Chapter 1 – Night of Betrayal
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The battlefield stank of blood. The night sky, once clear, was choked by smoke and ash. Corpses of demons and men alike littered the scarred earth, their flesh already cooling beneath the pale light of the moon.
At the center of the carnage stood Altair, the hero of men, his body trembling yet unbroken. His once-pristine armor was shattered, streaked crimson. His sword—blade of countless victories—dripped with gore. He had fought through the endless tide, carved a path straight into the heart of the Demon King's army.
And then… silence.
A faint crunch of boots behind him. He turned, expecting allies. Instead, he saw Alice—the woman he had once trusted more than life itself—her golden hair shining beneath the moon, her blue eyes no longer warm, but cold as winter.
"Altair," she whispered. But her voice was empty.
Before he could answer, light gathered in her hand. A lance of searing magic burst forward, piercing his chest.
"—!" His breath choked, blood bubbling from his lips. His knees buckled, his vision swam.
Alice's face twisted, not with sorrow, but with a cruel, satisfied smile.
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The sting of steel followed. From the trees stepped Luthien, the elf he had once called brother-in-arms, nocking a silver arrow to his bow.
"Forgive me," Luthien said softly, though his eyes showed no remorse. The arrow loosed, burying itself into Altair's shoulder.
A harsh laugh rang out next—Thror, the dwarf smith, hefting a massive warhammer. "Should've known better than to trust a human," he sneered before the hammer struck, shattering Altair's helm and sending him sprawling into the dirt.
Heavy footsteps thundered. Mugnash, the orc warlord, raised his greataxe high. "You are strong, human," he growled, "but strength alone cannot rule." The axe descended, carving deep into Altair's side.
And finally, in the shadows, claws gleamed. Cheka, the beastman scout, once his closest friend, slashed across his throat. Blood sprayed, painting the grass red.
Altair collapsed, his body broken, his vision darkening. Above him, five silhouettes loomed—the comrades he had trusted, the ones who had sworn oaths at his side.
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"Why…?" His voice rasped, barely audible, drowned by the rush of blood in his ears. "Alice… Luthien… all of you…"
Alice crouched, brushing her hand against his cheek. For a moment, her touch was gentle, almost tender. Then she whispered, "Because you were too perfect. Too strong. Too dangerous. The world cannot have a hero who stands above all."
Her words sliced deeper than any blade.
Altair's vision blurred. Tears mixed with blood on his face. He remembered the battles they had fought together, the nights they had shared laughter and pain, the promises they had sworn. All shattered.
The weight of betrayal crushed him more than the wounds. He had not been defeated by demons. He had been slain by those he loved.
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Darkness crept in at the edges of his sight. His body was failing, his strength spent. But deep in his chest, a fire raged brighter than ever.
If this is death… let it come. But if fate dares to give me another chance… I will not waste it.
His fingers curled weakly into the blood-soaked earth. His voice was hoarse, yet filled with venom.
"I swear… if I live again… I will make you all suffer. Alice. Luthien. Thror. Mugnash. Cheka. I will tear down everything you love. I will drown the world in blood until your betrayal is repaid a thousandfold."
The words clawed from his throat, carried on the night wind.
The betrayers turned their backs, walking away, leaving him to bleed alone among corpses.
Altair's breath rattled. His heart slowed. The stars above blurred, then vanished.
In that moment, the hero of men died.
But in the silence between heartbeats, the world trembled—
for vengeance does not die so easily.
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