Somewhere in the Himalaya nation the world was white.
Snow fell in endless sheets from the heavens, blanketing the ruined valley with a deceptive calm. Each flake seemed to whisper silence, yet beneath that veil of purity, chaos reigned.
Thousands of flaming skeletons, their bones charred black and wrapped in writhing tongues of crimson fire, marched across the frozen expanse. Their feet crunched the snow, but wherever they stepped, the white surface blackened and hissed into steam. The air smelled of ash and burnt flesh, of death carried on the cold wind.
At their head, a towering figure of bone and fire raised a broken halberd. No lips, no throat—yet an ear-splitting roar echoed from its hollow ribcage. The skeletal army surged forward like a tide of flame.
And waiting for them were shadows.
Hundreds of men and women cloaked in black assassin garb stood scattered across the valley, blades gleaming with poison, eyes sharp with killing intent. Their attire blended with the night that loomed over the snowy battlefield, but their breaths betrayed them. Steam curled from their lips as fear tightened their throats.
Still, they stood their ground. They were not ordinary assassins. They were all Ati-Rathis level, assassins of the league of The Devil, feared across nations, killers trained to erase legends. Yet here, in this cursed place, they looked less like predators and more like prey cornered by something unnatural.
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The first wave of skeletons crashed against the assassins.
Clang!
Shrkk!
Boom!
Steel met bone, flames burst upon contact, and snow turned into boiling water. An assassin's curved blade sliced a skeleton's neck clean through, the skull rolling into the snow. For a heartbeat, relief glimmered—then horror followed.
The fallen skull rolled back toward the skeleton's feet, fire sparking from the sockets. With a sickening crack, the bones knit together, reattaching. The skeleton rose, flames brighter than before, and stabbed its halberd through the assassin's chest.
"AAARGHH!" Blood sprayed across the snow, red against white, before being burned black.
Another assassin shouted in panic, "They don't die! Even if you break them apart, they fix themselves!"
"Keep slashing! Burn them with poison—!"
His words cut short as flaming claws tore through his throat, ripping it open in one brutal motion. His body fell twitching, snow drinking his lifeblood.
The army of skeletons showed no hesitation, no mercy. They fought with primal savagery, tearing limbs from bodies, smashing skulls into pulp, hurling torn torsos at their still-living comrades. The snow was no longer white; it turned crimson, steaming as flames consumed everything.
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Fear Grows
"W-We're Ati-Rathis…! How can this be?!" one assassin gasped, his voice cracking. His blade trembled in his grip as skeletons advanced.
A woman beside him screamed back, "Shut up and fight! Do you want to die whining?" She spun, daggers flashing, severing three skeletal arms. Yet within seconds, the bones reformed, flames welding them whole.
Another assassin—his mask torn, face bloodied—staggered back and shouted to the group, "Ten hideouts! In just two months, these monsters have wiped out ten of our bases in the Himalaya Nation! If we fall here, the League will—"
"The League!" a man cut him off bitterly, parrying a fiery halberd. His arm shook under the impact. "Where are the higher-ups now, huh? Where's their protection? They left us to rot!"
A skeleton lunged, biting into his shoulder like a rabid beast. With a crunch, half his torso was torn away. His scream echoed only for a second before flames swallowed him whole.
"NOO!" another assassin cried, before rage twisted his voice. "Damn it! Even hundreds of Ati-Rathis together can't stop them! What the hell are these things?!"
"They're not soldiers… they're demons!"
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Snow churned beneath the carnage. Severed arms twitched, intestines spilled across the ground, and blood froze into crimson shards before flames melted it back into black ash.
Skeletons ripped heads from bodies and hurled them like stones. Others skewered assassins in groups of three or four, lifting them high before snapping their spines with a single jerk. One flaming soldier plunged both hands into an assassin's stomach, tearing out organs and flinging them into the snow like garbage.
Some assassins broke rank and fled.
"Retreat! We can't win this!"
