The fortress shook with every distant impact, the air trembling as the colossal lizard continued its relentless rampage. Stone towers cracked and fell into the sea, turrets screamed as they were torn apart by claws the size of ships, and the once-proud bastion of the Patron groaned under the combined fury of machine, beast, and warlord.
Kane advanced. His armor was scorched in places, but his steps were unbroken, measured, the weight of inevitability behind each stride. The Ironbound Legion marched in a wedge formation behind him, their hollow eyes gleaming red in the smoke-filled corridors. Blood streaked the stone walls, signs of defenders who had tried—and failed—to hold the choke points.
He cut down a barricade of chained steel doors with a single blow from his blade. Behind them, the fortress opened into a wide hall carved into the mountain itself. His eyes narrowed.
A rusted iron plaque hung crookedly above a massive gate:
"PRISON."
The stench hit him first. Rot, filth, blood, and despair. The door was half-open, as if abandoned in a hurry. Kane shoved it fully aside and stepped in.
The air was thick with cries. The chamber stretched upward, four floors of iron-railed walkways, with cell after cell stacked like a grotesque hive. Each level held dozens of barred cages, and inside…
Survivors.
Gaunt faces pressed against the bars, eyes sunken but wide with disbelief. Their bodies were skeletal, flesh hanging on bones. Children huddled in corners, mothers clutched at them with trembling arms. Men who once might have been warriors sat in silence, too broken to even lift their heads.
Kane's gaze swept across the prison. He counted quickly. Fifty cells… twelve per… His jaw tightened. Six hundred souls, left to rot in the dark.
The moment they saw him, voices rose—hoarse, desperate cries.
"Please!"
"Don't leave us here!"
"Food… water…"
"Save my son—please, anyone!"
Kane exhaled sharply, fury simmering just beneath his controlled exterior. "Seven fighters," he ordered without hesitation.
Seven of his strongest stepped forward. They saluted and moved swiftly, breaking locks with conjured mana tools, tearing iron apart with undead-enhanced strength, and lifting survivors one by one.
"You'll evacuate them to the outer dock. The Vanguard will take them aboard. Feed them, treat them, stabilize the weak."
His tone was clipped, precise, no room for doubt.
"And protection?" asked one of the fighters, already guiding a woman draped across his arm.
Kane turned. From the shadows behind him, the General-class necromancy summon lumbered forward—the fused mutant: part ogre, part serpent, part armored crustacean. Its monstrous form filled nearly the entire gateframe, its breathing a guttural rumble. Its jagged claws flexed as though eager for violence.
"You'll have this one," Kane said. "He stays here until the last survivor is evacuated."
The hulking summon bowed its twisted head in acknowledgment, chains of bone rattling against its chest. Its crimson eyes scanned the cells with a predator's hunger, but it obeyed Kane's command, stepping aside to guard the fighters and their charges.
A little girl clutched her doll as she shuffled past the towering creature. She looked up at it in terror, but then at Kane—her small eyes filled with a flicker of trust.
Kane gave the barest nod. "No harm will come to you."
The fighters began their work, rushing survivors out in lines, carrying those too weak to walk. The prison began to empty, the hollow silence of despair replaced by the hurried shuffle of salvation.
Kane turned his focus back to the deeper corridors.
Outside, the fortress quaked again, dust drifting from the ceiling as the lizard let out another earth-shaking roar. He could almost feel its fury echoing through the stone, tearing down towers and smashing defenses.
"Good," Kane murmured. "Keep them bleeding."
He pressed forward, deeper into the fortress heart, toward the sanctum where the Patron surely waited.
The real battle was yet to begin.
Kane pushed open the final gate of the fortress with a grunt, the steel groaning under the force of his strength. The corridor beyond opened into a vaulted chamber, carved with opulent grandeur, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and banners fluttering in the stale, acrid air. Gold and crimson tapestries lined the walls, depicting victories long past—but the chamber's glory was marred by the faint stench of fear and decay.
At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, sat the Patron, flanked by twelve elite guards, each emanating the aura of battle-hardened killers. Kane's eyes flicked over them; each one was at least level 35, with weapons glinting and their stance perfect, clearly trained for coordinated combat.
The Patron rose slowly from his throne, a figure of arrogance in fine armor, a cruel smile playing across his face. He spoke first, voice echoing across the hall.
"So, the infamous Kane of Sanctuary Isle finally shows himself. I've heard… rumors of your exploits. Impressive… for a regional thorn."
Kane's own lips curved into a smirk as he drew his sword, the metal humming with the energy of countless battles. The blade glimmered with a faint crimson glow as if anticipating the carnage to come.
"I've looked into your so-called achievements," Kane said coldly, his tone dripping with disdain. "Your ranking in the Blood Moon Event… twentieth place. All this preparation, all this fortress, all these defenses… for what? To play god over scraps of people you've caged? Pathetic."
The Patron's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger breaking through his composed exterior. "You dare mock me? These walls, these forces, the fortifications… you think you can just—"
"Pretend all you like," Kane interrupted, stepping closer, his presence alone forcing the guards to tense, "but I've seen the truth. A weak man hiding behind layers of stone and hired muscle, hoping no one notices he's a fraud. The world sees your rank, Patron. I see it. And it tells me everything I need to know."
