Part 1: The Shadows of Eldrithar
The demon lords and their armies had finally reached the ruins of Eldrithar, where the land itself seemed to breathe with an unnatural pulse. The sky above them swirled with dark clouds, the air thick with the stench of decay and something far worse—something that gnawed at the very fabric of existence.
Lord Varos led the vanguard, his crimson eyes narrowing at the shifting darkness before them. Queen Seraphis, flanked by her elite guard, exuded an aura of quiet authority, her golden armor dulled by the oppressive gloom. King Vorghan rested a hand on the hilt of his blade, his every muscle tensed with anticipation. The army of the demon nations stood in uneasy silence, waiting for a sign, a movement, anything to break the unbearable stillness.
Then, from the depths of the ruins, a low hum reverberated through the air. The sound was neither natural nor mechanical—it was something ancient, something hungry.
The Oracle of Zaromir stepped forward, her silver eyes glowing as she raised a hand to the darkness. "It is stirring. It knows we are here."
A pulse of shadow erupted from the ruins, forcing even the strongest warriors to stagger. The air crackled with a power beyond comprehension, and from the abyss, the first of the horrors emerged.
Part 2: The First Clash
The ground split apart, jagged cracks forming an unholy chasm as creatures of writhing darkness clawed their way to the surface. These were no mere monsters—they were entities of pure void, their forms flickering between solid and ethereal, their eyes devoid of light yet filled with an insatiable hunger.
The soldiers hesitated for only a moment before the battle cry was sounded. The first ranks surged forward, clashing with the abominations in a frenzy of steel and magic. But the weapons of the demons found no purchase—the creatures dissipated upon impact, only to reform a moment later, as if mocking the futility of resistance.
King Vorghan, ever the warrior, roared in frustration. "How do you slay that which has no form?!"
The Oracle's voice cut through the chaos. "They are not of flesh and blood! Strike their cores, unravel their existence!"
Realizing the truth in her words, the warriors adapted. Enchanted weapons, forged in the depths of the demonic forges, flared with magic as they were driven into the creatures' swirling cores. The abominations shrieked in agony as they were torn asunder, their essence unraveling into nothingness.
Yet for every creature they slew, more crawled forth from the abyss. The battle had only begun.
Part 3: The Wounded and the Lost
As the battle raged, the cost of war became evident. The once-proud banners of the demon kingdoms were now torn and bloodied, their soldiers pushed to their limits against an enemy that did not tire.
Among the chaos, a young warrior from Kynthorath stumbled, his blade shattered, his armor cracked. He turned to flee, only to find himself surrounded by shadows, their whispers invading his mind, tempting him with promises of power, of salvation from death.
A hand grasped his shoulder—not of shadow, but of steel. Lord Varos pulled the soldier away, cutting through the darkness with a swift strike. "Do not listen to their voices! They seek to break you!"
The soldier nodded shakily, finding his courage once more. But for many, the whispers proved too alluring. Some fell to their knees, succumbing to the abyss, their bodies consumed and reshaped into horrors beyond recognition.
Those who faltered were lost.
Part 4: A Glimpse into the Abyss
As the armies fought with all their might, the darkness before them began to coalesce, taking shape into something far greater than the lesser horrors they had faced. A towering figure rose from the chasm, its form shifting like liquid void, its presence suffocating.
It had no face, no defined features—only an ever-changing mass of darkness. But as it stood before them, a voice resonated through the battlefield, not spoken but forced into their minds.
"You come to defy the inevitable."
The demon lords stood frozen, even the most battle-hardened among them struggling against the sheer weight of its existence. Lord Varos stepped forward, his grip tightening on his sword. "We have come to end this nightmare."
The entity did not move, yet the world around them seemed to tremble. "You are dust, grasping at the void. You cannot fight what is beyond your comprehension."
Queen Seraphis raised her hand, channeling her magic into a sigil of flame. "Then we will burn the void itself!"
The being let out a soundless laugh, its formless body rippling with amusement. "You misunderstand. It is not I who fights you."
The shadows behind them shifted, and from the battlefield, the fallen warriors of the demon armies rose once more. But their eyes, once filled with life, were now empty voids of darkness.
Their own dead had become their enemy.
And so, the second stage of the battle began.
The war for power had become a war for survival. And now, the abyss itself had joined the fray.