The massive doors of the throne room groaned loudly as the guards pushed them open with all their strength. The heavy wood scraped against the stone floor, making a deep, rumbling sound that filled the huge hall. Chris strode swiftly inside. His brown eyes glowed faintly in the dim light coming from the torches on the walls. His red armor was beautifully engraved with Sparta's crest—a fierce lion in the center. The armor shimmered like dull fire beneath the shadows, catching little bits of light as he moved.
Chris walked straight down the long red carpet that led to the throne. His boots clicked on the cold stone floor with each step. When he reached the front, he dropped to one knee right away. His head bowed low, and his eyes fixed on the floor before the throne. "My king," he said. His voice was heavy with respect, like he was carrying a great weight.
The king sat high on his massive throne. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, making a soft tapping sound. His golden eyes stayed unblinking, staring straight at Chris. "Speak, Chris. We have no time," the king ordered. His voice was icy and controlled, like a sharp blade cutting through the air. It echoed off the high walls and made the room feel even colder.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Chris replied quickly. He kept his knee on the ground and his head down. "We've completed the evacuation of all who chose not to fight. Only our soldiers and those willing to defend the kingdom remain now. Everyone else has left the city and gone far away to safety."
The king's gaze sharpened even more. His golden eyes looked like they could see right through a person. "What's our number?" he asked, his voice steady and low.
Chris took a deep breath. "Twenty thousand strong, Your Majesty," he said. "That's all we have left. But it's still not enough." He clenched his fists tightly at his sides. His knuckles turned white from the pressure. He could feel the worry building inside him, like a storm about to break.
The king nodded slowly. He did not look surprised. "I know the Horde's numbers far surpass ours," he said. His tone was steady, like he had already accepted what was coming. "I see no victory for us in this battle. But I see a glorious death—one our ancestors would be proud of. We will fight with everything we have. Stand strong, soldier. No Spartan dies without felling fifty demons, fifty monsters, and fifty beasts. That is our way."
As he spoke those words, the air around him crackled with energy. His golden aura burst out like a bright light. It cast long, shifting shadows across the entire hall. The shadows danced on the walls and floor, making the throne room look alive with power. The torches flickered wildly, as if bowing to the king's strength.
Chris felt the heat from his own armor starting to radiate faintly. It warmed his skin under the metal. "I will be honored to die by your side, sire," he said. His voice was full of pride now, pushing away the fear.
The king leaned forward a little. "How long do we have before they arrive?" he asked. His fingers stopped drumming on the armrest.
Chris's voice dropped low. He could feel the truth weighing on him like a heavy stone. "A few hours, Your Majesty." His knee dug deeper into the cold stone ground, as though anchoring him against the terrible news. The floor was hard and unforgiving, but he did not move.
"Prepare everyone for war, Ch....." the king started to say.
Bam! Bam!
A loud, pounding sound cut through the air. It came from outside the castle walls.
"What's that sound?" Chris's eyes snapped toward the tall window on the side of the throne room. His heart started beating faster.
Boom!
The whole throne room trembled violently. Dust fell from the ceiling. The ground quaked under their feet, making the red carpet ripple like water. Chris gritted his teeth hard. His knee ground into the stone floor as he tried to stay steady. The king remained seated on his throne, unmoved. His golden aura stayed steady and calm, like a rock in a storm.
"My king—the Horde has arrived!" A guard burst into the room through the doors. He was gasping for air, bending over with one hand braced on his knee. His face was pale, and sweat poured down his forehead. He must have run all the way from the gates.
"How? They weren't supposed to be here until nightfall!" Chris shouted. He jumped to his feet, his fist slamming into the ground with a loud thud. Anger and shock filled his voice.
The king stood up slowly from his throne. His massive frame rose like a mountain coming to life. "Fear not, Chris," he said. His voice was calm, like the quiet before a great battle. "It doesn't matter if they are early. It's time to slaughter." He clenched his right fist tightly. With his left hand, he gripped a long golden spear that had been leaning against the throne. The spear gleamed with power. "Go, calm the soldiers. I'll join you shortly."
"Yes, my king," Chris replied. He stood swiftly, his red armor clinking as he moved. He turned and left the throne room alongside the weary guard. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway as they hurried toward the gates.
Meanwhile, at the high gate of Sparta, things were already falling apart.
The great gate was made of thick wood and reinforced with strong iron bars. It had protected the kingdom for hundreds of years. But now, it was under attack. A twenty-five-foot demon stood outside, smashing into it with all its might. The demon had two huge horns, each the size of a cow. Its skin was rough and red, like dried blood. Its muscles bulged as it swung its massive fists.
Bam! Bam!
Each hit made the gate shake and groan. Cracks started to appear in the wood.
"We cannot win against such horror," one Spartan soldier cried out. He stood on the wall near the gate, his spear trembling in his hands. His voice was full of fear. He stared at the demon with wide eyes.
"Once this gate falls, it's all over for us," another Spartan soldier said. He was standing at the watch tower, high above the ground. He held his red long spear tightly. "The Horde's numbers far surpass ours. I should have evacuated the city like some did. I should have left with the others who ran away to safety."
