The battlefield was a twisted hellscape, chaos consuming every inch of bloodstained ground.


    Fireballs rained from the sky, merciless and unrelenting, crashing into soldiers like the wrath of a vengeful god.


    The air reeked of charred flesh and molten steel as the unlucky ones were caught in the inferno, their armor fusing with their skin.


    Some dropped to their knees, clawing at the earth as if they could burrow away from the flames, their screams raw, desperate—pleas for salvation that would never come.


    Anne moved through the carnage, hands glowing with divine light, healing as fast as she could, but it was never enough.


    The fire came too quickly, too frequently.


    Soldiers she had just saved were torn apart by the next explosion, their agonized cries swallowed by the howling storm of battle.


    A man staggered past her, his eyes wide with terror, his entire left side scorched black.


    He reached out, his lips forming silent words—before another fireball consumed him, his body vanishing into the blinding flames.


    The horror was endless.


    And the source of this massacre remained unseen.


    Monsters couldn’t wield elemental magic.


    It was an iron law of nature.


    They could twist the dark arts, summon curses, spread decay—but never had they harnessed the raw fury of fire, ice, or lightning.


    Even among the most gifted humans, true elemental mages were a rarity.


    Among elves, magic was an art, a birthright passed through generations.


    But there was one being who defied every law, who twisted magic into something unholy.


    Tores.


    A Voodooist.


    A general of the Demon King’s army.


    A creature who bent the limits of magic until they shattered.


    And now, one of his students was here.


    Magnum.


    The fireballs kept falling, carving through their ranks like the hand of death itself, and with each blast, the battlefield was reduced further to a landscape of ruin and despair.


    “Asael! Can you sense anything?!” Steven’s voice cut through the chaos, frantic but sharp.


    He slashed apart a goblin that had leaped at him, his blade slick with gore.


    Asael closed his eyes, drowning out the noise, forcing himself to focus beyond the burning, the screaming, the blood.


    Nothing.


    Not even the faintest flicker of presence.


    Then a fireball came hurtling toward him.


    His eyes snapped open, body moving before thought.


    He twisted sharply, feeling the heat sear past his cheek as it barely missed.


    A second one roared toward him from the right—he reacted in an instant, swinging his sword in a blinding arc, deflecting it mid-air.


    Flames burst outward, scorching the ground but leaving him unharmed.


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    The third attack came too fast.


    It struck his arm before he could react, the explosion swallowing him in its fiery grip.


    He staggered, breath torn from his lungs, skin blistering as searing heat consumed his body.


    Divine energy surged through his veins, desperately knitting his flesh back together—but the pain didn’t vanish. It never did.


    Then came the cold.


    A spear of ice slammed into him, freezing his breath in his throat.


    A sharp, merciless chill spread through his limbs, ice forming along his armor, locking his joints in place.


    His vision blurred, muscles stiffening as frost crept over his fingers.


    The monsters saw their opening.


    A gnoll lunged, jagged claws gleaming, saliva dripping from its snarling maw.


    An ogre raised its massive club, veins bulging as it swung with the force to shatter bones.


    A horde of goblins shrieked as they rushed him, their crude weapons flashing under the crimson sky.


    Asael gritted his teeth, rage and instinct overriding the numbness in his limbs.


    Divine energy erupted from his core, shattering the ice that bound him.


    His golden sword flashed—


    A single, perfect swing, and a goblin’s arm flew free, the severed hand still gripping its blade as it thudded to the ground.


    Another slash—


    A gnoll’s head spun through the air, its eyes frozen in shock even as its body collapsed in a lifeless heap.


    The ogre’s club came crashing down.


    Too slow.


    Asael shifted, feeling the rush of air as it barely missed his head.


    His sword found the creature’s ribs, piercing through thick muscle and bone.


    The ogre let out a guttural howl, black blood gushing from its mouth.


    With a brutal twist, Asael tore the blade free.


    The wound split open further, intestines spilling onto the dirt in steaming coils.


    The monster staggered, twitched, then fell forward with an earth-shaking crash.


    But there was no time to rest.


    The fireballs were already falling again.


    Another explosion ripped through the battlefield.


    More screams. More bodies reduced to ashes.


    They had to find Magnum.


    ----


    Giren fought like a beast, his axe a relentless force of destruction, carving through flesh and bone with merciless precision.


    Each swing sent monstrous bodies flying, their screams swallowed by the chaos of battle.


    Blood arced through the air, painting the ground in grotesque patterns.


    A gnoll lunged at him, snarling, but before it could strike, Giren’s axe came down like a hammer from the heavens.


    The creature’s skull cracked open, bone fragments splintering as its lifeless body crumpled at his feet.


