After a week...
The Magma Tribe
In the heart of a charred forest, Prince Arson stood tall, his molten-red skin glowing like embers, his wild crimson hair flickering like flames in the wind. His sharp, fiery eyes scanned the land before him — a once-vibrant meadow now reduced to smoldering ash.
A wicked, almost childish smile stretched across his face — not of joy, but of pride.
"This..." Arson muttered, kicking aside a burning branch. "This land belongs to me now."
Behind him, his two most loyal warriors — his right-hand man, Blaze and left-hand woman, Scoria — stood ready, both flames in their own right.
Blaze — his right-hand man, wild and unpredictable, with flames dancing along his fingers at all times. He enjoyed destruction for the sake of it, setting fires even when Arson didn't command it.
Scoria — his left-hand woman, more controlled but no less dangerous, her fire smoldering beneath a cool exterior. She saw fire as a tool of cleansing — to burn the weak so the strong could rise from the ashes.
"Burn it all," Arson commanded, his grin widening. "If the Nature Tribe won't surrender their forests, we'll take other lands. All of it will belong to the Magma Tribe."
Blaze roared, slamming his foot into the ground, sending a ripple of fire across the grasslands. The flames danced hungrily, devouring everything in their path.
Scoria chuckled softly, slicing through a tree with her flame shots, watching the wood burst into flames instantly. "Soon, the world will be nothing but cinders," she purred.
Arson watched the destruction unfold with a sense of triumph. His pride wasn't just about ruling — it was about dominating. Every inch of land he burned was proof of his power, his superiority.
But beneath that arrogant smile was a dangerous truth — Arson didn't just want to win this war. He wanted to crush his enemies, to leave a permanent mark on the world, so no one could ever forget the power of the Magma Prince.
And so, the fires spread, leaving blackened trails across the map — a fiery claim to his ever-growing kingdom.
_ _ _
The Ice Tribe
Far from the raging flames, the world turned deathly quiet.
The land crackled not with fire — but with frost.
Prince Glacius moved like a ghost through the frozen islands and seas, his blue skin shimmering like ice under a cold sun. His blue hair trailed behind him, and his icy blue eyes were locked onto the horizon — calm, calculating, cold.
There was no wild grin like Arson's — only a faint, composed smirk that barely touched his lips.
The land behind him had transformed into a winter wasteland. Rivers were frozen solid, trees were coated in shimmering frost, and the very air seemed to freeze in place.
At his side were his two generals — the twin forces of ice who commanded with unwavering loyalty.
Frysta — a silent, deadly woman whose ice spread in perfect geometric patterns, freezing everything it touched in flawless symmetry.
Drake — a brutal, unyielding warrior who wielded frozen weaponry, his every swing leaving trails of ice in the air.
Glacius raised a hand, and with a flick of his fingers, the ground beneath him frosted over, spreading out like a growing spiderweb of ice.
"This land..." Glacius whispered, his voice calm yet resolute, "...is mine."
Frysta knelt beside a frozen tree, running her fingers along the ice, her eyes calculating. "We've gained more territory, Prince Glacius."
Drake, his deep voice like a rumble of distant thunder, added, "The Magma Tribe's flames spread quickly, but they cannot burn what is already frozen."
A slow smirk curled on Glacius' lips. "Let Arson burn all he wants. Fire weakens the land. When the embers die, I will freeze what remains."
Unlike Arson, who took pride in destruction, Glacius found pride in control. Every piece of frozen land was a piece of the world he had claimed — not just destroyed, but reshaped in his image.
He didn't rage like fire — he consumed slowly, methodically.
Arson wanted a world of ashes.
Glacius wanted a world of unyielding ice.
And so, as Arson and his forces blazed through grasslands and forests, Glacius and his army of frost soldiers carved their icy path, freezing rivers, mountains, and whatever territory Arson couldn't burn fast enough.
Their war wasn't just about conquering the Nature Tribe's lands — it was about proving whose element was stronger.
And for every field Arson scorched, Glacius would freeze twice as much ground.
The world was being torn between flame and frost — a war of pride, where victory wasn't enough.
They didn't just want to win.
They wanted the other to lose.
_ _ _
The world, already splitting under the conquest of fire and ice, faced another devastating force — water.
Beneath a stormy sky, the Aqua Tribe's forces surged forward like a relentless wave. Rivers overflowed, coasts were battered by sudden floods, and once-sturdy grasslands were reduced to murky marshes.
At the helm of this aquatic onslaught was Prince Kairo — his sharp, scale-like markings rippling along his sleek blue skin, his dark blue hair clinging to his face like seaweed, and his piercing eyes locked onto the land before him.
"More," Kairo commanded, his voice as deep as the ocean depths. "The land must be swallowed whole."
Beside him stood his two most trusted generals — the twin pillars of his watery conquest.
Aelric, a fierce and battle-hardened commander. With a single strike, he could summon towering waves, his very presence a storm. His every move was fluid yet violent — like an unpredictable tide.
Riptos, a silent and calculating warrior, controlled the stealth of the sea. With his eel-like agility and water whips coiled around his arms, he slithered through the battlefield, striking swiftly and vanishing into mist. He was the calm before the storm — until he wasn't.
The water surged under their command, drowning villages, flooding forests, and creeping into territories not yet claimed by fire or ice.
As Kairo watched the land succumb to the rising waters, his grin was cold and sharp. "If the land cannot be ruled, it will be consumed," he muttered.
But his ambition wasn't just about expansion — it was about consumption. The Magma Tribe burned everything, the Ice Tribe froze the world solid, but Kairo?
He would drown it.
To him, the ocean was the only kingdom that mattered. If the land disappeared beneath the water, there would be no more competition — only the rule of the sea.