Bam! Bam!
The sounds kept coming, louder and harder. Wood splintered with each blow.
"Just a little more and the Horde will take us all as their next meal," a Spartan soldier standing a few feet away from the gate said. His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees on the stone wall. His armor clanked as he hit the ground. Fear had taken over his body.
Suddenly, the blue sky turned dark. Thick black clouds rolled in from nowhere. Lightning roared loudly across the sky, flashing white and bright. Thunder boomed, scaring many of the soldiers. Some covered their ears. Others looked up in terror.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The pounding never stopped. The demon kept smashing, its red eyes glowing with hunger.
"They are too many and too big for us," another Spartan soldier voiced out. He looked at the huge gate, which was about to fall apart. Splinters of wood flew with each hit. "What's our chance of a glorious end if those huge bastards just step on us all? How do we define such a death? It won't be glorious—it will just be squashed like bugs!"
The soldiers around him started to murmur. Some nodded in agreement. Fear spread like wildfire. Spears lowered. Shoulders slumped. The once-proud Spartans looked ready to break.
But then, a powerful voice cut through the noise.
"Calm yourselves, Spartans! Stand your ground! Do not let fear cripple you!" It was Chris. He had arrived at the gate. His voice was loud and powerful, booming over the walls like thunder of his own. His red armor glowed slightly in the dark sky. His golden aura surged around him, bright and strong. His right hand firmly clenched onto his spear. He stood tall, like a beacon of hope.
The soldiers turned to look at him. Some straightened up a little.
Just then, another voice joined in—a sneering one. "Look at who finally decided to show up after so many months," the general said with a mocking tone. He was a big man with a scarred face, standing near the front. "The orphan graces us. Did the king's shadow grow too warm for you?"
Chris did not flinch. He looked straight at the gate, which was cracking more with each hit. "I have been at the service of the king for many months now, 'General,'" he said firmly. "You should know very well about that. I've been by his side, learning and preparing."
The general smirked. "I do, orphan. I do." He spread out his hands wide, like he wanted a hug. "Now come over here and give me a strong hug."
Chris shook his head. "Let's do that later, General. Help me gather the rest of the men. The king will arrive soon."
The general laughed, but it was a rough, battle-ready laugh. "Harsh as usual..." He turned to the soldiers scattered along the walls and gates. His voice boomed out, loud and powerful, heard throughout the entire kingdom. "Spartans! Gather together and prepare for glory!"
Some soldiers responded right away. "Yeahhhhh!" they shouted back with powerful voices. Their spirits lifted a little. Spears rose again.
But the gate could not hold much longer.
Bam! Boom!!
The gate groaned one last time. Then, with a massive crack, it shattered open. Wood flew everywhere like rain. Dust filled the air, thick and choking. Through the cloud of dust, the Horde marched in. Their loud roars filled the air, shaking the ground. There were thousands of them—demons with sharp claws, monsters with jagged teeth, beasts with fur matted in blood. Their claws gleamed with the gore of fallen villages. Their breath reeked of burnt flesh and death. Red eyes glowed in the darkness. They hungered for more.
The soldiers froze for a moment. The sight was terrifying.
But then, a voice thundered above it all.
"SPARTANS!!!!"
It was the king. He had arrived.
Bam! He landed on the ground right in front of everyone. He had jumped from the castle walls, high above. His red long Sparta trousers glowed brightly under the dark weather that had swallowed the blue sky. The fabric shimmered like fire. His golden spear was brimming with power under his grip. His golden aura surged around him, brighter than ever. It pushed back the dust and lit up the battlefield.
The general saw him and shouted, "Welcome our king, soldiers!" His voice was loud and full of respect.
The Spartan soldiers raised their spears to the air. "No Retreat, No Surrender!" they chanted. Their voices were loud and united, shaking the ground. Fear turned to fire in their hearts.
The king stepped forward. His massive frame towered over the men. "No retreat, no surrender," he commanded. "Give them no fear, no tears, no scream, no quarter. But take everything away from them. Show them hell!" He charged first into battle. His boots pounded the ground as he ran straight at the Horde.
"Yeah!!!" The Spartans screamed out loud. Their voices roared like lions. They charged into battle against the Horde, following their king. Spears gleamed. Armor clashed. The fight for glory had begun.
The king led the way. He raised his golden spear high. "Sparta Style: Heavenly Spear!" he chanted with a powerful voice. The spear ignited with pure flames of fire. Bright orange and red flames danced along its length. With one mighty swing, he cleaved through a hundred enemies in an instant. Demon flesh split open. Monster blood sprayed like rain. Beast bodies fell to the ground, cut clean in half. The smell of burning filled the air.
The soldiers saw it and cheered. "Follow our king!" the general ordered. He was right behind, slicing through the enemies in front of him. His sword flashed left and right. Heads rolled. Limbs flew.
"Yeah!!" The Spartans screamed again. They pushed forward as one. Spears thrust into demon chests. Swords hacked at monster legs. The battlefield became a storm of blood and fire. The Horde roared in anger, but the Spartans fought without fear. They remembered the king's words—no mercy, no retreat. This was their glorious stand, win or die.