"No! Hold the line, damn you! If the castle falls—"
But their words drowned in screams as skeletons chased the deserters, dragging them back, tearing their legs to stumps so they could not run again. Snowflakes fell gently on mutilated bodies, sticking to blood-stained skin before sizzling away under the heat of fire.
"They'll kill us all…" one assassin whispered, trembling, sword slipping from his grip. "This isn't a battle—it's a massacre."
His comrade snarled, grabbing his collar. "Shut your mouth! You think fear will save you? Fight, damn it! FIGHT!"
"But… but they don't die!"
"We'll make them die!" the comrade spat, though even his eyes betrayed despair.
Another assassin, panting, hissed, "This is punishment… punishment for our sins. The League is cursed."
Someone else yelled through bloodied lips, "Curse or not, we have to survive!"
And so they fought. Slashing, stabbing, poisoning—every strike bought only seconds before the skeletal army regenerated and pressed forward again.
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Nearing the Castle
The assassins had been driven back step by step, leaving behind a trail of corpses and steaming blood. Finally, the last survivors formed a trembling wall before the ancient, abandoned castle. Its black spires pierced the snowy sky, looming like a silent judge over the carnage.
The skeleton army marched closer, relentless, flames licking higher as though hungry for the castle's stones.
An assassin, bloodied and broken, whispered, "If this place falls, the League is finished. Why won't the higher-ups move? Why won't they—"
Before he could finish, a skeleton split him in half.
Another assassin shouted desperately, "Brothers, sisters, fight to the last breath! The League must endure!"
But their words carried no conviction anymore. Their arms shook, their eyes darted like trapped animals. The snow itself seemed to mourn for them, covering their blood only for flames to scorch it away.
Then it happened.
Just as the first line of skeletons reached the castle's frozen gates, a wave of force burst outward. It was not sound, not wind—it was destruction itself.
BOOOOOOM!
The shockwave blew apart snow, shattered bones, and extinguished flames in an instant. Hundreds of skeletons crumbled into heaps of blackened ash, their fire snuffed like dying candles. Even the surviving assassins were thrown to the ground, gasping for breath under the crushing pressure.
Silence fell. For the first time in hours, the battlefield stilled.
From within the castle, heavy footsteps echoed.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
And then, he emerged.
A massive figure stepped out of the shadowed gate. An old man, yes—but unlike any frail elder. His body was corded with muscle, thick as stone beneath mage-like armor that glimmered faintly with arcane patterns. A hood draped over his head, hiding most of his face, but his smile was unmistakable: wide, manic, trembling with delight.
In his hand, he held nothing. He needed nothing.
His presence alone bent the air, the snow twisting in strange spirals around him. The assassins who survived looked up in both terror and hope.
"L-Lord…?" one assassin whispered.
The old man raised his arms. The flaming skeletons froze mid-step.
And then—he laughed.
"Ahahahahaha! Beautiful!" His voice boomed across the snowy valley, rich and mad. "Flames born of death, hatred forged into bone… magnificent! But you do not deserve them."
He inhaled sharply. The flames flickering within the skeletons quivered, then tore free, streaming toward him in golden-red rivers. Screams—not human, but unnatural wails—echoed as each skeleton collapsed into dust.
The old man's body absorbed the fire, muscles swelling, veins burning gold beneath his skin. His laughter grew louder, unhinged.
"More! MORE! Feed me your cursed fire!"
One assassin dared whisper, trembling, "He's… enjoying it. Like a madman."
The old man licked his lips, eyes glowing beneath the hood. "Ahhh… yes. This warmth… this agony… this power. I will remake this snow-covered world into ash."
The battlefield that had moments ago been drowned in death was silent again, but no one felt relief. For though the skeleton army was gone, something far worse now stood in its place.
The old man spread his arms wide, flames coiling around him like a god of madness.
"Let the League rise," he roared, "for I have returned!"
Snow fell still, but every flake that touched him burned away.
And so began a new battle.