The sky above the final, desolate floor of Tartarus wept a rain of ash and red rust-colored water. It was a miserable drizzle that rained on the armor of the fallen and mingled with the black ichor pooling in the war-torn mud across the battlefield. Jagged, mountainous peaks rose above the eerie, crimson clouds, silent witnesses to a three-hundred-year war reaching its bloody end.
From his vantage point between jagged rocks, Commander Rohan von Abendroth watched the chaos unfold, and his soul wept with it. Every soldier lost was a name he had memorized, a person he had sworn to protect. Every desperate cheer was a painful reminder of the hope he was forced to spend like currency. This was the curse of his Mana Pact: a mind that saw the brutal, unforgiving path of victory, and a heart that was forced to bear the weight of its every calculation.
"Commander!" a panicked voice crackled through his communication mana artifact. "The Western flank is collapsing! A Demon Behemoth broke through—it's tearing the shield wall apart!"
Rohan's gaze snapped to the west. He saw it: a hulking, demonic gorilla-like beast with stone-like hide, swatting soldiers aside like dolls, their bodies skidding across the mud. His mind, a cold and traitorous machine, presented the optimal solution. The Supporting infantry will act as bait to draw its attention and halt its movements, while the mages prepare a counter spell. It was a suicide plan at best, but he had no choice.
"Infantry Rose," his voice was steady, a mask of command over a sea of turmoil. "Captain Iris. You are to engage the Behemoth. Your objective is to cripple its legs. You are the vanguard."
"Commander, we're a light infantry unit! We don't have the firepower!" came the strained reply from the scarred captain.
"You have speed, and my faith," Rohan countered, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "Draw its attention. Force it to turn. You have sixty seconds," To a second channel, he commanded, "Mage Company Scythe, begin charging the 'Balefire Lance.' Target the Behemoth's neck. A sixty-second charge."
The battlefield became a stage for his brain. The brave soldiers of Infantry Rose, armed with little more than short swords and courage, charged the monster. They were a flurry of desperate movement, weaving between the Behemoth's thunderous stomps, their blades scraping uselessly against its stone-like hide, but succeeding in their true purpose: they made it turn its back to the mages. It was a beautiful, suicidal dance. Rohan watched for sixty agonizing seconds, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed his fists.
"CAPTAIN EVAA," he shouted on his communication mana artifact to the Mage leader. "FIREEE!!!"
A beam of pure, white-hot energy, as thick as a tree trunk, shot across the battlefield and struck the Behemoth's exposed neck. The beast let out a silent, world-shaking roar as its head was vaporized. The soldiers of Infantry Rose, battered and broken but miraculously mostly alive, stared in shock, their impossible mission a success.
But there was no time for relief. As the Behemoth's corpse fell, the true generals of the horde emerged from the gate portal, their presence a wave of pure dread that washed over the battlefield.
The three Archons.
The first, the Archon of Ruin, was a towering, skeletal figure wreathed in black and purple energy, its form reminiscent of a lich. Red, glowing sigils pulsed on its jet-black, armored carapace, and its eyeless skull radiated pure necrotic power.
The second, the Archon of Growth, was a verdant, muscular giant, seemingly carved from green, living stone like the central figure. It sat upon a crude throne of moving roots and vines that churned the very ground around it.
The third, the Archon of Annihilation, was a vision of pure, terrifying power, and appearance of a death knight. It was clad in jagged, lightning-wreathed black armor, its form flickering with incandescent blue flame, its aura a chaotic storm of destructive energy.
"Gods above," Sir Kaelen breathed, appearing at Rohan's side. "Three of them. Each one is a fortress-class threat."
"Then we destroy three fortresses," Rohan said, his voice a low, dangerous hum. The commander's mask was back in place. The time for grief was over. "This is it, Kaelen. The final push. We take them down, one by one. The board is set."
"It's a necromancer," Rohan identified instantly, watching as the Archon of Ruin raised its skeletal hands. The thousands of corpses on the battlefield began to stir, their dead eyes glowing with a malevolent red light. "It's trying to turn our own dead against us! Mages, prepare purification spells! Priests, consecrate the ground! Do not let it build an army!"
