The moon hung heavy over the shattered streets of Verdenfall, its pale light casting long shadows across crumbling walls. Amid the ruin, Torez Warman slept atop a broken fountain, his metallic arms gleaming like twin blades against the night. The world around him lay in quiet ruin—but the calm was about to shatter.
From the darkness, hooded figures emerged—members of the Blood Cult, their slim-fit black garments swallowing every footfall. Fanatics whispering of "pure blood," they crept forward, blades drawn, eyes burning with zealotry.
"Capture him!" a voice hissed from a nearby bough. Robin, perched in the treetops, barked orders. "Do not let this dog of war rise again—not even for a heartbeat!"
A sudden gust of wind ruffled Torez's hair. His eyes snapped open just as a boot slammed into his jaw. He rocked forward, teeth clattering, as daggers flashed at his throat.
Torez rolled free, planting his hands in the dust. With a roar, he spun—metallic arms sweeping out in a deadly arc. Two cultists flew like ragdolls, bodies skidding across broken tiles.
"Think you can take me while I'm down?" he growled, snatching another attacker by the collar. Holding the poor fanatic as a shield, he battered the oncoming wave of blades aside with brutal efficiency. War cries split the night. Torez hurled his makeshift shield into a group of four—thwack!—sending them sprawling like skewered pins. He leapt forward, boots landing in a crouch, blade-hands spinning in a blur as he cut down cultists in a vicious ballet.
One survivor stumbled back, blood splattering the stone. "Why hide in the dark? What makes you so special?" the fanatic spat, struggling to rise. Torez braced a foot on his chest. "I outlived your judgment," he snapped. "They tried to smite me—I refused to die. That's more than you fanatics ever will."
The man's eyes flickered with fear—and something else: respect.
But the night was far from over. From above, a silver-tipped arrow drilled into Torez's shoulder. He bellowed, metal hand catching the bolt mid-flight—CRACK!—as it shattered.
"Slow down, dog," intoned Robin from the shadows. She dropped behind him, every movement fluid—dark smoke coiling around her like silk. "Task was simple: raze the village, convert the purebloods. Yet here you stand, breathing."
Torez growled, fists clenching. "You did convert me—into something stronger." With a roar, he charged on all fours, arms slicing the air. But Robin was already gone—teleporting into a smoky afterimage, arrows flicking like shooting stars.
"You hide behind tricks," he snarled, twisting to follow. His metal limbs whirled—swish, swish—but each strike met only thin air.
Robin reappeared overhead, perching on a broken arch. "And you charge in like a rabid beast," she taunted, notching an ebony arrow. "Parents ever teach you caution, Warman? Or do you hunt first—and think later?"
Torez lunged upward. Smoke curled around him, ghosts of arrows raining down. He deflected them—ting, ting, ting—his metal arms ringing like bells of war.
Pain blossomed in Torez's veins—poisoned by Robin's dark sorcery. He roared, claws raking the air. "Enough riddles! Show yourself, witch! Reveal my fate!"
"Your allotted time has concluded." Robin cried, hands weaving a spiral of smoke. Arrows spun into a vortex, each shaft wreathed in creeping dark. Torez's vision blurred; every breath burned. With a final, feral roar, he surged forward—metal arms a cyclone of steel. But Robin had one last trick: the smoke erupted, a living storm that swallowed him whole.
Torez staggered, choked by the inky whirlwind. His arms spun madly, slicing through phantom shadows. The poison clawed at his mind, but the warrior in him refused to fall.
The smoke roared and contracted, hiding the two combatants in its storm. Torez's final scream echoed—half triumph, half agony—as the vortex tightened.
And then… silence.
In the moonlit ruins, only the hush of the wind remained—and the faint clink of poisoned metal tasting victory.
***
The grand hall of Eldoria buzzed with mana-infused air, lit by floating crystalline orbs that cast dancing colors across the black stone floor. Towering pillars lined the vast chamber, etched with the names of fallen warriors and the flames of victory past. The chatter inside was electric with tension and curiosity as the newly ranked Pillars of Judgment entered the heart of the guild.
Freedom led the way with his cloak fluttering, embers flickering at his heels. Justice walked beside him, practically bouncing with energy. Truth followed behind, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning every movement in the room.
"This place is huge! They got a chandelier made outta dragon teeth?!" Justice whispered loudly. "I am thriving."
