The end began where my legend was born. Hikumbus returned to Aethelgard, but this time, he didn't bring catapults. He brought a "Celestial Anchor." The sky above the city turned a bruised purple, and the very gravity of the earth seemed to double. My men, the finest iron-clad warriors in the world, were pinned to the ground by invisible hands.
I stood on the battlements, my armor groaning under the pressure. I saw Hikumbus at the head of his army. He wasn't wearing armor; he was wearing a robe of light. He looked at me with pity. "The era of iron is over, Veda," he called out. "Step aside, and I will let your men live."
I looked at my soldiers. They were terrified, their spirits being crushed by a power they couldn't understand. I raised my shield—the same dented, heavy slab of iron I had carried for forty years—and I hammered it with my sword. The sound was a defiant, human roar against the silence of the heavens. "The iron may break, Hikumbus," I shouted, "but the men of Ohm do not bend!"
We fought a battle that defied physics. We used the weight of the celestial pressure to increase the force of our strikes. We turned the gods' own weapons against them. We lost the city, but we cost Hikumbus ten thousand of his "blessed" soldiers. It was the moment the world realized that heaven could bleed.