The twelve elite guards shifted, hands tightening on their weapons, readying for Kane's next move. But Kane didn't flinch. Every step he took seemed to push the room's atmosphere further into tension, his aura radiating dominance and inevitability.
"Bring it," Kane said simply, voice calm, deadly. "Let's see if your vaunted skill and these… loyal pets… can back up the delusions of grandeur you're hiding behind."
A tense silence fell. Even the chandeliers seemed to quiver with the electricity in the air. The Patron glanced at his guards, their hands still raised in readiness, their confidence absolute… but Kane's gaze cut through it all, sharp and unrelenting.
"You thought I'd be impressed," Kane continued, stepping fully into the chamber's center, "but all I see are tools and walls protecting a hollow man. Let's end this farce. Show me the strength you think you have… or die trying."
Outside the inner sanctum, distant echoes of the lizard's rampage shook the mountain fortress, reminding everyone inside that the chaos was already theirs to contend with—while Kane's blade pulsed, ready to carve a path straight through the Patron's lies and defenses.
The twelve guards braced, the Patron's smugness giving way to tension, and Kane's Ironbound Legion prepared to move at his command.
The first strike was inevitable.
The silence broke like glass.
The Patron's hand flicked forward. "Kill him."
The twelve guards surged as one—boots hammering the marble floor, blades flashing, their coordination sharp and drilled. Their movements screamed of elite training, a seamless phalanx meant to overwhelm and drown any opponent under their combined might.
Kane's lips curled into a grin.
"Finally."
His Ironbound Legion erupted from his shadow in a swirl of black flame and bone, skeletal knights clad in spectral armor, shields locking, halberds braced. From the rear, spectral archers formed with bows taut, their eyes burning with ghostly fire. The chamber was immediately filled with the rattling march of undeath, the overwhelming presence of Kane's personal army summoned into the sanctum itself.
And then the floor shuddered as a massive silhouette lumbered forward—the General-class Necromancy summon. A monstrosity fused from ogre muscle, serpent coil, and armored crustacean shell, its glowing eyes fixed on the Patron's guards. Chains clinked from its arms, and jagged chitinous plating glistened like a natural fortress.
The Patron's smile faltered for the first time.
"Warlord's Command!" Kane's voice roared like thunder. His aura surged outward in a tidal wave of red energy, infusing every summon, every soldier, with heightened vigor and ruthless clarity. The Ironbound Legion straightened as if electrified, their strikes becoming faster, sharper, unrelenting.
The guards clashed first.
Sparks screamed as steel met spectral halberd, the chamber ringing with impacts. Two guards broke through the first rank, blades aimed for Kane.
"War Cry!"
Kane's bellow rattled the air. A shockwave of raw intimidation rippled outward. The two guards hesitated, their strikes faltering for just a fraction of a second. It was all Kane needed.
"Titan Breaker!"
His sword came down in an arc glowing with earthen might. The ground splintered as the blow connected, one guard's shield shattering like kindling, the man hurled back across the chamber into a pillar. Blood sprayed.
The second guard swung desperately. Kane twisted. "Phantom Rush!"
His body blurred, vanishing from sight only to reappear behind the man. His sword impaled through the guard's back with surgical precision. Kane ripped it free, booting the body aside.
The Ironbound Legion moved like a tide, their skeletal forms unyielding, hacking and stabbing with the precision of Kane's will. Arrows of spectral fire rained overhead, pinning down advancing enemies.
The fused Necromancy General surged forward, its ogre arm swinging in a devastating sweep that sent three guards flying like dolls. The serpent tail lashed out, coiling around one struggling guard and crushing him with a wet crunch, while its armored claw tore through a spear like paper.
"Warpath Dominion!" Kane declared, his aura snapping the battlefield into his absolute control. The Ironbound Legion tightened their formations, focusing on choke points, cutting off flanks, funneling the enemy directly where Kane wanted them.
The Patron watched, his smug façade slipping further as Kane demonstrated mastery not just of strength—but of war itself.
Another guard lunged from the side. Kane didn't flinch. His sword shimmered. "Ice Shard." A spike of frozen mana burst forward, impaling the man's thigh and pinning him to the floor. "Earth Spike!" The ground erupted beneath another, hurling him upward into the waiting claws of the Necromancy General, who tore him apart in midair.
The guards began to falter, their perfect formation crumbling under Kane's relentless barrage. He advanced, a walking storm of destruction, his voice cutting through the chaos.
"Dominion Tactics!"
Every unit adjusted instantly—archers shifted to higher vantage points, halberds pressed forward, the Necromancy General slammed its body into the enemy line to scatter them further.
Kane's sword flared crimson. He raised it high.
"Warlord's Wrath!"
A sweeping arc of raw energy carved through the chamber, forcing four guards to their knees as their armor split, blood spraying in crimson fans across the marble.
The battlefield was no longer theirs. It belonged to him.
The Patron, for the first time, leaned forward in his throne, fury twisting his features.
"You… monster…"
Kane's eyes locked with his. "No. I'm a Warlord. And this is what happens when you stand against me."
As the last of the twelve guards rallied desperately for one final push, the chamber trembled—not from their strength, but from Kane's aura, swelling larger and darker by the second.
The execution was about to begin.