Prologue

Fifteen years have come and gone, and the man had become a monster, and the moment he blinked, they were upon him.

The Tyrant moved with a fluidity his opponents hadn’t expected of him. It threw them off balance, turning the tables in an instant. What was about to be the killing blow toward the decrepit old man turned dire as the black clad sorcerer weaved between swords and lances like water.

His bulging, red eyes darted across the obliterated, ruined grand hall with surprise. His wretched mouth roared with saliva and a slack jawed scream. The soldiers were pushed back. This renewed vigor had to be quelled. Even in his decayed state, the Tyrant could kill everyone in this room.

Silva jumped back into the fray. Out of all the warriors present, she had the most experience against the Tyrant. The demon was like an open book to her. His dark magic was potent, but he was a pugilist at heart. Moving close quarters, she brought her thin blade to his chest and thrusted. The wizard riposted with his bare hands against the flat end, but his technique was sloppy. It even came to him as a surprise. The Tyrant wheezed as if he had just discovered how far he had fallen. He tilted off balance as Silva crashed her helmet against his forehead. Blood gushed across her face.

The frail wizard staggered back, and three more men blindsided him with swords, but they passed through his cloak effortlessly. A blade swiped up. Another blow across his bicep. The monster grew whiter as he was drenched in red blood.

The witch knight bit her lip. Pathetic. This husk of a man was once her teacher. People had a lot of titles for him back then. Beck, the Great. Beck the Master Wizard. Beck, Creator of Crystals.

All of those names were like sand in her mouth. Their images offended her on a primal level. How dare this creature resemble such an honorable man? Beck the Betrayer. Beck, Herald of KC. Beck the Inpaler, Beck the Tyrant. Now that was this Beck, this wretch, this murderer.

It was a crime for this man to exist for so long, to disgrace the memories of her childhood, her family. Everything. The world had gone to hell, all because of him, yes, him.

She could remember his face, his laughter, the deranged look in his eyes, his mocking tone as he took from her. That laughter. It’s haunted her for a decade onward. Damn him. Damn this man!

How dare he look at her with fear, as if begging for forgiveness! Did he think she’d forget!? Hatred! There was nothing but hatred for the bandit king! He had to die, right here, right now!

Silva charged full speed, blade glowing with mystical powers. The Tyrant caught her approach, but instead of bracing himself, he threw himself backwards through stained glass. He shattered it, the colored spectacle dicing into his massive, lanky frame. It was suicide. Did he not realize they were at the top of a castle? The ground would not be for another hundred meters. For a moment, the young warrioress felt confused. Did they win? Was it finally over?

Another knight kept going, reaching for him, but his grasp missed his tattered robes by a centimeter. The old man glided diagonally, surfing the wind into the city below.

“He’s heading east!” he shouted. Men scrambled around him.

Silva turned back. “Meryl! Garnet squad!”

“I’m on it!” a meek blue witch in the back changed chants, switching to a communications spell.

In his descent, The Tyrant gazed down at the destruction he had wrought. The city of Murr, capital of the Middle West Kingdom, lay burning. The sky choked with smoke, and the streets echoed with the sound of carnage. Torchlight scattered across the landscape. Dark magic marked its presence in groves of black tentacles. The Tyrant looked upon his creation with fear.

Three lights blinded him from below, and a squadron of wizards emerged, launching themselves at Beck. The Tyrant tried to summon his crystals for protection, but he had none to bring. He had to dodge the incoming fire. His defensive magic could block off their shots from a distance, but it fared worse the closer they got. His mana was depleted. Everything felt so dry and empty.

One of the wizards crashed into the elder head on, cracking his bones in the process. He was more skeleton than anything else, and it was only by sheer force of will the Tyrant dared to draw breath. Wiith a combat dagger at hand, the young cadet sought to claim victory.

But he was met with a punch to the face. The Tyrant was too large, easily two feet taller than him with the limbs to reach. The killing blow devolved into mid-air grappling, the beast clawing at the younger like a rabid animal, yanking equipment off his hands and head. The cadet’s glory was taken, but he saw his comrades turn back to rescue him. With mere eye contact, the team made their choice.

The cadet tossed The Tyrant off, and with perfect coordination, Garnet squad put all of their power into casting a wall of fire. In the tumble, there was no escape for The Tyrant. He couldn’t change course, and he had no magical ability left in his arsenal. The wizard’s eyes practically bulged out of his eye sockets.

Watching from the grand hall above to the city streets below, over ten thousand souls watched as Beck the Tyrant disappeared into the wall of flame. A moment later, the sky exploded in a display of bright and colorful lights. The city went eerily quiet. The void was filled with the rumbling hum of a nation in flames.

Cheers followed. It was over. Thank the god Afrahim it was over. Beck’s horde of bandits trembled and vanished, disappearing into the holes they crawled out of. The dark magicians almost went mad. Their dark lord had fallen, and so, too they must flee, many vanishing into the shadows.

It was as if all at once, a long nightmare had finally ended. Silva and her team watched from the shattered glass up high, watching with a deep melancholy while those around them fell to their knees in euphoria.

“He’s gone.” Silva muttered. “No, that couldn’t have killed him.”

Meryl moved her glasses to wipe her face. “We did it, Sir Silva. We’ll have peace at last. What should we do now?”

Good question. The Tyrant was their sole focus for almost a decade. She was in her mid thirties now. She had children waiting for her at home. Now that the storm had passed, she could return as their rightful mother, but would it be the same? It didn’t feel right.

Garnet Squad attempted to return to base, but their rings weren’t reacting. Something must’ve happened to the witches on the other side. Worse, one of the rings was missing, possibly lost in the scrap with the Tyrant. They had to fly back the long way.

When they returned, the outpost had been completely destroyed. Signs of a struggle permeated the camp, but it was their comrades impaled on spikes of stone that gathered the most attention. They surveyed the surrounding land, but no perpetrator was found. However, the handiwork was all too clear. Only one man could perform magic with this level of precision.

A report was given to the church. Celebrations would continue as planned, but a top secret message was delivered to the upper echelons. The Tyrant was still at large.