The shadow army marched in silence. No war chants, no drums, only the sound of thousands of footsteps on scorched earth. Before them rose Ash'Var, the dark heart of the realm—the throne seat of the Void.
The walls were made of black stone, shaped from bones and fallen prayers. Between the battlements, living shadows twisted, faces pleading for help. The gates themselves—huge, made of demonic ore—breathed as if alive.
Shadow stood at the head of his warriors. His armor was blackened, scratched, soaked in ancient blood. Flames burned in his eyes. Yet his hand trembled slightly—barely noticeable.
Saphira stepped beside him. Still weakened, without magic, but her presence gave strength.
"You hesitate."
"I am tired."
"Then let us end this."
A horn sounded. Not from their ranks—but from above. The gates did not open. They shattered. And from the darkness stepped a being vaguely reminiscent of the king.
He no longer wore a crown, but a wreath of bones. His eyes were holes in reality. Black thorns grew from his back—alive, hissing, whispering.
The king—or what had replaced him—did not speak. The Void had no voice. But everyone in Shadow's army heard the message.
You belong to me. Always have.
The first wave came without warning: creatures formed from broken souls, purposeless warriors, fallen memories. Shadows that devoured shadows.
Shadow raised his blade. The demon blade flared up, hotter than before. He screamed—not in rage, but as a signal.
"Now begins our final war!"
The armies crashed together.
The first minutes were chaos. Blood, ash, smoke. The shadow warriors held their ground, but the Void warped reality. Time flickered. The ground breathed. Fallen warriors rose again—on the wrong side.
Shadow fought at the front line. His strikes were brutal, merciless. Every enemy who fell was sealed with fire. He burned not just through their bodies—but through their past. Every deed, every sin.
"You are no longer human. No longer demons. Only tools."
Behind him fell Tharion, his most loyal captain. Devoured by a swarm of black flies that stole his name.
Saphira fought with daggers, using her body as a shield. But without magic, she was vulnerable. Shadow saw her retreat, bleed, fall—but rise again.
The Void laughed. No voice—a crushing echo in their hearts.
Your sister will die like the others. Your power is not enough.
Shadow stepped forward. A rift opened in the sky above Ash'Var. The Void itself descended—a shapeless being of light, darkness, memory, loss.
Shadow knelt. He spoke no incantation. No prayer.
Only one word:
"Shädow."
The demon inside him answered. Not with takeover, but alliance.
Flames erupted from the ground. Shadows formed wings. And from Shadow's back grew horns of light and ash.
A new warrior rose—neither human nor demon. Something in between. Something pure and furious at once.
"I am not your heir. I am your doom."
And he stormed into the Gate of the Void—alone.