He turned to his friend. "Kaelen. It's a caster. Its physical defenses will be its weak point. I'll create a path for you. You will be the tip of the spear."
What followed was a grueling, twenty-minute battle of attrition. Rohan directed the Mage companies in a complex counter-spell ballet, their holy light clashing with the Archon's waves of necrotic energy. He sent in the Knights not to attack the Archon directly, but to carve a path through the rising tide of the undead.
"Sir Gareth, your Iron Guard will form the wedge! I don't care what it costs, I want a clear line of sight to the Archon in three minutes!"
Finally, the moment came. "Kaelen, now! Go!"
Kaelen shot across the field, a silver comet of pure Qi. He moved like a phantom, his greatsword a blur of silver light, shattering skeletal warriors and wraiths alike. He reached the Archon and engaged it in a ferocious duel, its necrotic touch clashing against his radiant Qi. After a desperate struggle that left Kaelen wounded and panting, he managed to plunge his greatsword through the Archon's chest, shattering its core in a blast of red and black light.
One down. The army let out a ragged, triumphant cheer.
Before they could regroup, the ground itself began to tremble. The Archon of Growth, a being of terrifying life force, slammed its stony fists into the mud. Massive, thorny vines erupted from the ground, ensnaring soldiers, crushing artillery, and healing the lesser monsters.
"It's a support unit and a living fortress!" Kaelen yelled into the comms, already moving to intercept it. "My blade can't cut through those vines fast enough!"
"You won't have to," Rohan's voice replied, calm and calculating. "We don't break the walls. We burn the roots. Axe-wielders! Berserker units! I want you to focus on severing the vines at their base! Ignore the main body! Mages, switch to fire magic! Burn the ground! Leave it nothing to grow from!"
This battle was not a duel, but a siege. Rohan directed his forces with the precision of a woodsman, systematically chopping and burning the Archon's seemingly endless supply of defenses. It was a slow, agonizing process. For every vine they burned, two more grew. Men were caught, crushed, and pulled beneath the earth. It was a thirty-minute descent into a hell of thorns and crushing pressure. Finally, with its source of power scorched and severed, the Archon of Growth was left vulnerable. Kaelen, leading a charge of the remaining Knights, shattered its stone-like body into a thousand pieces.
Two down. The cost had been immense. The army was broken, exhausted, but a wild, desperate hope burned in their eyes.
Only one remained. The Archon of Annihilation, a being of pure, chaotic power, seemed to feed on the destruction around it. It raised its hands, and the sky crackled with black and blue lightning.
"This is it," Rohan whispered. "Our final move." He looked at Kaelen. "The feint. It's all on you."
As the last Archon unleashed a storm of raw power, Rohan threw the last of his forces into a grand formation. And Kaelen, the final, perfect sword, shot towards his target.
It was only as Kaelen stood over the wounded, final Archon, that the Sovereign appeared.
Ethereal and alien, with long, silver moonlight hair, its body was clad in intricate, white biomechanical armor that pulsed with a soft, pinkish-purple light; it descended. Its glowing, crimson eyes held not malice, but an expression of profound, intellectual boredom.
Rohan's mind, his greatest asset, delivered its final, soul-crushing verdict. The easy victory over the first Archon. The grueling but successful siege of the second. The perfect opening on the third. It wasn't their victory. It was a test. A game.
"KAELEN…" the warning was a choked, desperate sound. "RETREAT!, IT'S TOO POWERFUL!!!"
But the Sovereign simply raised a hand. Glowing pink circuits spread across the ground, forming an impossible, perfect cage of energy that snuffed out Kaelen's brilliant silver Qi. Erasing him from existence.
The Sovereign's gaze lifted, meeting Rohan's across the valley of the dead. It gave a subtle shake of its head, a gesture of disappointment. Then, it gestured. The Gate pulsed. A beam of pure, annihilating energy shot forth.
As the light came to unmake him, Rohan's last thought was of the names of every ally he had sacrificed and couldn't protect. He had played the game perfectly, but it was the wrong game entirely. He had been neither smart enough nor strong enough. The war was over...and they had lost.