The world burned.
A wall of molten light cut across the plains as Earl Moonstone's spear struck the earth. Fire roared out in a sweeping arc, igniting everything in its path. The ground turned to glass beneath the heat, and soldiers on both sides shielded their eyes from the blinding flare.
Across the blazing field, Earl Simon of Infris stood unmoved. His heavy armor shimmered with the dull hue of granite, and cracks of amber light crawled across his skin. The ground beneath his feet rippled as he extended his arm, and the earth itself rose to meet his will.
"Stone Bastion!" he roared.
A colossal wall of jagged rock erupted upward, absorbing the flames before shattering under their force. The explosion that followed was deafening—flame and stone colliding in a tempest that sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield.
Soldiers were thrown off their feet. The skies were veiled in smoke.
Moonstone grinned through the inferno, his red eyes reflecting the chaos. "You always did hide behind your walls, Simon!"
Simon's voice answered from within the smoke, calm yet thundering.
"And you always mistook recklessness for courage."
The two Monarchs burst from the haze at once—one wreathed in fire, the other cloaked in molten earth. Their auras collided mid-air, creating a vortex that drew even the elements themselves toward them. Bolts of magma and flame interlaced in a furious storm.
Each strike carried the force of collapsing mountains.
Moonstone spun his spear, flames gathering into its tip until it resembled a miniature sun. "Crimson Eclipse!"
He hurled it forward. The spear tore through the air like divine judgment.
Simon responded instantly—his hands slammed into the earth, summoning towering stone arms that reached upward to crush the oncoming blaze.
But the fire broke through, melting the constructs into slag before bursting against Simon's barrier in an explosion of blinding light.
The shockwave rippled across miles.
Soldiers stumbled, their clashes momentarily halted as they looked up at the sky—where two titans battled, their powers rewriting the weather itself.
Rain turned to steam before touching the ground. Lightning arced through the clouds, drawn by the sheer energy released.
Among the Voltaire ranks, Duke Viron's voice thundered, commanding formations to reform. "Hold the line! Let the Monarchs battle—we secure the plains!"
On the opposing side, Infris commanders rallied their men. Archers released volleys of enchanted arrows, only for Voltaire's wind mages to conjure cyclones that sent them spiraling back.
Fireballs exploded among charging cavalry; the earth quaked as siege golems marched through craters.
It was no longer merely a battle.
It was war incarnate.
Back in the sky, Simon emerged from the smoke, his armor cracked but his gaze steady.
He extended both hands, the air around him shimmering with orange light. "Enough playing with sparks."
The ground beneath Moonstone cracked. Dozens—no, hundreds—of stone spears erupted upward, each one carrying a trace of Simon's elemental will.
Moonstone countered with a sweep of his arm—his flame spread outward like a burning ocean, melting the projectiles mid-flight.
But Simon wasn't finished.
"Earthbreaker Surge!"
The very terrain convulsed. Massive chunks of land rose and crashed down, scattering Voltaire soldiers and crushing siege lines. Moonstone gritted his teeth, diving downward as flames wrapped around him.
"Infernal Spiral!"
He descended like a comet, his spear cutting through the quaking earth. Fire devoured stone in an instant, carving a molten scar across the plains.
Simon blocked with crossed arms, his aura flaring—but the impact sent him flying backward, his armor glowing red from the heat.
He landed hard, carving a crater with his boots. Steam hissed from his armor, but he only laughed under his breath. "You've grown stronger, Moonstone."
"And you," Moonstone said, lowering his spear, his body flickering with heat haze, "still underestimate fire."
They stood facing each other across the smoldering wasteland—two Monarchs, each representing an empire's will.
Behind them, the armies continued their clash, the sky echoing with roars and battle cries.
The outcome of the Monarchs' duel would decide the tide.
For now, though, neither yielded.
Each burned brighter, each strike shaking the horizon itself.
And far beyond the chaos, on a ridge overlooking the war, Grand General Lythor silently unsheathed his greatsword.
He could feel it—the stirrings of higher powers joining the fray.
The true storm had yet to arrive.
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