The story began centuries ago, in an ancient city whose towering spires pierced the sky, waterfalls ran around it, and vast green forests wrapped the city in their arms, full of colorful plants and exotic animals.
Once, it had been a whole civilization—magical and advanced—renowned across the world, but no longer. A destructive force saw to it that all the splendor and technology, fused with ancient magic, crumbled into formless ruins.
In its heyday, this civilization sought mastery over powers beyond their understanding. The city was a beacon of light and shadow, a place where magic flourished in perfect harmony—at least, so they believed.
They were the Luminaris: an ancient, technologically advanced, immensely powerful race, their sorcerers the mightiest known since the Collision of Worlds.
They were the first to fuse science with magic, and the world they forged prospered for centuries; some called it the Old World.
At the city's heart burned the Eternal Flame—golden and radiant, ringed by ancient runes that floated in the air, intertwined with a fire whose color shifted from black to white.
Around the flame, in a lavish amphitheater, figures cloaked in black with bands of gold gathered, their faces hidden beneath veils. Their chant thrummed with hope and with dread in equal measure.
The flame flickered, swaying between light and darkness. Its power was unstable; every few moments it spat out a cosmic flare. As the chanting rose, the radiance grew—and so did the madness in the singers' eyes. They tried to steady the power, but arrogance had blinded them.
Then—the balance broke.
The flame erupted with terrible force, scorching the sorcerers who sought to contain it. For a heartbeat, it seemed to weaken, to curl and take on a new shape—then, with an enormous blast, it exploded. The light went out.
A wave of shadows spread in every direction, and from it took shape the first Shadow Demons—grotesque, monstrous things born of that calamity.
The residents' screams tore the night, which became, in an instant, dark and chaotic. The grand city surrendered to the horrors of its own making.
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Back to the present:
On the battlefield, the heroes stood tense, all eyes fixed, waiting for Arden's return and the news he would bring with him. Several hours had passed since Arden crossed the gate; even the air seemed to hum with expectation of his return.
"I hope Arden comes back with good news about the crystal," Elias said, his eyes fixed on the ground where Arden had vanished, his voice trembling with expectation and worry.
"I hope he's managed to unlock its secrets—and uncover its origin," Cassius said, his voice low and deliberate, a hint of tension threading through his usual calm; with effortless grace he drew another knife and sent it spinning toward the tree, each strike precise, echoing his controlled focus.
"No matter what he discovers," Katerina said coolly, her eyes fixed downward as her nails traced the edge of the blade. She lifted her gaze, piercing straight into Elias's eyes. "So long as it helps us win this cursed war," she said, voice grim and unyielding, a spark of fierce anticipation lacing her words.
Suddenly, the air around them hummed. A rift in space opened not far off, swirling darkness filling its threshold. Then—foot, hand, and finally—the whole body emerged.
Arden stood on the muddy ground, the rift closing slowly behind him; his expression was bitter, yet a spark of hope glinted in his eyes. In his hand, he held a new staff—dark brown wood topped by a glowing crystal, set in the shape of a three-clawed eagle's talon; the runes along the staff pulsed in time with those on the crystal itself, as if they were speaking to one another. Arden turned his gaze toward the Crystal now embedded in the staff.
"The Crystal you see before you was once a shard of the Eternal Flame—an ancient power, older than the first rising sun, primeval and unfathomable; so potent that even the gods themselves whispered in fear of it. It was born of fire and shadow, a force that could ignite worlds—or consume them entirely," Arden said, his voice steady yet heavy with reverence.
"The Luminaris crafted it, channeling their magic into this single vessel; they called it their salvation, a beacon of hope to protect their kind from the encroaching darkness. Yet in their hubris, they failed to see its other face—the doom hidden within its core. For every spark of life it gave, it demanded a shadow in return; and when the flame flickered, the cost was paid in ruin. Behold it now—silent, cold, and waiting; it hums with a hunger older than time itself," he added, voice tinged with awe and dread.
"Many have gazed upon it, believing they could command it—but few survive the gaze of the Eternal Flame. Their arrogance led them to think they could control it; they were wrong—and by the time they paid the price, it was already too late. The shadow-creatures—the demons we fight today—did not come from nothing; they were born of that error, born of that darkness, and the darkness—has not yet finished its work," Arden concluded, his tone carrying a weight of warning and resolve.
He fell silent for a moment, then raised one hand, murmuring words in the ancient tongue. A sword of magic appeared mid-air before settling into his grasp. His gaze found Elias. Without warning, he hurled the blade toward him.
"This… this is impossible," Elias whispered, eyes wide, shock and awe threading his voice. "I was sitting on that very rock just a moment ago… it was solid—how—?" he gasped, voice trembling with disbelief and awe.
Arden watched him with quiet amusement and gave a slight nod. Elias stepped forward and, with surprising ease, drew the sword free; he lifted it, elusive sunbeams lending it a solemn glow. His face darkened with resolve as he noticed a new scabbard fastened at his hip. Elias slid the sword into the scabbard and smiled to himself, a mix of satisfaction and determination lighting his features.
"All the training, all the preparations, all the sacrifices—they have led us to this moment; we must prevail; this is the final war; it is time to end it," Arden said, his voice steady and unwavering, filled with authority and quiet urgency.
He advanced to a nearby rise and gazed down into the valley where the enemy's army had gathered. Behind him, the alliance camp buzzed with activity—werewolves sharpening their claws, vampires moving with silent menace along the ramparts, mages weaving protective wards for the fighters. On the horizon loomed the Fortress of Shadows—its black walls towering, pulsing with dark, malevolent energy.
"This is what we prepared for!" Elias cried aloud, fire and courage threading his words. "We have seen what they can do—but today, we strike back; we will break their ranks; we will show them we are not prey; from this day on—we are the hunters!" He paused, then shouted, "Men, to victory!" his voice roaring across the battlefield, alive with fervor and unyielding resolve.
All troops roared; the battle cries of humans, werewolves, and vampires collided, rolling like thunder across the shadowed plains.
Katerina's band—no longer small—was reinforced by warriors from distant lands; all had come to stand in this fateful clash, a war that songs would be written about for generations to come.
Cassius stood as the wild wind whipped through his long black hair, sword in hand, eyes locked on the black shadows gathering in the distance; an army of vampires encircled him, silent and poised, waiting for his command.
It was a battle for glory, for honor—a battle that would decide who endures and who falls into the abyss.