The field was soaked in ash and ruin. The wind wept with embers, and the ground still steamed from divine clashes past. Fires danced along broken siege towers, their light glinting off blackened armor and shattered steel. Smoke rose in pillars, carrying with it the scent of death and scorched magic.
A stillness gripped the horizon. But it was not peace. It was the held breath before the scream.
From the north came the pounding of ten thousand feet. A vast tide of shadow surged forward, Ashkeroth's grand legion, had risen . Shadows twisted into the shapes of men and monsters, creatures without souls but filled with savage hatred. Once loyal to Artherion. Their blades, forged from cursed ore, shimmered with dark light, and their eyes burned like dying stars.
At their head stood King Zeburel Ashkeroth, draped in a mantle of night and crowned with thorns of blackened fire. His gaze tore through the field like prophecy made flesh. Beside him walked Prince Alaric, his body reinforced with unholy strength, crimson armor pulsing like a living heart, and in his hand, his twin-forged blade.
The war chant began.
Not of voices. But from a realm deeper than death.
Then the heavens parted.
Lucien stepped foward.
Not on wings, nor in chariot. He walked.
From the east he came, clad in white, the hem of his coat stained with gold and light. His hair shimmered like woven moonlight, his eyes like still water hiding endless depth. The air parted for him, bowed to him. Even time slowed in reverence.
He did not come alone. The wind carried the scent of the knight, who stood above the battlefield with arms crossed, watching, but unmoved. Lucien came without sword, without shield.
"You have come alone," Zeburel declared, voice echoing like a dying god.
"I have come as one," Lucien answered. "But not alone."
Zeburel raised his hand.
The shadows surged.
Lucien did not move.
The first wave came, blades drawn, monsters howling, fangs glinting, spells shrieking.
And with one step, he became fire.
He moved. And everything stopped.
The first hundred soldiers shattered like porcelain.
He turned. A hand outstretched. Waves of shadow were blasted into oblivion by invisible force.
Lucien walked through them as one walks through mist. Every blink was judgement.
The sky rips open.
A tear between dimensions howls like a void.
A thousand, then ten thousand, dead soldiers of shadow pour into the world
Alaric raises his hand.
"Rise."
From the earth erupt shadows, Deceased generals and commanders who had earlier betrayed king Elyrion and the kingdom and legions more. The entire field turns black with their presence.
Lucien looks at the reinforcements.
His expression still remained.
Then they charge.
A commander dives from the sky, his claws extended, BOOM! A thunderclap erupts as Lucien sidesteps just in time and he smashed the ground. the clash sending shockwaves through the canyon.
Another appears behind Lucien sword blazing in obsidian fire
He slashes,
Misses
The moment his blade should hit, it slows to nothing, Lucien's exuding energy stops it mid-air.
"My turn," Lucien whispered.
With a flick of Lucien's wrist, he is blasted away, tearing through dozens of soldiers. His body reassembles, but Lucien is already there.
Kick. Twist. Collapse.
Dozens fall before they can react.
Alaric leaps in, twin blades slicing toward Gojo's ribs.
Clink!
Lucien blocks with his fingers.
"Faster than the rest… but still not enough."
He whips his leg, catching Alaric in the ribs, sending him flying through three trees and cracking a cliff wall. Shadow magic bursts outward on impact.
Ashkeroth appears behind Lucien, his scythe hissing with ancient power.
"You are… formidable."
"You have no idea," Lucien replies.
Ashkaroth swings. Lucien dodges, and unscathed.
Lucien's smirk fades slightly.
"Okay. You want serious? Then here it is."
Lucien presses his hands together.
The air folds.
"Domain Dimension- Demon's Dungeon."
The battlefield vanishes. A gold and silver bright light expanse blooms outward, limitless power, crushing pressure.
Shadow soldiers freeze, minds overrun.
Ashkeroth stumbles.
Alaric grits his teeth, clutching his head, his soldiers caved in, overwhelmed.
Lucien walks through the brilliance of bright light space like a god through thought.
"This is what real power looks like."
He punches Ashkeroth,sending the King flying back.
He grabs Alaric by the throat...
Then Ashkeroth roars.
His own Domain erupts, crashing against Gojo's.
The Shadow Realm and Infinite Void collide.
Time shudders. Space buckles.
The energy around him bursts in an explosion.
Shadow soldiers return, revived by Ashkeroth's power. Alaric vanishes, teleporting behind Lucien, aiming to stab both blades into his back.
"Got you!"
Lucien's body reverse, rewinds before impact.
"Nice try."
Lucien raises his hand, silver energy flaring.
Ashkeroth screams...
"MOVE!"
He hurls a wall of shadows. Too late.
Silver energy surges and fires towards him
It annihilates everything in its path. Earth disintegrates. Half the army is gone. Ashkeroth's generals barely survive.
Ashkeroth coughs. His armor is cracked.
Alaric's arm is bleeding. His heart beats faster than ever.
Ashkeroth and Alaric combine.
One spirit. One will.
Alaric becomes the full god by the power of his father, his aura vast, cloak alive with roaring magic. Behind him, the last 300 elite soldiers.
They dash forward.
Lucien breathes in once.
"Okay."
He lifts his hand,
Then blurs forward.
He dances through them, a blur of gold and silver, bending time and gravity. He snaps necks, break blades, destroyed spells and burst towards the generals.
He punches through one's chest.
Slices the other in half with a chop of gold energy.
Kicks Alaric through a mountain.
Ashkeroth inside Alaric as he leaps into the air with the might of gods behind him. His blades came down in a scarlet arcs of destruction. Lucien caught it between two fingers. The metal screamed.
He met Alaric's eyes.
"You still dream of victory?"
Lucien moved.
One elbow. Alaric flew. Crashed. Rose with rage, only to find Lucien already there.
Strike. Parry. Turn. Step. Blow. Crash.
The battlefield had vanished. The world was their arena.
Ashkeroth stepped forward now. Magic lanced from his palms, the sky turned black as he opened his own veins to fuel the ancient spell.
The curse of Ur'Vhal. A magic that once turned gods to ash.
Lucien raised his palm.
It vanished.
The spell unmade before it reached him. The world held its breath.
Lucien's gaze peered through the dust clouds. A glow of divine gold.
Alaric howled. From his cloak rose the titanic beast of shadow, the Wyrm of Null. Born from void, eater of light.
It struck.
Lucien blinked.
The beast fell. Slain. Without even a whisper of sound.
Now the ground shook as Alaric returned, face bloodied, armor broken.
"Together," Ashkeroth whispered inside him.
They charged.
Lucien smiled.
This time, he drew.
Themnion appeared. The sword of final oaths.