The Pillars Fall

King Mae watched the end of his world come from the top parapet of the royal palace. The old stones in his vast courtyard began to crack and wither as the Ruinhorn, a beast taken from the pages of a lost legend text, stood in the middle. 

Next to it, Lord Yarte, a skeleton figure in ragged clothes, exuded a sense of unadulterated, evil power.

The monster's howl rocked the earth, rattling the castle's stained-glass windows and the bones of the men standing next to the King.

He stared at the calm, commanding form beside him. With a serene expression and his palm resting on the hilt of his enormous greatsword, Sir Nennoch was the strongest knight the realm had seen in a century.

“Go, old friend,” the King said, his voice a quiet, heavy command.

After bowing to his king once, Sir Nennoch turned and leaped over the wall. 

Like a shooting star, he plummeted to the courtyard below, his impact reverberating through the flagstones and shaking the earth. 

The Ruinhorn saw him and unleashed its attack. Its obsidian hide bristled, and a volley of sharp, glistening black projectiles—shards of pure, solidified corruption—shot from its back, streaking towards Nennoch like a hundred poisoned arrows.

“Aegis of Light!” Grizellum’s voice boomed from the castle wall above. 

A massive, golden, translucent shield of divine energy materialized in front of Nennoch, protecting him easily.

“Nennoch, Attack its left foreleg! It favors it after the leap!” Ingeldamu roared, “Archers, suppress the lich!”

Blessed with a shimmering aura of speed from Grizellum’s next spell, Nennoch became so fast it was almost blurred to see. 

His greatsword, glowing with holy fire, carved a brilliant arc through the air, slamming into the Ruinhorn’s leg with a deafening clang.

The conflict in the courtyard was a grinding, desperate standoff. The line was being held against the Ruinhorn by Sir Nennoch, a tornado of holy steel, but he was losing the battle.

For every gash his greatsword opened on the beast's obsidian hide, the corrupting energy would seep out, attempting to rot his blade and poison his spirit.

The Ruinhorn, enraged by this small, persistent gnat, finally had enough. It ignored Nennoch, reared its colossal head back, and roared, “WEAK, WEAK HUMANS! YOUR STONE HIVE WILL BE YOUR TOMB!”

Its head struck the royal castle's main tower with the force of a tectonic plate.

In a devastating explosion of dust and debris, the entire castle—a representation of Minilon's might and past—folded in on itself.

Thrown from the crumbling balcony, the King could only watch as the monster's enormous hoof fell to crush him.

But it never landed.

In a moment between the King and his destruction, a figure of golden light emerged. A tall, calm guy with golden eyes, he used one outstretched palm to hold the apocalyptic beast's hoof at away. He pulled the King away gently.

“Sorry for being late,”

Ars Caelus said before teleporting him away with a portal.

Ars Caelus then turn to his sword form to fight the ruinhorn for himself. With Ruinhorn now occupied by a divine equal, Lord Yarte attention was now solely on the kingdom’s remaining champions.

Nennoch, Ingeldamu, and Grizellum formed a defensive triangle. 

"Wait..." As the lich drew closer, a look of horrified recognition dawned on Nennoch’s face.

“That stance… that magic…” he breathed, “No. It cannot be. Yarte?”

The lich let out a dry, rasping laugh. "Finally noticed?"

“But that’s impossible!” Nennoch yelled, his composure finally breaking. “I killed you! at the Battle of the Neverends, I ran you through with this very blade! How can you be here?!”

“You should have burned the body. Instead, your ‘honorable’ King gave his greatest mage a hero’s burial.”

“You only provided the empty vessel for my master’s gift. Lord Morvane granted me what you never could: true immortality.”

“Then I will send you back to whatever hell you crawled out of, monster!” Nennoch roared, charging forward.

Yarte was a master, weaving spells of decay and raising skeletal warriors from the very rubble around them. Nennoch was the sword, his holy blade clashing against Yarte’s shields of pure darkness.

“Grizellum, bind his legs!” Ingeldamu shouted.

“By Orivaneia’s light, be shackled, foul spirit!” Grizellum chanted, and chains of golden energy erupted from the ground, attempting to ensnare the lich.

