Time was no longer measured by the turning of seasons, but by the mounting tally of sacrificed lives and the smoldering ruins of Church outposts leveled to the ground. Two years had passed since the blood oath in that hidden cave, and the name Erebus had evolved from an obscure fugitive into a specter that haunted every prayer of the priesthood. He was no longer a mere youth in flight; he had transformed into a symbol—a black tempest sweeping across lands once deemed inviolable.
Erebus stood atop a crude wooden platform in a secret military camp, tucked deep within the Mist Valley, a northern territory that Church patrols never dared to enter due to its lethal terrain. Before him stretched a sea of humanity that seemed endless. Twelve thousand pairs of eyes gazed up at him with an intensity bordering on religious fanaticism. However, they did not worship a god. They worshipped the man who promised death to the gods.
This army was a congregation of the forsaken. There were fathers who had watched their children dragged into sky-portals, mothers whose backs were shattered by whips in the temple gold mines, and former knights who had discarded their sacred vows after witnessing the hypocrisy behind the white robes of the clergy.
"The world brands us as blasphemers!" Erebus's voice thundered, slicing through the damp silence of the valley. His voice now carried an authority born from a hundred battles. "They claim we are filth attempting to defy the will of the heavens! But ask yourselves... where were those gods when your villages burned? Where was their mercy when your children wept for pity beneath the swords of light?"
A haunting silence enveloped the mass of people, before a single cry shattered the air, followed by the roar of thousands hungering for retribution.
Vane, now Erebus's right hand, stood beside him. His once-shining silver armor had been replaced by pitch-black steel, scarred and caked with dried blood that could no longer be washed away. On the other side stood Sora, calm yet vigilant, her sharp eyes scanning the mountain ridges. She now led the Shadow-Stalkers, an elite archer unit one thousand strong, capable of erasing a battalion before the enemy could even spot their shadows.
"The message has reached the Southern and Western territories, Commander," Vane whispered. "Every day, hundreds flee the Church-controlled cities to find us. They no longer fear the priests' curses. They fear more that they will not be here when the heavens fall."
Erebus's reputation had reached a level both legendary and terrifying. Across the continent, from prosperous port cities to the most remote hamlets, bounty posters of him were plastered on every cathedral wall and town square.
SUPREMACY OF THE HOLY CHURCH PROCLAMATION
PRIMARY TARGET: EREBUS, THE BRINGER OF APOCALYPSE
STATUS: CURSED (ALIVE OR DEAD)
BOUNTY: 5,000,000 GOLD COINS, THE TITLE OF ARCH-DUKE, AND ETERNAL ABSOLUTION OF SINS
The reward of 5,000,000 gold coins was an unfathomable sum—enough to fund a kingdom's war for a decade. It made him the most expensive fugitive in human history. The world's deadliest bounty hunters, shadow assassins, and continental mercenaries began to stir, seeking his head. Yet, every group that attempted to breach Erebus's territory ended only as a row of heads mounted on pikes along the entrance to Mist Valley as a grim warning.
Erebus himself had changed drastically. He no longer wielded his father's rusted dagger in battle; that weapon was now kept close to his heart as a reminder. Slung across his back was a colossal greatsword named "The God-Eater," a weapon he had seized from a high-ranking Divine Envoy General whom he had decapitated in a lowland skirmish a year ago. The blade possessed a dark aura that seemed to swallow the surrounding light, much like its master.
"Final numbers report, Commander," Sora approached, handing over a parchment scroll made of animal hide. "Over the last two days, refugees from the Eastern Kingdom have arrived. After rigorous screening, we now have 12,000 combat-ready troops, fully trained. The logistics gathered from last week's raid on the Church granaries are enough to sustain us for the next six months."
Twelve thousand soldiers. This was no longer a band of rebels; this was a liberation army.
Erebus walked to the edge of the platform, looking over the sea of people once more. He remembered Kael's severed head, the lost smiles of Lina and Mila, and his mother's screams. Once, he had only wanted to kill one man. Now, he carried the weight of twelve thousand identical vendettas.
"We will not hide in the mist forever," Erebus said to Vane and Sora, his voice low but carrying an unshakable resolve. "The Church thinks they are safe behind their marble walls. They think the price on my head will make me tremble. They are wrong."
Erebus pointed toward a massive map spread across the strategy table. His finger landed on Fortress Aegis, the primary gateway to the central territories of the Holy Church. That fortress had been deemed impenetrable for a thousand years.
"If they have set a price for my head, then I shall set a price for their thrones," Erebus continued. "Starting tomorrow, we move. We will prove to the entire continent that gods can bleed, and they can die."
Erebus's strategy was calculated. Over these two years, he had not relied solely on brute force. He had divided his forces into specialized divisions: heavy infantry under Vane's command to break the front lines, Sora's archer units for long-range support, and an intelligence division disguised within enemy cities to spread propaganda and doubt among the civilians.
Erebus understood that to defeat the gods, he had to destroy their foundation: faith. With every victory he claimed, the people's faith in the 15 gods began to fracture. People started to ask: If the gods are all-powerful, why can they not stop a single man in black?
That night, the camp was filled with the sound of whetstones against blades and dark prayers for victory. Erebus sat alone outside his tent, staring at the pale moon. He traced his fingers over the charred flower crown that had belonged to Lina, which he still kept.
"Soon," he whispered to the night wind.
The next morning, as dawn barely began to break, the twelve thousand troops began to march. The vibration of their footsteps was felt in the nearest towns. Dust kicked up high into the sky, blotting out the sunlight as if dark clouds were gathering toward the heart of civilization.
The entire continent held its breath. Kings in their palaces began to tremble, priests in their cathedrals began to break into cold sweats, and the gods in the heavens—for the first time in eternity—felt something foreign within their chests.
Fear.
The war against the heavens had officially begun, and the name Erebus would be carved into history as the man who brought the apocalypse to paradise.