The Commander staggers back, his boots sink into the molten soil. The heat scalds the leather.
His breath comes in ragged bursts, a rasp of ash and smoke. His sword trembles faintly in his hand. Focus. Just one more second.
The Lava Giant does not relent.
Each step it takes shakes the entire earth. The forest that borders the burning plains groans under the force.
Trees ignite instantly, their roots burst into flame, and nearby rivers boil—a rising steam hisses as the creature advances.
The Commander raises his blade again, his aura flickering weakly across its edge.
He's no longer attacking—he is defending.
The tempo changes.
His eyes, sharp and cold, never leave the monstrous form.
He parries, sidesteps, and redirects the giant's blows—but each counter carries enough power to shatter mountains.
The air sizzles where the flames pass.
The clash pushes them deeper into the forest.
Once green and full of life, it now burns—a wasteland of embers, cracked rock, and broken trunks. The world is a forge.
Sparks rain from above, tasting of sulfur.
The intense heat distorts the air, making the giant's outline shimmer like a living mirage.
The Commander's boots slide against the ash-covered ground as he's driven back once more.
His shoulder bleeds, and his armor is cracked—a ragged, painful sound echoes in his ears.
The Lava Giant roars, a sound that rips the air.
Flames surge higher, consuming everything, yet the Commander stands.
The world trembles—
and then the scene fades into silence.
---
Back in the fortress—
beneath the same crimson sky—
a different kind of storm rages.
Monsters scream. Flesh tears.
And amidst that endless, chaotic slaughter, a single figure stands alone.
He moves like a shadow drenched in blood.
Each strike of his blade carves death through the chaos.
He kills, and kills, and kills—
until the ground itself can no longer drink the blood.
Around him rise mountains of corpses.
C-ranked beasts.
A few B-minus ranked monsters among them.
Individually, they are weak, pathetic.
But their numbers… are enough to drown an army.
And yet, he stands.
The last creature falls with a broken cry, cleaved clean in half.
Kael's katana slips from his grasp, clanging against the blood-soaked stone.
He staggers.
His knees buckle, hitting the earth. The coppery scent of fresh death is suffocating.
Both hands tremble, his fingers twitching from pain and exhaustion.
Hours of fighting.
No rest. No pause.
Only instinct.
Only death.
Blood covers every inch of his body, a second skin.
No one can tell whose it is anymore—his own, or the monsters he's slaughtered.
His vision sways.
For a moment, everything blurs, a dizzying sea of red and black.
His breath comes out ragged, his heart pounds in his ears, a frantic drumbeat demanding rest.
Then—
he shakes his head. Not yet.
The haze slowly clears. His thoughts steady.
Kael's eyes lift, scanning the field.
What once is a fortress courtyard is now unrecognizable—
a wasteland of mangled corpses, shattered stone, and drying, foul-smelling blood.
The smell of death is everywhere.
No knights in sight.
No movement.
Only silence.
The monsters have stopped coming.
The stampede is over.
Only a few stragglers remain somewhere deeper in the forest—
and the S-Rank beast the Commander is still fighting.
Kael grits his teeth and reaches for his katana.
His hand shakes as he grasps the hilt, the metal slick with gore.
When he tries to stand—his body screams in agony.
Every muscle aches, a throbbing protest.
Every breath burns.
But he forces himself up anyway.
Step by step, his trembling legs obey.
He stands tall again, though his body is moments away from collapsing.
He will not fall here.
He looks around one more time—
still no knights.
No movement.
Just death.
It seems he's fought so far, for so long,
that he's ended up completely separated from the others.
Alone.
Kael's eyes flick toward the horizon—
Smoke.
Thin at first, then thicker… a black plume rises from the direction of the fortress.
His chest tightens, a strange, heavy feeling twists deep inside him.
It is not fear—
It is dread.
A cold, hollow kind that makes his breath falter.
No… that's impossible.
It can't be.
The fortress cannot fall.
Those monsters—no matter their numbers—should not be able to break through walls that have stood for a thousand years.
But that cold feeling inside him… it grows stronger, a relentless, icy squeeze.
Without fully realizing it, his feet move.
Then faster.
Then faster still—until he is running, breath ragged, his heart hammers a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Move. Now.
He could reach it in minutes once—
But his body is weak now, drained and worn.
Every muscle screams in protest, and each step feels heavier than the last.
Crunch. Crack.
The hideous sound of shattered bones and twisted flesh echoes underfoot as he tramples over the corpses of fallen beasts.
Their remains break apart beneath his boots as he runs through the blood-drenched field.
And then—
He stops.
All color drains from his face.
His throat goes dry. He forgets how to breathe.
In front of him stands the fortress—
or what remains of it.
The great gate, once said to be unbreakable, is split open… torn apart as if by a god's enraged hand.
The mighty walls that had stood for generations are reduced to rubble, stones blackened and scorched.
Flames lick at the ruins, painting the night sky a sickly, violent red.
The fortress—his home, his cage, his burden—
is burning.
The smell hits him first, a physical blow.
Rot. Burnt flesh. Iron and ash tangle in the wind, a scent that chokes him.
Kael steps forward—slowly, almost unwillingly.
And then he sees them.
Bodies.
Everywhere.
The once-proud courtyard is now a massive, open graveyard.
Knights of the fortress—men he's trained beside, argued with, bled with—lie scattered, splayed in pieces.
Their silver armor is drenched crimson, dented and cracked open like fragile shells.
Monsters lie among them—some torn apart, others still twitching, jaws frozen mid-bite.
Severed arms, crushed helmets, torn wings.
The ground itself is painted dark with blood, so thick it gleams under the flickering firelight.
Kael's boots sink into it as he walks.
A knight's hand—human—clutches a monster's throat even in death.
Another body slumps nearby, its head missing, eyes gouged out, a tongue hangs from a gaping wound.
Half-eaten corpses lie twisted in the dirt, their faces frozen in silent screams.
Monsters have bitten through flesh and bone—but they too have been butchered, ripped apart by something stronger… something faster.
This is not a battle.
It is a slaughter.
A massacre where neither side wins—only dies.
Kael's breath trembles, shallow and weak.
His gaze drifts across the field—smoke, ash, and broken lives blend into one endless nightmare.
"This… can't be…"
His whisper is lost in the roar and crackle of the consuming flames.
A thought strikes him like lightning. A single, blinding word.
"Mia…"
Her name escapes his lips, barely a whisper, but it echoes louder in his chest than the fire's roar.
Kael's eyes dart across the sea of corpses—knights, monsters, faces he can no longer recognize.
His heart pounds, not with exhaustion, but panic, as he stumbles forward, scanning every lifeless body.
Please, not here.
But she is not there.
"She can't be here," he mutters, voice trembling, thick with dread. "She wouldn't be out here… she must be inside… safe… she has to be."
He clenches his fists, the sharp pain in his palms forcing the rising hysteria back down.
A memory flickers through the smoke—her smile, her voice, her soft laugh in the courtyard before the storm began.
And his promise.
I'll protect you.
No matter what.
That vow burns inside him now, hotter than the flames consuming the stone.
It is the only thing keeping him upright.
He starts running—through the broken gate, over charred remains and shattered stone.
He doesn't feel the pain of his muscles tearing.
His breath comes ragged, his vision blurs with unshed tears and smoke, but he does not stop.
"Please…" he mutters under his breath, a desperate prayer. Each step is heavier than the last, but he pushes through.
"Please be safe, Mia."?