Ash fell like snow across the eastern skies of Earth.
Cities that had once thrived were now battle-worn skeletons. Monuments were craters. Fields were burned. Every star overhead pulsed like a wound.
Matt stood on the peak of Hollow Sky Mountain—the ancient altar where gods once spoke with mortals.
Now, it would become his first war camp.
"We need an army," Grey said, panting. "Like… now."
Matt remained silent. The Void inside him stirred, but didn't speak.
Sam unrolled a scroll—the map of fragmented Earth. Red sigils marked Paladin invasion routes. They were coming fast.
Too fast.
Mailane placed her hand on Matt's. "We're not ready. But we'll never be. So we act."
Matt nodded.
Signal One: Orc Horn
Ondharo's warhorn shattered the clouds.
In response, the sky turned crimson as the Hybrid Orc Legions marched—thousands strong, blades forged from fallen stars, chanting war hymns in Thunfrie.
Matt raised his hand.
"Welcome back, King."
Ondharo bowed.
"I follow your fire now, Flameborn."
Signal Two: Thunder Rift Echo
A pulse cracked across the atmosphere.
Myuthor's skeletal thunder-army teleported via storm gates, raining lightning with every step.
He greeted Matt with thunderclaps.
"Storm serves only the worthy. And you, boy, are worthy."
Signal Three: Emberlight Sigil
Namgari's fire surged from beneath the mountain, forging a ring of heat around the base. His hybrid troops marched in disciplined unison, not a whisper among them.
Namgari stepped forth.
"You gave me mercy. Now I give you vengeance."
The Tri-Kings knelt.
And behind them, the Hollow Sky echoed with thousands of war cries.
Matt turned to face the remnants of Earth's resistance—humans, rebels, mages, even ex-gods.
"Today, we stop waiting. We stop running. This mountain will not fall."
He stabbed the Shadowsidian Blade into the altar.
Void Sigils erupted.
A shield of memory and soul expanded across the range.
And the battle began.
Imperial Paladin Army – VANGUARD STRIKE
Three fronts.
Nimistran's Nullborn Assassins
Thermuz's Selvage Ravagers
Analice's Shadowian Beastriders
They attacked at dusk.
Grey led the east flank with glyph traps.
Sam synchronized Rift beacons to freeze Phantom infiltrators.
Mailane held the front gates with the Shadowsidian Sword—now pulsing with Soulflare sync.
Matt? He didn't wait.
He teleported directly into the heart of Nimistran's vanguard.
He moved like pure thought.
The Void sang.
His wings flared.
Every step rewrote terrain.
Every slash cut not just flesh, but intention.
Then—
A sword appeared from nowhere.
Black. Silent. Timeless.
Nimistran stepped through nothing.
"You should've stayed dead."
Matt turned, his eyes glowing like twin dying suns.
"And you should've stayed a god."
Their swords clashed.
And in that moment, time cracked.
On the mountain, the battle raged.
But hope was rising.
The Army of the Hollow Sky had been born.
And Matt Salurga—the God Who Returned—had declared war.