The sky was on fire.
Ash drifted through the air like black snow, settling over broken spears and the bodies of men who had once called him Commander.
Kael stood at the edge of the ruined valley, armor cracked, sword trembling in his hand. The divine banners of humanity lay torn behind him, their golden sigils dimming under the crimson sun.
He could still hear them — the screams of soldiers who had followed him to the end. The roar of celestial beasts that tore through their ranks like shadows with wings.
"Fall back!" a voice shouted from the ridge. "General Kael, the line's collapsing!"
Kael didn't move. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where a colossal figure walked through flame — a god of war, its eyes molten gold.
"So," Kael muttered, blood trickling from his lips, "even the heavens joined the enemy this time."
He planted his sword into the ground. The earth shook.
Behind him, a few thousand soldiers still stood, terrified and exhausted. Each of them had chosen to stay when retreat meant life.
Kael turned, meeting their eyes one last time. "You've fought enough," he said softly. "I'll hold the line."
The men shouted in protest, but the general only smiled — that same tired, fearless smile that had carried them through every impossible battle.
He whispered a short prayer. Not to the gods, but to the world that had abandoned him.
"If the heavens can betray us…" he breathed, "then I'll become something they can't control."
Kael raised his sword high, and the blade ignited with blinding light. The divine armies halted. Even the god of war paused.
The last mortal on the field glared at the divine.
"Let this world remember," he roared, his voice echoing like thunder, "that even when men fall, we do not kneel!"
The explosion swallowed the valley.
Light devoured everything — mountains, gods, and Kael himself.
Then, only silence.