The President of the United States walked steadily through a long, crumbling corridor.
The walls were split with cracks, cables hung from the shattered ceiling, and the rumble of distant explosions reminded him that the war was far from over.
Each of his footsteps echoed between the ruins of history — as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the decision of mankind's final leader.
Today, he was not merely a president.
He was the last symbol of humanity's hope.
And at the end of that corridor, waiting beyond the smoke and ruin, was a being not of this world —
The Ancient One, king of all mythical creatures.
Amid the wreckage of what was once the United Nations headquarters — now only a shadow of its former glory —
two civilizations that had nearly destroyed each other would sit face to face.
Not to wage war, but to decide whether peace was still possible.
Project Helios, humanity's grand dream to conquer infinite energy, had wounded the cosmos itself.
The veil separating the human realm from the mythical was torn apart — and chaos followed.
To the mythical beings, it was an assault upon their sacred lands.
To mankind, their arrival was an unprovoked invasion.
Both sides believed they were the victims.
And so the blond-haired man stood there —
his hair neatly combed despite the ash and dust clinging to his suit.
His face bore the wrinkles of time and burden, yet his eyes still burned with the same resolve that once led him to promise protection for his people.
For several minutes he walked in silence, until from behind the haze of smoke and flickering torchlight emerged a towering figure —
a Minotaur, half-man and half-bull, its massive frame covered in the grime of battle.
A gigantic axe hung from its hand, still dripping with dried blood, each step shaking the cracked concrete beneath its hooves.
The President's guards instantly raised their weapons, ready to fire.
But the President lifted a hand — calm yet commanding.
"Stand down," he said, his voice steady and firm.
The tone carried authority that could not be challenged.
The Minotaur stared for a long while, as if judging whether this man could be trusted.
Then, slowly, it lowered its head and turned aside, granting passage.
The President walked past without fear.
Ahead, beyond a great fractured stone door, a faint violet glow seeped through —
the place where The Ancient One waited, and where the fate of two worlds would be decided.
The stone doors creaked open, the heavy groan echoing through the hall.
Soft violet light spilled through the cracks, illuminating the President's face as he stood at the threshold of history.
He stepped forward, his footsteps ringing across what was once the grand assembly hall of the United Nations —
a place that once upheld peace, now reborn as the battleground of diplomacy between two wounded worlds.
Faded flags of nations hung torn and dust-covered.
The marble floor was split by deep fractures, scars of a planet that had yet to heal.
At the center stood a black stone throne, carved with ancient symbols that faintly pulsed with light.
And upon it — The Ancient One.
He was myth made flesh: a towering, muscular humanoid with the head of a great eagle,
a golden beak gleaming under violet light.
From his back spread mighty wings, feathers shimmering in hues of dawn — gold, silver, and crimson.
Across his chest lay an ornate golden cuirass, etched with symbols of the sun and lightning, glowing faintly as though containing unmeasured power.
His hands ended in talons, each claw glimmering with divine energy, arcs of blue lightning dancing between his fingers.
Even his feet — avian and colossal — cracked the stone floor with each subtle movement.
The aura surrounding him was not merely power, but divinity itself,
as if every feather carried a fragment of the laws that governed existence.
His eyes — twin orbs of molten gold — stared directly at the President,
piercing through the layers of soul and history behind that mortal gaze.
Beneath him stood his kin: ranks of elves armed with bows and spears,
drakes coiled around shattered pillars, and bat-winged spirits gliding silently through the air.
All stood still, awaiting their king's word.
The President advanced, breathing slow yet steady.
His suit was torn and dusty, his face weary, but his eyes never wavered.
"Your Majesty, The Ancient One," he said, his voice echoing through the hall,
"I come not with weapons, nor with hatred. I come bearing hope — the last hope we have left."
The Ancient One's gaze held him for a long moment.
Then came his voice — deep, resonant, like thunder whispering through ancient skies.
"Hope?" he said slowly, his beak moving with deliberate grace.
"That word sounds beautiful in the mouths of men.
And yet, every time you speak it… our lands drown in blood."
The President did not falter.
"If hope is a sin," he answered, "then let me sin — for the sake of my people."
A faint smile, half amusement and half scorn, appeared on the lips of an elf commander standing nearby.
"Brave," he said. "As humans always are. But tell me… what can you offer to a world you've already torn apart?"
The President met his gaze, his voice steady but sharp.
"Redemption," he said. "Project Helios was our mistake — but also proof that mankind can create miracles.
We can fix what we've broken. But we cannot do it alone."
The elf's eyes glimmered. "And if we refuse?"
Without hesitation, the President replied,
"Then let power decide who deserves to survive.
But if you believe every life — human, dragon, or spirit — has the right to exist beneath the same sky,
then let us prove it without annihilating one another."
Silence swallowed the hall.
Ash, dust, and time seemed to pause around them.
Then, slowly, The Ancient One raised one taloned hand.
From the air, a massive circle of light materialized, inscribed with glowing ancient runes.
"I have considered a challenge," he said, his voice shaking the air.
"A series of battles that will decide the fate of your kind.
One duel is not enough — for I know we would easily triumph.
So I grant you twelve chances.
Twelve battles. Twelve champions.
Magic against technology.
Spirit against steel."
His eyes blazed like suns.
"And let the fractured sky itself bear witness… to who is worthy of inheriting this world."
The President stood in silence, then nodded slowly.
"Twelve battles… twelve destinies," he said.
"So be it."
He met the gaze of the winged god before him.
"May God — and whatever gods still care — have mercy on us all."
A surge of golden light burst forth, the circle rising toward the heavens,
splitting the violet clouds above — marking the dawn of a new age.
Thunder roared across the horizon.
And for the first time in history, humans and legends prepared to fight —
not to destroy,
but to decide who would write the future of the world.