The sky burned with the colors of a beautiful sunset.
High above the clouds, a man clad in gleaming silver armor
and a flowing red cape marked with an arched sigil tore through
the air like a comet. A sword hung at his hip, lightning flashing
in his wake as he twisted and spun, dodging beams of shadowy
energy that screamed across the heavens like black lightning.
In a blink, he unsheathed his blade. One slash—clean,
deliberate—cut a beam in half. Its severed ends erupted across
the horizon in a thunderous blast that rippled through the
clouds.
Hovering opposite him was a figure cloaked in darkness and
menace—an ancient, skeletal man, his robes in tatters, his eyes
burning like coals. His smile oozed decay and triumph.
"You're too late," the old man rasped. "The ritual is complete.
The Devourer will walk this world once more. The seal is
broken. His spirit stirs—and soon, someone will bear his power.
He will be reborn. Calamity has already begun."
He threw back his head and laughed—a twisted, maniacal
cackle that echoed across the storm-torn sky.
"Master, the work is done!" he cried to the heavens.
The armored warrior's grip tightened on his blade. Lightning surged along his gauntlets as he floated in silence, teeth
clenched.
"You fool," he said, voice like steel. "Do you even know what
you've unleashed?"
He drew the sword to his side, energy building with every
breath. The air snapped.
"Second Form—Prism Break!"
A bolt of divine lightning cracked down from the heavens,
engulfing him. From within the blinding light, a spirit took
shape—a woman cloaked in clouds, her form raw, beautiful,
and celestial. She coiled around the warrior like a living storm.
"Let's finish this," she whispered.
The dark wizard raised his hands. A glowing circle of arcane
glyphs spun into existence behind him, tendrils of shadow
bleeding from his sleeves.
But it was too late.
The captain—unnamed by those who feared to speak it—
became a conduit for the sky itself. His sword blazed with
celestial fury as he surged forward in a radiant flash. Time
seemed to halt.
One strike.
A divine judgment.
The blow landed like the will of the heavens. A shockwave
tore through the sky and shook the world below. When the dust
cleared, the wizard lay broken in the rubble, coughing blood.
Rain began to pour. The storm had chosen its victor.
The lightning spirit faded into mist.
The old man gasped, blood pooling beneath him. "The day of
reckoning... will come," he croaked—and died with a smile.
Suddenly, a rift tore open behind the warrior, pulsing with
urgency. Another man stepped through, eyes wide.
"Captain! We have to move—now! The Star Kingdom's fleet
is approaching. They've broken formation—they're heading
straight for our lands!"
The captain turned sharply, gaze darkening. He ran for the
rift, his mind spinning.
We already launched the offensive. We shattered their barrier
lines. So why are they advancing now?
He burst from the rift into an open field outside the capital's
walls. Beyond the hills, a vast fleet approached like a tide of
iron.
"What's the next move?" the messenger asked, breathless.
The captain didn't hesitate. "Ready everyone. We stand here."
But even as he gave the command, a beam of pure energy
lanced down from the sky, streaking straight for the capital.
His eyes widened.
Without thinking, he leapt forward, sword raised. The
lightning within him surged as he absorbed the full force of the
blast.
"Captain!" the other man shouted.
"I'm fine!" he roared through gritted teeth. "Get the others—
now!"
And then the heavens answered.
A brilliant flash of lightning—divine, final—struck him from
above.
The world went white.
And then, silence...