The sky was on fire.
Flaming projectiles slammed into the palace, each impact shaking the walls like an earthquake. Stone that had stood for generations shattered in an instant. Statues cracked. Towers collapsed. The banners of kings and gods vanished in the smoke. What was once a symbol of power was now being turned to dust.
Inside, it was worse.
The marble floors were slick with blood. Fires burned in shattered alcoves. The air reeked of smoke, metal, and death. Dust from broken stone mixed with the stench of burning flesh. Guards lay dead across the halls—some cut down mid-run, others crushed beneath the rubble. Their armor offered no help. Their eyes stared blankly at nothing. The palace wasn't a stronghold anymore. It was a slaughterhouse.
Somewhere deeper inside, metal rang against metal. Steel on steel. Fast. Repeating. Desperate. A pulse in the middle of chaos. The sound echoed past side rooms full of corpses, down blood-smeared corridors, to a set of tall double doors still barely standing.
The sound was coming from beyond.
The doors creaked open into a ruined throne room. The high ceiling was cracked. Smoke curled along the broken rafters. Blood pooled across the mosaic floor. And there, almost peaceful in the middle of it all, was a severed head.
The face was delicate, almost too perfect for the scene around it. Dark hair, soaked with blood, framed pale cheeks streaked with dirt and tears. Her mouth was frozen mid-scream. Next to her, a small golden crown lay tilted, its faint glow mocking the silence.
She had been the queen.
Then came a heavy thud.
A boy's upper body landed nearby—no legs, one arm gone. A sword was still clenched in his remaining hand. A barbed blade had been driven through his skull, pinning him to the ground like a trophy. His face was blank. He'd been too young for this.
The clashing sound grew louder.
At the far end of the hall, one man stood alone.
His back was turned. His clothes, once royal, were soaked in blood and soot. His right arm was gone, torn off at the shoulder, the wound cauterized in some brutal way. But his left arm still moved fast, a curved sword carving through the air with deadly precision.
Enemies kept coming. Soldiers in blackened armor. Creatures with too many limbs. Eyes glowing red. Some looked human, with curling horns and coal-dark skin. Others were warped, like something pulled from a nightmare. Rows of teeth where no mouths should be. Smoke trailing off their bodies like heat haze.
They weren't men. They weren't even beasts. They were Rakshas. Asuras. And worse. The room was crawling with them.
Still, the man fought.
One of them broke off from the crowd, darting low, a dagger raised for his back.
Without looking, the man pivoted and cut clean through the attacker's neck. The head flew, the body crumpled.
He turned.
Even through the grime, blood, and hair hanging in his face, the truth was clear.
The King.
A shattered crown still clung to his head. His face was almost unrecognizable—hidden by blood and shadow—but there was no mistaking the weight he carried. His body was cut, burned, and broken, but he stood tall, feet planted wide on a floor that was now more blood than stone.
He started walking.
Not around the corpses—through them.
Each step landed with brutal weight. Bones cracked. Flesh gave way. The floor squelched under his boots as blood pooled around him, deep and thick like an overflowing basin. Marble was gone. All that was left was red. The bodies didn't slow him. He crushed them flat. Ground them into pulp.
He moved like a man with nothing left to lose—only something left to finish.
More enemies surged forward.
The king met them head-on, sword flashing. He weaved between blades, dodging some, deflecting others. For every one he cut down, two more came. Still, he fought. Even as his breath came harder. Even as the blood loss slowed his steps.
Then—a flash of steel. A blade sliced through his wrist.
The sword clattered to the floor.
He didn't scream. He roared. A sound torn straight from the gut. Raw. Wild. It stopped the enemy cold, just for a second.
He dropped to his knees, clenched the sword in his teeth, and stood again.
A madman. A warrior. A destroyer. A beast. A king.
He charged. He swung his head, and the blade in his mouth carved through armor and flesh. He slammed into foes with his body, wrestled them down with one arm, cracked skulls against stone. He gouged out eyes. Broke necks. He became a storm.
The enemy faltered. They stepped back. No one wanted to be next.
Then, a voice rang out from the back of the hall.
A harsh, grinding cry in a language that scraped against the air.
The figure who shouted didn't look like the others. Taller. Still. Watching. His armor shimmered with strange markings. His skin was tight and gray, like stretched leather. His eyes weren't just red—they burned. Horns curved back from his head, and a faint trail of smoke rose off him as if the air itself rejected him. He lifted a single hand.
Then came the whistling.
Arrows, thick as rain, poured in through the shattered walls.
They hit everything—enemies, bodies, and the king.
The king staggered. Arrows pierced his back, chest, and legs. A dozen stuck out from his body like pins in a doll. But he didn't fall. Steam rose from his skin. Blood boiled on the ground beneath him. He looked less like a man now. More like a force of nature, held together by rage.
He took a step.
Then another.
A spear struck the back of his knee. His leg gave out.
Another enemy rushed in and drove a sword into his chest. A third stabbed upward, blinding him.
Any man should've died.
But the king didn't fall.
He roared again—a final sound that shook the bones of everyone in the room. He swung blindly and crushed the skull of the one who'd pierced his heart.
Then, from the shadows, a final arrow flew.
Thinner than the rest. Glowing faint green.
It hit him between the eyes.
He stopped moving.
Slowly, his body began to fall, dragged down by the weight of metal and blood. Even then, his hand twitched—fingers curling, reaching for one last enemy.
And just as the sound of steel faded...
A sharp, digital chime rang out.
Bright. Repeating.
Unnatural.
To be continued...