[Chp 24] Realm Under Chaos

Hours passed since Tirion vanished into the ether, leaving only blood, ruin, and unanswered questions in his wake. The Eighth Realm, once a bastion of strength and order, had become a battlefield of despair. Skies once bathed in celestial blue were now choked in ash and fire. Entire cities crumbled under the force of Tirion’s followers—twisted zealots and mercenaries hunting for only one thing: The Oblivion Orb. Planets fell like dominos. Stars dimmed. Screams echoed from every corner of the realm. Families were torn apart. Soldiers slaughtered. Innocents tortured, imprisoned—all for a whisper of where the Orb might be. And at the eye of the storm was Tirion, the fallen Steel Dragon. No longer a hero. No longer a guardian. Now, a shadow-clad executioner forging his path with blood and betrayal. Meanwhile, Zero stood among the rubble of a ruined village—smoke rising from scorched earth, buildings blackened, the stench of death clinging to the wind. Children cried out for parents who would never return. Warriors stared blankly into the fire, defeated not just in body but in spirit. Zero clenched his fists, his tattered cloak fluttering behind him. His body still bore the wound Tirion gave him—healed on the outside, but burning inside like a scar on his soul. “How many more have to suffer…” he whispered, his voice hoarse, broken. “How many more will he destroy just to chase a damn Orb?” Beside him, Iskar stood quietly, eyes scanning the horizon. “He’s not just chasing the Orb,” he said grimly. “He’s chasing power. Purpose. Vengeance. And he won’t stop—not until someone stops him.” Zero’s jaw tightened. His eyes burned with cold fire. “Then I’ll stop him. No matter what it takes.” Zen’s voice stirred again within his mind. “This chaos… it’s only the beginning. He’s pushing the realm into collapse. He wants the realms to bleed until the Orb appears on its own.” Zero turned, stepping through the shattered gates of the village. “I don’t care if I have to crawl through fire or tear through stars—I’ll find him.” His boots crunched over broken glass and ash as he moved forward, villagers watching him like he was their last flicker of hope. Somewhere in the chaos, Tirion was out there—gathering power, spreading ruin, searching for the ultimate key to the cosmos. And Zero? He was done being hunted. It was his turn to hunt. Tirion stood at the heart of the Eighth Realm, atop the blackened remains of the High Council Fortress—the once-great monument that symbolized unity between the realm’s seven ruling districts. Now, it was ash. Crumbled. Hollowed out by fire and betrayal. Flames danced through shattered windows, the wind thick with ash and the scent of molten stone. Below him, entire legions of corrupted warriors marched—mercenaries, deserters, even former realm guards who had sworn new loyalty under the promise of power. His banner, forged of steel and draped in shadow, flew high. They called him traitor. Warlord. Reaper of Unity. But Tirion didn’t flinch. He stood tall, eyes cold, unwavering. “Let them curse my name,” he murmured, staring at the destruction spreading across the realm like wildfire. “The Oblivion Orb isn’t just power… it’s evolution. And I’ll burn this world until it’s reborn.” A commander stepped through the smoke behind him, helmet tucked under one arm. “The Southern District has fallen. The last resistance fled into the caves of Vorannis. Shall we pursue?” Tirion’s voice was quiet, but commanding. “Scorch them out.” He turned his gaze toward the eastern horizon—toward the Guild Stronghold, where Zero had last been seen. His knuckles tightened. “He doesn’t even know what he is,” Tirion whispered. “But the realm does. It bends around him. Protects him. Even Iskar follows him like a loyal mutt.” He held out his palm. From the void, a ripple of dark steel curled into the form of a long-bladed spear—etched with symbols from a lost language. “But I’ve walked this realm longer than he’s drawn breath. I’ve felt its pain. I’ve heard its silence.” His voice turned bitter, almost reverent. Tirion raised the spear, pointing it eastward. “Let him come. Let them all come. And when they do—I’ll be waiting.” He turned to his forces. Thousands of armored feet stomped in unison. The ground trembled. “Raise the banners,” Tirion barked. “This is no longer the Eighth Realm. This is my realm now.” As war drums thundered and siege engines rumbled across the plains, the sky itself seemed to darken—war casting its shadow over every town, forest, and soul. Smoke curled through the ruined forests of Kaelor Ridge, where once-glorious trees now stood charred and broken, the skies blood-red for days, ash drifting like snow, and distant screams no longer surprising. Zero stood motionless on a jagged cliffside, his cloak torn and fluttering behind him, the wind scraping ash against his skin, but he didn’t flinch—his eyes burned, not just with fury, but with confusion. Iskar stood beside him, armor chipped and blackened from battle; he had seen centuries of war, but this… this was madness. “You’re quiet,” Iskar said softly, watching a distant village in flames. Zero didn’t respond immediately, gripping the hilt of Shinku, his blade still slick from the last ambush—he’d saved maybe seven people today, maybe, out of hundreds. “He’s destroying everything,” Zero said, barely above a whisper. “And I still don’t understand why.” Iskar exhaled. “Tirion’s mind has been poisoned by the Orb’s myth. Zarif warned me—those who chase it too long… they lose themselves before they ever touch it.” Zero’s fists