The sky was blood-red, and the black clouds tinged with crimson heralded the end of the world. Like a reflective mirror, it revealed what was happening on the ground: torn bodies and scattered entrails, some cut by swords, some pierced by spears, and others turned into something resembling porcupines from the sheer number of arrows. The earth was stained with blood, interspersed with frozen pools from overfilling, and the air was thick with the scent of iron and blood. Corpses of different races and sizes lay scattered: humans, elves, dwarves, dragons, half-humans, orcs, goblins, vampires, werewolves, demons, and angels. The scene was a living inferno, a painting of horror pulsing with blood and burning heat.
The clash of swords against armor, the screams echoing everywhere, tore through the ears, while vibrations from explosive spells shook the bones. This scene was not limited to one place; it stretched across the horizon, across the entire continent, with the same scene repeating: endless fighting, torn flesh, the heavy smell of blood mingling with iron, gunpowder, and smoke, choking the breath, while the cries of children, women's screams, the groans of the elderly, and the desperate prayers of civilians vanished into the chaos of war.
Glowing colors erupted from magical spells, and burning combat spirits erupted from the bodies of knights, blazing like sparks igniting on the ground. The terrain itself changed; mountains crumbled, rivers and lakes dried up, forests ignited and turned to black ash, and charred corpses emitted a foul roasting stench.
Not just the terrain, but cities, kingdoms, and empires—some vanished from the face of the earth, others remained in ruins, and some barely held onto their last walls. The atmosphere itself quaked from the echo of war.
The entire land had become a massive meat grinder, where the forces of heaven, earth, hell, and the abyss clashed in a single battle. Everyone was killing everyone, and each side fought for its goal; some fought for good and life, others for destruction and evil, and the cries of torn souls echoed through the air.
But both factions felt the weight of their mission; this war had lasted more than ten years since it officially began, and now only the decisive confrontation remained: the heroes versus the Demon King.
The battle that would decide the war had begun, but it carried a dark surprise. This time, victory favored the dark side. The hero team suffered a crushing defeat, and some even chose to join the Demon King. Their leader himself fell, his head rolling across the blood-stained ground, amid the sharp scent of iron and burnt flesh.
When the last glimmer of hope faded, something strange occurred… those who had pledged allegiance to the Demon King from the start all fell with a single decisive blow, while the smell of dust and blood rose into the air.
It was not the Demon King who did this, nor any of his followers… but a human.
All eyes focused on this human. He wore black armor inscribed with runes, holding a long sword engraved with strange, terrifying characters. His long gray hair reached his neck, his face twisted in rage, marked with a scar over his left eye and another at the corner of his mouth. His eyes glowed purple. His aura rose to the sky, radiating a deadly heat that could be felt by anyone approaching.
The Demon King, watching this human, smiled a grim, horrific smile, his eyes flashing with anger at what had happened before him. The battle had pursued him, and though he cared little for them—they were mere insects who considered themselves heroes—he watched them die before him, which was an insult.
He looked at the human as he walked toward the hero's bowed head, lifted it before him. It was clear before death that he resisted dying, and he hadn't uttered a word of "surrender" before his demise.
Had the Demon King's sword hesitated to demand his surrender and loyalty, in the end, it was a selfish act; because of his decisions, things had reached this critical point.
A strange gleam appeared in his eyes, chilling the air.
"Truly, this is the result of your choices, Thask," a hoarse voice came from his mouth, cold, bitter, and mocking, vibrating in the throat, felt by all around.
He threw the head toward one of the heroines, a princess and the hero's fiancée. He didn't look at it, but stared at the Demon King and said:
"To all, fall back."
His voice spread across the battlefield, still hoarse but carrying an unyielding command, shaking the air with its force.
Though many did not want to obey, they retreated, but the demons were not rocks; they lunged, tearing through them, and the meat grinder began anew, blood flying and staining everything around.
But neither the Demon King nor this knight moved. They merely watched each other, their auras clashing, but the human did not falter, standing firm as the air around him vibrated with escalating power.
Suddenly, the Demon King spoke:
"I did not expect a human of this level… even that clown who calls himself a hero has not reached you."
His voice was calm, powerful, regal, and the air around him heavy with his presence. His long spiky red hair and terrifying red eyes, blood-red skin with black horns emerging from his head, and red-black armor, stood with his hands behind his back.
"It is an honor to be recognized by the Demon King, Antarès."
The tension between them was intense, their auras clashing with rising heat.
"Oh, a human, you know my name?"
"And does no one know you, the King of Destruction, Antarès?"
"Hahaha, yes. Well, tell me your name."
"Ares, my name is Ares."
"A fine name, you deserve the honor of fighting me."
Antarès thought of subduing Ares, but seeing his determination and will, he realized he could not; he wanted instead to enjoy breaking his resolve, the heat rising with tension.
"The honor is mine."
Though Ares was considered a hero, he knew he was not protected by fate. Those who put their lives in his hands would follow, and ultimately, the Demon King's intention was clear: this would be a fight to the death, using everything from the start.
His aura began rising rapidly, spreading around him, radiating deadly heat and the sharp scent of blood.
"Domain of Ashura."
He raised his sword and unleashed his domain, yet did not move. Instead, he took out a medicinal pill.
"The Millennium Pill."
It had the ability to heal even severed limbs, regenerate the aura, and greatly increase strength, though with the risk of paralyzing the user when its effect ended.
He swallowed it in one gulp, and his energy rose insanely, his domain expanding, the air around him charged with heavy energy.
"Raphael, do as I commanded."
In the sky, a circle of angels led by their commander began performing various enhancements, increasing his speed, strength, endurance, and holy power. His aura soared further, but his body could not endure much longer; the heat and pressure affected everyone nearby.
"The final step?"
"Forbidden Art: Black Star."
He quickly began chanting the spell, black runic letters forming around him, passing through his body. His strength rose immensely, but he also reached his limit. The air was thick with the smell of burnt iron and blood.
Antarès watched him, not intervening, though he could have easily stopped it. He simply wanted to see what he would do, yet was shocked. He quickly regained his composure; after all, this was just a small matter in his eyes.
"Are you ready to sacrifice your life to kill me and save them?"
His voice echoed across the battlefield, throughout the continent, shocking everyone who continued fighting instead of the heroes.
They began praying for his victory, and the soldiers returned the assault, the air filled with dust, blood, and fire.
"No, I am not sacrificing my life for anyone, but for myself."
"How?"
"Because I do not challenge you, but my fate, to prove to myself and everyone that, even if I am not the chosen hero, I deserve this and will take his place."
"Hahaha, intriguing. Then show me how you fight fate."
Ares took a deep breath, and behind him appeared a phantom figure of a man with four faces and eight arms, each holding a weapon, moving like living masses of blood.
This was the Ashura combat spirit. Combined with the Ashura domain, Ares became the strongest on the battlefield due to his unique trait: any being that fell within the Ashura domain would have its blood absorbed for healing and its soul for strengthening the combat spirit and aura, making Ares the ruler of war, with the ground trembling beneath his feet.
Ares charged at Antarès, and the fight began directly.
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