"Of course you're loud enough to echo in the next city," Truth muttered, adjusting his collar.
"Relax," Freedom said, cracking his knuckles. "They've just never seen royalty in action."
At the far end of the chamber, Guildmaster Eliquin descended slowly from a balcony, his robes flowing like ink in water. Behind him, a projection of shifting sigils announced the updated guild rankings. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
#7: Freedom
#8: Justice
#9: Truth
"Top ten..." Freedom exhaled smugly, tossing a wink toward the stunned faces.
The murmurs turned sharp.
"Is this a joke?" a voice growled. The crowd parted like splitting magma as a warrior stormed forward, skin cracked with glowing lava veins on command—Grint. Rank #6. "This ain't some schoolyard fairytale. You leapfrog your way up with what, style points?"
"Oh hey," Justice grinned, arms crossed. "Freedom, isn't this the guy you smoked in sparring last month? What's he still doing in single digits?"
Grint's fists clenched, heat rising from his shoulders. "Watch it, sparky."
Freedom stepped up, nose to nose. "Look, Grunt—sorry, Grint—I get it. You're explosive, slow, and probably allergic to subtlety. But rank envy? Not a good color."
A collective gasp from the guild floor.
Justice cackled loudly.
Truth sighed. "Please don't."
"Pit. Now," Grint growled. "Let's see if your mouth's got mana behind it."
Talon leaned against a pillar, arms folded. "Eliquin won't stop this. He's curious."
The floor shimmered. The crowd stepped back. The arena activated.
Magma veins coursed through the obsidian ground, and magical barriers flared to life, casting a pale glow. The Pillars stood across from Grint. Freedom cracked his neck. Justice stretched like she was preparing for a concert.
"Don't hold back, hothead," she called to Grint. "You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself softly."
Grint roared, summoning a geyser of lava from the floor. Freedom slid sideways, flame dancing up his arm.
"You're just making it easier to show off," he taunted, spinning through the air and hurling fire like a comet. Grint blocked, the explosion sending cracks through the barrier. Justice vaulted from behind him, launching an arc of lightning. It zipped past Grint's cheek.
"Oops! That was me missing on purpose," she shouted.
The two danced around Grint, tagging in and out. Grint summoned a molten boulder and hurled it at Freedom. With a grunt, Freedom kicked it into sparks.
"Was that supposed to impress me? I've fought tougher earth golems in training diapers!"
"YOU LITTLE—"
Grint charged. Justice slid between his legs and zapped his foot.
"Sorry, you dropped your pride!"
With a frustrated roar, Grint unleashed a torrent of flame, creating a literal firewall.
Truth, from the edge: "They're going to collapse the roof. Again."
Freedom leapt high, heat swirling beneath him. Justice launched a bolt of lightning upward. He caught it mid-air, igniting it with his own flame, forming a glowing spear.
"Thunderflame Lance," he whispered.
The crowd gasped as the spear launched downward.
Grint threw up both arms—but too slow.
BOOM!
The impact rattled the walls. When the smoke cleared, Grint lay in a crater, twitching. Freedom landed like a showman, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. Justice threw her fists in the air. "Top Seven!"
Even Truth cracked a rare smirk.
Grint slowly rose to his feet. He stormed off, half-melted armor hissing.
Freedom, flexing dramatically: "We should charge for the lessons we just gave. All in favor say I."
"At your current rate," Talon said dryly, approaching, "you'll bankrupt the guild."
Luna, the #12 support caster, ran up breathlessly. "That was... that was... I was tracking your elemental sync rate. It shouldn't be possible at this stage."
"And yet here we are," Justice beamed.
A magic sigil flared in Eliquin's hand. He frowned.
"We forgot something..."
Everyone turned.
"The border rupture at Celrest," Talon muttered. "The scouts."
Eliquin gestured to the Pillars.
"Top ten rank means you go too."
Serae (#5), arms folded, her eyes rolled. "Great. Babysitting."
Freedom grinned. "Don't worry, we'll bring coloring books."
Justice added, "And snacks!"
Truth adjusted his cuffs. "Prepare yourselves. A real mission awaits."
As the guild gathered and grand doors opened, the Pillars stood shoulder to shoulder, lightning, fire, and ice shimmering at their heels.
Ready to rise.