they filled the streets.
"This sure feels like fun," one of them, Omiria, said with a twisted grin.
Once a rogue assassin, she had killed hundreds before joining the Black Troops. Wild-eyed and unpredictable, she was as fast as she was deadly.
"So many people… so much mana," another voice muttered. It was Glut, a heavy-set mage with an unsettling smile.
He absorbed the mana of others and converted it into dark energy. The stronger his surroundings, the stronger he became—a living nightmare in a city full of mages.
Beside him stood Fury, the newest member. His blade was unlike any other—when he swung, the sword extended and twisted like a whip, fueled by dark energy that drained his victim's mana.
Then, from above, a dragon swooped down—a massive beast with dark purple scales and jagged spikes down its back.
Riding on it was Lacey, a petite girl with wild eyes.
She was a conjurer who could possess and control any beast she saw—except humans and demons.
She landed gracefully, tilting her head at the chaos below.
"Why are they running? Did we do something bad?" asked Clay, smiling innocently.
He looked like a young boy, charming and harmless—but his mind was twisted. He thought the slaughter he caused was fun, that everyone loved his "games."
He channeled dark mana through his body, enhancing his speed and strength. Despite his appearance, he was lethal in close combat.
From another circle, Aize appeared—a master swordsman whose blade was infused with dark magic. Every movement of his sword was precise, deadly, and graceful.
One after another, the remaining Black Troops emerged, surrounding the town from every direction.
The Black Troops were ready to destroy everything.
Dareth raised his hand and gave a single command.
In an instant, the black entities rushed forward—storming through the streets, cutting down civilians, demolishing homes, and tearing through stone walls.
Monsters roared and joined the assault, trampling through the streets.
Screams echoed through Everdawn. Blood painted the stone roads.
The core members of the Black Troops didn't stand idle—they joined the massacre with manic glee.
Moments later, the town's emergency bells rang.
Citizens screamed and fled, rushing toward the shelters. Guards formed lines in front of the Magic Association Tower, preparing for battle.
"Everyone!" shouted Dale, the chief commander. "Prepare for battle! Defend the people at all costs!"
At his command, guards divided into twelve groups, scattering through the burning streets to fight on every front.
At the Town Hall—
"Sir, we can handle things here! You must evacuate!" said the town's advisor urgently.
"How can I call myself a chief if I abandon my people in their time of need?" the Chief replied firmly.
"But sir, the situation is worsening by the minute—"
"I will fight," the Chief interrupted, his voice filled with resolve.
The advisor clenched his fist. "But sir…"
The Chief turned toward the window, looking out at the chaos. Fires burned across the city.
"Besides," he said quietly, "I can't let his sacrifice go to waste…"
He was thinking of Eldric—the man who had given everything for this town
At Omiria's side…
"Watch your back!" one of the guards shouted.
Omiria only laughed—a sharp, chilling laugh—and dashed forward like a shadow slicing through moonlight.
"Defensive barrier!" the guards shouted in unison, conjuring glowing walls of light in front of them.
But it didn't matter. Omiria broke through every barrier as if they were made of glass. Her blade carved through the air, and in an instant, most of the guards fell to the ground, clutching their bleeding chests.
"You call that a shield?" Omiria smirked, her crimson-stained blade gleaming under the flickering fires. "How amusing."
"She's just a single girl—we can stop her!" one of the guards shouted, trying to encourage the others, though his legs trembled beneath him.
"Oh really?" Omiria tilted her head, her smile twisting into something wicked.
Before anyone could blink, she disappeared and reappeared behind them—
In a heartbeat, the rest of the guards were cut down.
Only the one who had spoken remained.
He froze in terror, his body trembling as he fell back onto the ground. Omiria walked toward him slowly, her boots tapping lightly on the stone, her blade dragging behind her with a soft metallic hiss.
"Weren't you saying I'm just a girl?" she whispered, her eyes glowing faintly red.
"P-please… spare me!" the guard begged. "I—I'll do anything you ask!"
"What could a weakling like you possibly do for me?" Omiria sighed, her voice dripping with mock disappointment.
She raised her blade. The steel reflected his terrified face as she swung—
But just before the blade touched his throat, a golden barrier flared to life in front of his neck.
The impact sent Omiria flying back, crashing onto the cobblestone.
She groaned softly and looked up. Five figures stood between her and the guard—each wearing white robes trimmed with gold. Their presence alone carried authority and strength.
The Elite Guards.