Yarte simply laughed, teleporting a few feet to the side.

“Your goddess has abandoned you! Your kingdom is already dead! All that is left is to sweep away the ashes!” He raised both hands, and a swirling vortex of black and purple energy began to form above him, a spell of devastating power.

“Watch out!” Ingeldamu yelled, bracing himself. “He’s going to level the whole courtyard!”

The vortex of black and purple energy swelled above Yarte, a swirling Maelstrom that crackled with the power of pure entropy.

“Be erased!” the lich shrieked.

He brought his hands down, and the vortex descended, sucking everything into its dark heart. 

The last standing walls of the royal castle, the mountains of rubble, the bodies of the fallen knights and skeletons, all of it was pulled into the sphere of non-existence, annihilated in a silent, terrifying display of power.

“DIVINE BASTION!” A brilliant, golden dome of pure holy light had erupted around the three of them just as the maelstrom hit. 

The world outside the dome vanished into blackness, the sound of reality itself being torn apart screaming against their shield.

When the spell finally subsided, the three champions were left standing. 

The entire castle courtyard, and what was left of the castle itself, was gone. In its place was a massive, perfectly flat, circular arena of blackened, glassy stone.

High above, the Ruinhorn was still locked in a deadly aerial battle with the golden sword form of Ars Caelus. The great beast was no fool; it understood that the glowing, flying warrior was the single greatest threat it had ever faced.

Back on the ground, Yarte floated at the center of the crater he had created. Now he wanted revenge. He wanted to kill Nennoch.

“There,” the lich hissed, “No more crumbling walls to hide behind. No more distractions.” He pointed a skeletal finger.

“Twenty years ago, you ended my mortal life, Nennoch. An inconvenience, sure...” Yarte rasped. “But today, I will end your very soul.”

He didn't wait for a reply. He raised a skeletal hand, and reality tore open. 

A swirling black portal erupted beneath Ingeldamu’s feet. The massive commander roared, slamming the edge of his tower shield into the ground to anchor himself, barely avoiding a fall into nothingness.

“Your parlor tricks are the same as ever, Yarte!” Ingeldamu bellowed. “All smoke and mirrors!”

“And you are still the same stubborn bull!” Yarte retorted. From another portal that opened above their heads, a volley of massive bone spears rained down.

Nennoch at this time would strike but Yarte would absorb Nennoch’s furious, charging strike into a portal in front of him, only to have the knight’s own blade emerge from another portal at his back, forcing Nennoch to desperately parry his own attack.

But the Pillars of Minilon were Obsidian-rank adventurers, legends who had fought alongside each other for decades. Their synergy was a thing of beauty.

“Grizellum, anchor him! Now!” Ingeldamu commanded, his shield glowing as he absorbed a blast of necrotic energy that Yarte had fired through a portal at his flank.

“Ground of Fatus!” the High Prelate chanted, his hands slamming onto the glassy earth. A web of golden, divine light spread across a fifty-meter radius around them, causing the very air to solidify against dark magic.

Yarte, attempting to teleport, found his portal sputtering and fizzling out, “Impressive, old man! But for how long?!”

“Long enough!” Nennoch roared. He was the finisher. 

With Yarte momentarily grounded by Grizellum’s spell and Ingeldamu blocking any counterattack, Nennoch charged. His greatsword blazed with a holy fire, a true hero against a fallen one.

“The Four Pillars…” Yarte hissed as he met the strike with a hastily summoned shield of bone. “We were meant to be legends together! You threw it all away for a sentimental king!”

“You threw it away by killing our last saint, traitor!” Nennoch roared back.

Yarte, seeing his shield failing, used a desperate gambit. 

He abandoned his grand spells and lunged forward, closing the distance to strike Nennoch directly. It was a fatal mistake.

Grizellum’s eyes flashed with triumphant, holy fire. He raised his hands to the sky, to the distant, swirling battle between Caelus and the Ruinhorn.

“ARS CAELUS!” the High Prelate’s voice boomed with divine authority. “BY THE GRACE OF ORIVANEIA, I COMMAND YOU! STRIKE DOWN THIS ABOMINATION!”