    He barely had a moment to breathe before the earth beneath him shuddered.


    From the ground, thick, black tendrils of shadow burst forth, coiling around his legs like living chains.


    The unnatural energy constricted with terrifying strength, locking his limbs in place.


    He growled, muscles bulging as he fought against the restraint, but the tendrils only tightened, seeping cold into his bones.


    The monsters saw their chance.


    A pack of gnolls surged forward, their rabid grins stretching wide to reveal rows of jagged, saliva-drenched teeth.


    Giren gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with the blood streaking his face.


    His veins pulsed as he strained against the shadow’s grip.


    One gnoll leapt, claws outstretched—


    Giren’s hand shot up like a vice, catching the creature by the throat.


    With a guttural roar, he hurled the gnoll with all his might, its body colliding with the oncoming pack in a sickening tangle of limbs and snarls.


    The force sent them sprawling, bones snapping like dry twigs beneath the weight of impact.


    A sharp crack echoed as one gnoll’s neck twisted at an unnatural angle, the light in its eyes extinguishing before it even hit the ground.


    But Giren was far from done.


    He inhaled sharply, summoning every ounce of strength left in his battered body.


    With a thunderous yell, he tore himself free from the cursed tendrils.


    They disintegrated into black mist, vanishing like whispers on the wind.


    The gnolls, realizing their mistake, turned to flee.


    But they were too late.


    Giren’s axe cleaved through the air, a single devastating sweep cutting them down where they stood.


    Bodies split apart, their severed spines exposed, entrails spilling onto the blood-soaked earth.


    Yet despite his defiance, the battle was shifting.


    The tide was turning against them.


    The fireballs never ceased.


    From the heart of the battlefield, flames rained down like divine punishment, devouring everything in their path.


    Screams of agony filled the air as men and monsters alike were consumed.


    Flesh melted from bone, armor glowed red-hot before warping and fusing with charred remains.


    Some tried to douse the flames, rolling desperately on the ground—only to be engulfed again as another inferno descended upon them.


    The strongest warriors stood their ground, pushing through the searing heat with sheer will. But the weaker ones…


    They were being slaughtered.


    Their cries pierced the chaos, their terror palpable.


    The battlefield, once alive with the clash of steel and roars of defiance, had become a nightmare of fire and death.


    And then—


    Steven stepped forward.


    He exhaled slowly.


    Then again.


    His eyes, once deep blue, ignited with a light as sharp as a blade, crackling with raw energy.


    His senses expanded.


    Time slowed.


    He could feel everything—every desperate movement, every dying breath, every spell cast, every enemy shifting in the flames.


    The screams of the burning, the growls of the monsters, the frantic prayers of priests, the distant cackles of goblins—it all poured into his mind at once, overwhelming, suffocating.


    His skull throbbed, his brain burned from the flood of information—


    But he embraced it.


    A fireball hurtled toward him.


    Steven moved.


    Lightning erupted from his body, a storm of raw power coursing through his veins.


    In an instant, he became a streak of thunder, faster than sight, faster than thought.


    His body screamed in protest.


    Blood trickled from his nose.


    Then his ears.


    His heart slammed against his ribs, erratic, frantic, threatening to shatter beneath the strain.


    But he held on.


    He had to.


    The sky darkened.


    And then—


    A colossal thunderbolt crashed down.


    Blinding light swallowed the battlefield, turning night into day.


    A massive pillar of lightning tore through the land, obliterating everything caught in its fury.


    The ground split, blackened corpses thrown in every direction, their forms unrecognizable.


    A deafening explosion followed, a shockwave of raw energy rattling the bones of those still standing.


    Even the surviving monsters, wild and bloodthirsty just moments before, staggered back in terror, their instincts screaming at them to flee.


    And at the very heart of the destruction—


    Magnum stood, his form flickering like a dying ember.


    His cloaking spell shattered, revealing the monstrous sorcerer beneath—draped in crimson robes, his scaled hands still raised in mid-cast.


    His flesh was seared, patches of burnt scales flaking from his body.


    His once-imposing figure now trembled, smoke rising from his charred limbs.


    The nightmare that had painted the battlefield in fire was on his knees, breath ragged, eyes wide with disbelief.


    And before him—


    Steven stood, swaying, barely holding himself upright.


    His legs shook violently, struggling to support his weight.


    Blood dripped from his nose, from his ears, from the corners of his lips.


    His vision blurred. His breath came in short, broken gasps.


    But he had done it.


    And then—


    His body gave in.


    With a heavy thud, Steven collapsed, his consciousness slipping away.


    For the first time since the battle began—


    Silence reigned.


    And now, as the smoke cleared and the last embers of the storm faded, only one thing remained.


    The end of this battle.