The cathedral was cold.
Its roof had caved in long ago, leaving broken beams and shattered stained glass glittering like frozen tears in the moonlight. Wind creaked through the broken walls, carrying the cries of monsters gathering from a distance.
At the center of the cathedral stood Morie Kahl. He was a scrawny man but hid under a wolf's pelt; he wore a crown dented by years of war. In his hands, he held two of the most important things in his life.
Two sketches.
One seemed flawless, his family's portrait from before The Fall. Gold and jewels, golden smiles that seemed so real. They had sent him off to "safety" when the world fell into despair. A discarded son. No more than a pawn in his parents' eyes. News of their deaths had come years later. No tears had followed.
The other was poorly drawn and smudged, his companions drawn with little effort for perfection. Soldiers and villagers huddled around a small fire, laughing, singing together. They would wrap arms around each other as if they were saying: you belong. They had starved with him, bled with him, followed him not for a crown, but for camaraderie. Like a big family that wanted to protect one another.
Morie bent down, set the first portrait on the stone floor, and struck flint. The flames curled the parchment, smoke trailing upwards like a pathetic ghost of his childhood. He gently slid the second sketch back into his armor, close to his heart.
"Hope you're happy... mom," he muttered, his voice raspy from years of screaming.
A horn sounded in the far distance. The final battle had finally come.
-2 Hours Later-
The fortress gates seemed like they were about to break, iron and timber reinforced with bones of beasts. Torn banners flapped in the wind, hoping to raise morale. The wind felt icy cold, the snow was painted crimson with dried blood. Beyond the walls, the land was crawling with movement. Shadows within the winter storm. Monsters moved like a living tide, eyes glowing red with bloodlust.
Morie walked through the group of soldiers, cane crunching against the snow. Soldiers parted for him. Thousands stood ready for war, armor battered, spears shaking in white-knuckled grips. No artillery. No cavalry. Only steel, magic, and a desperation to live.
Morie raised his hand. Silence fell.
"This," he said, his voice booming in the cold wind, "is the last battle."
He looked at the men and women ready to sacrifice themselves for the good of humanity. "You know what waits if we fall. Your fields, your homes, your children's laughter. All will be devoured. There will be no tomorrow if we falter."
He raised his head high, torchlight glaring off his crown. "But if we win..." He said with a gentle but cold smile. "...we take back the board itself."
He grabbed his cane and thrust it skyward. Frost runes flared bright on his cane. "Fight like them. Fight like demons. Spill their blood like it's water. And when you see me..." He lowered his cane and gave a serious expression. "...don't see a king. See a man who wants to see another day. A man who refuses to die!"
The soldiers roared in pride. For but a moment, fury drowned out the fear.
-1 Hour Later | The Command Tent-
The command tent glowed with lanterns, maps spread across an old oak table. Comrades gathered, some fixing their armor, others sharpening weapons.
Darius, a big and scarred man, glanced up from his broadsword. "If we live, Majesty, I'm taking your throne. It's too heavy a burden for one man."
Laughter rippled, everyone seemed nervous.
"Be my guest," Morie said, not amused by Darius's jokes. "If you live through this."
The humor faded. Silence.
"No matter what happens," Morie said with a gentle expression, "you survive."
A young knight was about to protest, but his stare silenced him.
If I fall, you run. If you can't run, crawl. If you can't crawl, hide. Even if you bury yourself beneath the dead. You live. One man dying for humanity is enough." His hand brushed the sketch at his chest. "Don't waste my sacrifice."
No one argued. They all understood, but they didn't want to do that.
-5 Hours Later | The Last Battle-
The gates groaned open.
Soldiers clad in steel poured into the snow-dusted plains. Monsters swiftly rolled in like a tide of claws and teeth. The ground trembled as the monsters got closer. Spears pierced scaled hides. Armies clashed against claws. Wolves with antlers impaled some. Winged beasts blocked out the moon. Demons ripped soldiers in half with claws that could destroy stone.
Morie moved through the chaotic battlefield, he summoned a shard of ice in the dark. Walls of ice erupted as he commanded, trapping, crushing, destroying the monsters. They finally had a chance against the monsters. His battered crown caught firelight, acting almost like a beacon rallying his army forward.
"Push!" he commanded over the storm of screaming soldiers and shrieks from dead abominations. "Don't give them ground!"
Every step pushed the horde back, every order cost a life. The battlefield was his board. Tonight humanity would take their biggest step against the demons.
From the horde's deepest parts, a giant titan around 15 feet tall raised a charred spear. Four arms bent backward, the weapon jolted forward with monstrous force.
Morie turned, but it was too late.
The spear had slammed into his side. The spear had just barely penetrated one of his lungs. The world spun. His body clattered into the snow. His crown slipped, the snow stained red.
"Morie!"
Rough hands caught him. Faces blurred above him, his companions rushed to his aid. Warriors reduced to terrified souls clinging to a dead man.
"We're holding!" someone cried desperately to gain morale. "Just hold, keep pushing!"
Blood bubbled from his lips. He smiled faintly, pride masking his pain. "I thought I'd outlast another winter," he groaned. "Maybe... I was wrong."
A woman grasped his hands, tears hot on his frozen face. "No. You're not leaving us yet!"
His fingers found the sketch under his cloak. It slipped free, drifting to the snow. The faces laughing in firelight, untouched by the cruelty of war.
"Not... the man you think I was," Morie whispered, tears flowing on his cheeks.
For but a moment, his facade had cracked. His comrades saw not a king or a savior, but a man. A man who was afraid.
Lonely.
"I'm scared," he admitted, voice breaking. "I don't like the cold."
They gripped his hands tighter, mumbling reassurance.
"Don't waste your sorrow," he coughed again, blood pooled in his mouth as he trembled. "You're better... than the shadow I leave."
The night swallowed his last breath. His grip slackened.
The King of Humanity had died.
But...
Morie gently opened his eyes.
He slowly leaned up and patted himself, he looked everywhere for injuries but there was nothing. Not even a scar on his body.
No battlefield. No blood. No pain. Only starlight stretching for an eternity. Shadows encircled a vast table of gold and stone. Seven figures sat in silence, their gazes seemed sharp and powerful.
"Well, well," a voice rumbled, the person sounded amused. "The mortal king arrives."
The figures smiled like predators.
They were...
Gods.