The night sky over Eldris burned with crimson fire, the heavens split by the unholy portal Isaroth had torn into reality. Demons poured from the abyss, their monstrous forms descending upon the city like a plague. The streets ran red with blood as innocent men, women, and children fled in terror. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood, of flesh, of death.


    But Eldris did not fall without a fight.


    The city’s defenders rushed into action, soldiers surging forward to protect the helpless. Steel met claw, battle cries drowned out the wails of the dying. The demons fought with monstrous strength, tearing through stone and flesh alike, but the warriors of Eldris held the line.


    A demon loomed over a crying child, its jagged claws raised for the kill. The little girl sobbed, frozen in terror.


    Then, in an instant, a golden spear impaled the creature through the chest, piercing straight through its vile heart.


    Elder Sareth stepped forward, pulling his weapon free as the demon collapsed lifelessly at his feet. He knelt beside the girl, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.


    "Shh, little one. You’re safe now," he said gently, his voice warm despite the chaos around them. He helped her to her feet, guiding her toward a group of fleeing civilians. "Go to your mother. Hurry."


    The girl sniffled, nodded, and ran. Sareth smiled as he watched her go. Then, his gaze hardened, turning back to the battlefield.


    Among them stood Elder Sareth, his golden spear glowing with radiant energy.


    The former Guardian, a master of Lux Astra, had taken up arms once more. His presence alone was enough to rally the soldiers, his spear cutting through the chaos with precision that belied his age. His presence alone was enough to rally the soldiers, his blade cutting through the chaos with precision that belied his age. The demons faltered before him, for they sensed the weight of experience, the sharpened instinct of a warrior who had lived through war and survived.


    "Protect the people! Form a wall!" Sareth’s voice boomed across the battlefield. His spear whirled, carving through the chest of a demon before it could reach the civilians cowering behind the defensive line. Soldiers followed his command without question, their blades striking with renewed vigor.


    The demons pushed. The warriors of Eldris pushed back. The battle raged, but the city would not break so easily.


    At the highest point of Eldris, where the winds howled and the fires burned brightest, Kael and Elian stood before Isaroth.


    The silver-haired general of Hell regarded them with an expression of mild amusement. His black cloak billowed in the wind, his presence an immovable shadow against the raging battlefield. The city burned behind him, the cries of the fallen echoing in the distance, yet he seemed utterly unbothered.


    "So," Isaroth said, his voice smooth, deliberate. "They send the lost son and the broken warrior to stand in my way."


    Kael’s golden eyes glowed faintly, his stance relaxed but ready. He cracked his knuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips. "We are just here to beat you to death." "I don’t recall anyone sending us. We’re just here to ruin your plans."


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    Isaroth smirked. His gaze briefly flickered to the great banners of Eldris, where the emblem of Zerythar, the Dragon of Eldris, was emblazoned in gold. For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then, without a word, he reached up, removed his helmet—its single horn curving ominously—and ran a hand through his silver hair. He smirked.


    "How noble. How foolish. You stand before an army of demons, your city crumbling, your people dying. And yet, you think yourselves enough to stop me?"


    Elian tightened his grip on his sword. "We don’t think," he said. "We know."


    Isaroth’s gaze flicked toward him, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of curiosity. Of something deeper. Then, in a blink, it was gone.


    "Ah," Isaroth murmured, tilting his head slightly. "So this is the boy. The heir."


    Elian tensed. Kael stepped forward slightly, blocking his nephew from Isaroth’s line of sight.


    "Enough talk," Kael said, his voice low, dangerous. "You came to destroy Eldris. But if you want it, you’ll have to go through us first."


    Isaroth sighed, as though disappointed. "Pity. I had hoped to avoid this."


    Then, in a blur of motion, the battle began.


    Kael and Isaroth met in an explosion of force, their battle unfolding in a blur of motion. For a time, they were evenly matched—fists clashing, shockwaves ripping through the battlefield. Kael fought like a relentless storm, every movement precise, every strike filled with raw, untamed power. Isaroth met him blow for blow, his control effortless, his Astra weaving between light and shadow with terrifying mastery. The ground beneath them shattered as their fists collided, the impact sending a shockwave through the city. Fire and darkness clashed, the sheer energy of their strikes warping the air around them.


    Kael moved like a tempest, his attacks unrelenting, his raw power shaking the earth with every strike. Isaroth matched him blow for blow, his movements effortless, his mastery of Astra near perfection. They were equals.


    But as Kael began to gain the upper hand, his relentless assault pushing Isaroth back step by step, the general’s gaze flickered toward Elian. A shift in his expression—calculating, decisive.


    Before Kael could react, Isaroth vanished—and reappeared before Elian.


    But Isaroth caught the strike effortlessly.


    His fingers clamped around the steel, stopping it mid-swing, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent Elian hurtling backward.


    "Too weak," Isaroth murmured.


    Elian gritted his teeth, rolling to his feet. He charged again, his light-infused blade blazing with determination—


    Isaroth sidestepped.


    A single strike from the general sent Elian sprawling across the stone floor, his sword skidding from his grasp.


    Kael’s instincts screamed danger, and he moved without thinking. In a blur, he threw himself between Isaroth and Elian—just as the general’s Astra-infused strike landed.


    Pain. Blinding, searing pain.


    Kael staggered, his golden eyes widening as dark energy tore into his side. His Astra flickered—then began to fade. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it was enough. Enough to weaken him. Enough to put Elian in even greater danger.


    "Kael!" Elian’s voice rang through the chaos, his chest heaving, his hands trembling. Something inside him snapped.


    A surge of power erupted around him—light and darkness intertwining, merging into one.


    For the first time, Elian embraced his Astrae form. Isaroth met him with equal intensity, their battle turning into a storm of fists, fire, and shadow.


    “You are going to pay for this!!!” Elian screamed dashing towards Isaroth meeting his fist with his.


    Elian forced himself up, ignoring the pain, gripping his sword once more. He couldn’t let himself be useless.


    He rushed forward again—


    This time, Isaroth let him.


    Elian swung his sword, pouring every ounce of strength into the attack. Isaroth did not move.


    The blade neared his throat—


    Then, in an instant, Isaroth vanished.


    Before Elian could react, a cold hand gripped his neck from behind.


    Isaroth had him.


    The world slowed.


    Kael turned, eyes widening. "Elian!"


    Elian struggled, his hands clawing at Isaroth’s grip, but the general held him effortlessly, his strength unnatural. This was it. He could end it. He could kill Elian right now.


    But he didn’t.


    Isaroth merely stared at him.


    And then, he let go.


    Elian''s breaths came ragged, his vision blurring. The raw power had left his body trembling—he had burned through his strength too fast.


    Isaroth saw it. And he moved in for one more blow.


    The general raised his hand, a spear of dark Astra forming at his fingertips. One strike. One death.


    But before he could finish it, a force of pure shadow slammed into him, hurling him across the battlefield.


    He crashed into a stone wall, the impact sending cracks through its surface.


    Silence fell.


    Elian coughed, struggling to lift his head. His vision swam, but through the haze of battle, he saw it.


    A figure stepping forward, its form obscured by the swirling darkness.


    The chapter ended in the stillness of that moment—who had arrived?


    Isaroth regained his footing and wiped a single drop of blood from his lip. He smiled.


    "Interesting," he said softly, his gaze flickering between Elian and Kael. "Very interesting."