Descent into Oblivion
The sky over the Deathfront was a void of storm-wracked clouds and blood-red lightning. Beneath it sprawled a land stripped of life—mountains fractured, rivers turned to sludge, forests burned down to bone. And at its scorched heart stood Xerath.He waited with a smile etched across his perfect, ageless face—one that had not changed in centuries. Around him stood his ten servants, each cloaked in human form, veiling the abominable truth beneath their skin. The wind howled across the barren expanse, whispering the names of the countless souls devoured by their kind.From the heavens, the T.E.R.O.S.A descended.Glider ships pierced through the clouds, trailing trails of blue propulsion. Their hulls glimmered like spearheads of vengeance. The moment they breached the storm, the order was given:"Drop."One by one, twenty soldiers hurled themselves into the storm.Their wind gliders burst open mid-air—sleek titanium wings unfolding from their backpacks like razors. The wind screamed past them as engines ignited with a soft roar, stabilizing their descent. Behind them, the glider ships' pulse cannons unleashed a barrage of fire—searing lances of energy ripping into the battlefield below.The ground trembled as hordes of Ancients emerged from the cracked earth—slavering, eyeless beasts driven only by hunger and the song of Xerath's will.Elian Fyre led the descent, his blade drawn, heart steady. Pulse cannon in one hand, he fired mid-air, beams of plasma searing through the skulls of the first Ancients that roared to greet them. To his sides, Lyra, Kael, and the rest of T.E.R.O.S.A formed a deadly arrowhead formation—each member spiraling and weaving through the chaos with practiced precision.The impact was thunder.They hit the ground like meteors, gliders folding in as they rolled, pivoted, and fired again. Pulse cannons boomed, blades swung, and the earth became a warzone. Behind them, the ships continued to rain fire, blasting apart the larger Ancients with explosive rune rounds.Kael Valestrom landed with a roar, dual blades spinning like saws, carving through three Ancients before his boots hit the dirt."Welcome to the end of the world!" he shouted, grinning madly.Lyra moved like a phantom, her blade severing limbs and heads before they even realized she was near. She didn't waste a movement. Cold. Precise. Unstoppable.Elian felt it again—the pulse, the rising hum beneath his skin. The Ancient in him stirred. But he held the form back, for now. There was still control. Still humanity.He shot a beast lunging at Vos and sprinted into the fray, his titanium blade glowing faintly from the rune core embedded in its spine.The line held. But barely.Ancients came in waves, endless and mindless—some as small as hounds, others towering like siege engines. Every kill was answered by two more. Blood soaked the ash. Soldiers screamed. Wind gliders exploded. Even with the ships' support, they were being tested.And through it all, Xerath watched.He stood untouched, arms folded, coat billowing in the hellish wind. His servants fanned out around him—each one different, each one more terrifying than the last. One with bone-white eyes that saw through time. One whose shadow crawled like tendrils across the earth. Another with blades for limbs and a grin like a shark."Look at them," Xerath said softly, voice smooth as poison. "Still clinging to hope.""Shall we?" asked one servant."Not yet," Xerath replied. "Let them bleed first."Below, T.E.R.O.S.A held formation—but the tide was turning. Elian ducked a claw, stabbed upward through the jaw of a beast, then turned to see three more approaching from the smoke."Fall back to the ridge!" Lyra shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos."We can't hold here!" another soldier called."No," Elian growled. "We don't fall back. We hold. We stand. Because behind us—there's nothing left but death."And in that moment, something ancient sparked in his eyes.He looked to the edge of the battlefield—where Xerath stood, untouched, smiling.I'm coming for you, Elian thought. Even if I burn for it.