The horns of Elandor echoed long and low through the morning mist. They weren't alarm bells. They were a call — not to battle, but to silence.
Kael stood atop the Grand Platform, surrounded by city guards and stunned civilians. His voice carried across the plaza without a spell, his words laced with the full weight of Paragon-tier presence, muffled just enough to pass for Ethereal.
"No more patrols. No more scouts. The Gate will open in three days."
A hush swept through the crowd.
Kael's tone sharpened. "I want every soul inside the walls. No one engages the Varnok unless they breach the city. I will hold the outer grounds. Alone."
Gasps followed. Cries of protest. Even some of the elite tried to step forward, but Kael's glare held them in place.
"This is not about bravery. This is a necessity," he said, his cloak catching in the wind. "You all have families. Friends. Futures. I will not let those be stolen because of pride. I've seen what's coming. I will not let Elandor fall."
Reyne stood among the front ranks, jaw clenched, fists trembling. "But—"
Kael met her eyes.
"No one."
Then he turned.
He didn't wait for ceremony. No battle cry. No strategy meeting. Kael launched into the sky, a single streak of force exploding outward behind him like a sonic boom.
At a distance stood Leiya… mouth slightly ajar, and her heart visibly in her throat. Eyes lonely, panicked.. Sad. Yet she said nothing, simply a silent prayer in her mind " Please be safe. "
The battlefield was a wasteland.
Varnok surged from every direction — hundreds, thousands, all converging on the city from ruptures and tears in the leylines, their twisted forms illuminated by the crimson twilight of a dying sky.
Kael didn't slow down.
He tore through them like a natural disaster.
A Dregspawn blinked — Kael's fist crushed its skull before its vision refocused.
A twin-headed Goreborn roared — Kael kicked straight through its midsection and used the remaining corpse to shatter three more behind it.
He didn't use a single technique. No storm. No flame. Just his own body, elevated to myth.
He was everywhere. A blur between worlds. Punches that shattered hillsides. Kicks that folded monstrosities like parchment. His steps left tremors, his strikes ripples across entire fields.
A Colossus-tier Varnok — nearly Peak Origin — emerged from the hills, screeching commands in its fractured tongue.
Kael simply appeared in front of it and launched a rising punch into its chin.
Its head detonated.
The body stood, swayed… then collapsed like a mountain in slow motion.
From a distant cliffside, Arkzen watched the chaos unfold. His arms were crossed. Beside him, his lieutenants stood silent.
He narrowed his eyes. "He's getting closer."
One of his commanders shifted uneasily. "To Primordius?"
Arkzen tilted his head. "Maybe. But not yet. He's still holding back. Still... just Ethereal."
But even as he said it, something felt wrong. He scanned the battlefield again — scanning, searching — but Kael had vanished.
For a moment, there was only the sound of distant thunder and screams.
Then—
"Enjoying the view?"
The voice was a blade behind his ear.
Arkzen spun around, fist already drawn with a surge of energy. But Kael wasn't there.
Just air.
Arkzen's breath caught.
Down on the fields, Kael was already moving again — a storm of muscle and momentum. His fist drove through ten Varnok in a line like they were stacked clay. One tried to parry. Kael backhanded its arm off and crushed its chest with a stomp.
Arkzen felt something cold crawl up his spine.
"…I lost him," he muttered.
Not to stealth. Not to magic.
To speed.
Arkzen stepped back. "Retreat," he said to his lieutenants. "He's not ready to kill me yet — but the next time I see those eyes… he might be."
His form shimmered, retreating into the mist beyond the cliffs.
Kael didn't look up again. He kept fighting. Kept killing. Alone.
Not because he wanted to be.
Because he had to be.
[Days Remaining: 3]