clenched. “He said it grants knowledge. Power. That Zarif made a mistake not giving it to him. But what is it, Iskar? What is the Oblivion Orb?” Iskar shook his head. “I don’t know. Zarif never told me what it truly is—only that it must go to you. That it contains something… ancient. Something dangerous. And that it must never fall into the wrong hands.” “And mine are the right hands?” Zero muttered, bitterness creeping into his tone. “I can barely protect a village, Iskar. What the hell makes me Zarif’s heir?” Iskar turned to him, gaze sharp. “You’re not his heir because of strength. You’re his heir because of your heart. Because you haven’t burned this realm down chasing power. Because you still care who lives and dies.” Zero’s jaw tightened as he looked away, hiding the emotion building in his eyes. A rumble echoed across the valley—another explosion, farther east this time. Zero looked toward it, instinct already dragging him forward. “That was near the Guild stronghold,” he muttered. Iskar followed his gaze. “If Tirion’s headed there—he’s hunting something. Or someone.” Zero stepped to the cliff’s edge, drawing Shinku. The once-impenetrable stronghold of the Eighth Realm, Valkrythis Hold, stood atop a mountainside encased in layered runes, shimmering crystal shields, and sentries trained to guard against threats mortal and divine alike, but now the skies above had blackened unnaturally, swirling with spirals of molten clouds and jagged streaks of crimson lightning. From the far horizon, a singular figure marched forward through the chaos—his armor no longer silver but charred black, streaked with glowing magma veins: Tirion. His presence twisted the very air; with each step toward the stronghold, the ground behind him melted into slag, and the winds recoiled as if in fear. Inside the hold, alarms blared, runes along the walls flickered, and the Guild Council scrambled in confusion and panic. “It’s him!” one guard yelled. “Tirion’s at the outer gates!” “Raise the barriers! Call the Arcanists! Where’s Commander Maelis?!” another shouted. Whispers rippled through the halls: Where is the Guildmaster? Is Zero ready? Can he even lead yet? Arken, one of Zero’s closest lieutenants but unsure of the new leadership, gritted his teeth, gripping his twin axes tight. “We hold the line,” he growled. “No matter what.” Outside the gates, Tirion raised his hand slowly, steel magic distorting the air like fractured glass; lava from the nearby rivers rose unnaturally, coiling around him like living serpents. “You built your empire atop stolen lies,” he whispered, voice rolling like distant thunder. “Let’s see if it can stand the weight of truth.” With a snap of his fingers, the sky ruptured. Molten meteors rained down, smashing into the force field over Valkrythis Hold; screams echoed as outer towers buckled, some exploding from the sheer force of the impact. The crystalline barrier cracked, rune circuits sparking and flickering violently. “Shields down twenty percent!” a mage shouted. “We can’t hold him—he’s using a sealed technique!” Tirion leapt into the air, lava spiraling around his fists like gauntlets forged in hell. “Steel Dragon Art: Ragnarok Fist.” He plummeted like a meteor, his fist crashing through the front gate, annihilating it in a shockwave of molten fire and shrapnel; dozens of guards were sent flying, some didn’t rise. Inside, Arken charged, voice raw with desperation. “FOR THE GUILD!” Their weapons clashed—Tirion’s arm shimmering with volcanic steel, Arken’s axes sparking with fierce enchantments—but the power gap was vast. Tirion caught Arken’s strike with one hand and slammed him into the stone floor, leaving a crater wide enough to swallow a cart. “Your loyalty is wasted,” Tirion sneered. “He doesn’t even know what he is…” Elsewhere in the hold, Zero felt the tremor in his core. “He’s here,” Zero said sharply, eyes blazing with a fire only a true Guildmaster could wield. “We’re too far—” Iskar began. “Then we move now!” Zero’s voice cracked with furious resolve. In a flash of G energy, Zero vanished, air collapsing where he stood. The Guild was burning. Tirion had come for the truth. As Tirion’s fiery assault tore through the Guild’s defenses, the very ground beneath Valkrythis Hold began to tremble; deep within the heart of the stronghold, a faint but growing pulse echoed—a dark, rhythmic heartbeat that resonated with an ancient power. The Oblivion Orb, long dormant and hidden, finally stirred. In that moment, both Tirion and Zero felt it—a sudden surge of energy ripping through the chaos like a beacon calling to them. Tirion halted mid-strike, his molten eyes narrowing, scanning the battlefield beyond the shattered gates; the air around him thickened, charged with the Orb’s awakening. Zero, standing atop a ruined tower, felt his body tense, instincts screaming; his eyes blazed gold as a familiar pull tugged at his soul, deeper and stronger than any call before. Neither spoke—words were useless. Both knew what this meant. Without hesitation, they both launched into motion, racing through the war-torn corridors and shattered battlements—neither aware of the other’s approach… until their paths violently converged. They came face-to-face, breathless, the tension between them as thick as the smoke swirling around. For a moment, the world stilled. Their eyes locked—two warriors bound by fate, drawn to the same prize, their rivalry burning fiercer than ever. The pulse of the Oblivion Orb grew louder beneath their feet, promising power… or destruction. And neither would let the other claim it without a fight.