Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 13: Unbreakable Will, Unstoppable Death
---
*Therrow burned.*
Flames licked the sky, black and red. Screams tangled with the clash of steel and bone. The once-simple town was now a battlefield soaked in ash and magic.
Kael stood at the center of the storm, his wings unfurled like banners of death. One hand pulsed with violet fire. The other held no weapon—he *was* the weapon.
Before him, Seren of the Dawnbow crouched behind the shattered remains of a bell tower, bleeding. Her bow trembled.
Across the field, Aren the Brightblade stood with his sword planted in the earth, panting, his armor cracked and his lip bloodied.
"Still alive?" Kael asked, his voice cold.
"Barely," Aren growled. "But enough to kill you."
Kael blinked once.
"Doubtful."
He stepped forward.
*CRACK!* Seren loosed another holy arrow, striking Kael in the chest—but the arrow fizzled before it pierced. Necromantic energy surged from him like a second skin.
Aren charged—his blade glowing blinding white. He screamed as he lunged, bringing down all his might into a strike meant to *cleave a mountain*.
Kael caught the blade with bare hands.
*BOOM!*
The ground split open.
Shockwaves blew buildings apart. Soldiers—*both sides*—were thrown off their feet. Silence followed for one breathless second.
Then Kael snapped the blade in two.
Aren's eyes widened.
"Impossible…"
Kael struck him in the chest—sending him flying *across the town* and crashing into a stone wall with a sickening crunch.
"AREN!!" Seren screamed.
Kael turned to her.
"Your turn."
---
Miles away, a silver-robed mage gasped for breath as he appeared inside the *Solmaran Throne Hall* in a burst of arcane light.
King Alric stood, crown clutched in white-knuckled fists.
"Well?" he demanded.
The mage swallowed hard.
"Therrow… is a graveyard. Two heroes engaged. Aren is likely dying. The town's falling. The enemy…"
He choked.
"The boy commands death like it's breath. We need more."
The king turned to his generals.
"I want the Scythe Hero. And the Gun Hero."
Gasps followed. The two had not been summoned in over *ten years*.
"Majesty," one general whispered. "Are you sure?"
"If Kael is this strong now…" Alric muttered, "then he'll be unstoppable in a month. We must crush him while there's still a chance."
He turned to the mage.
"Teleport them now. And send *five hundred Black Knights*. No mercy."
---
*Back in Therrow…*
Kael loomed over Seren, her bow cracked in her hands.
"Kill me," she spat. "Go on."
Kael didn't move.
He studied her face—the fear, the defiance.
Then whispered: "You're not worth the effort."
He turned.
"*Let her watch.*"
---
*Far away…*
Two figures stood side by side in a marble courtyard, weapons in hand.
The *Scythe Hero* — cloaked in tattered red, weapon twice his height, his aura pulsing with shadow and precision.
The *Gun Hero* — calm, eyes like storms, revolvers forged from divine steel strapped to his hips.
They received no speech.
Only orders.
One word from the king:
"*Eradicate.*"
And they vanished in golden light.
---