[Notice: The following are in effect regarding the Yellow Zone event!]
- The entirety of the Yellow Zone is now considered the domain of Durnak.
- All dungeons have been automatically upgraded to Tier 2.
- All dungeons, with the exception of the four main dungeons, have now been unleashed.
- The stronghold of Durnak, the Forsaken Titan, Prime Aberrant of the Yellow Zone, is classified as a Tier 3 dungeon.
- All loot and rewards will remain sealed until the end of this event.
- All rewards have a base rank of Rare.
Moyo read the announcement, his grip tightening on Ida until his knuckles went white. The implications were staggering. Tier 2 dungeons meant level 100 to 150 enemies at a minimum. The stronghold being Tier 3 suggested threats well beyond that.
Around him stood Idris, Josh, Annika, and Ayo, their faces a mix of determination and unease that mirrored his own concerns. Behind them, the full might of Bastion's ascenders was gathered, nearly a thousand strong, their eyes fixed on the horizon where the Yellow Zone loomed like an ominous wound upon the land.
The thralls awaited them at the boundary, visible even from this distance. Grotesque abominations of creatures that had once roamed Earth, now corrupted beyond recognition. Crystals of silver and red jutted from their forms, humming with a sinister energy that made the air itself vibrate.
Some of these shards had grown into weapons, deadly protrusions that gleamed with unnatural sharpness. Others encased entire limbs, turning flesh into living armor. The air was heavy with anticipation, thick enough to choke on, and the creatures stood eerily still, as though awaiting a signal to charge.
Moyo's gaze turned to the four dungeons that pulsed faintly across the horizon, arranged in a perfect square around the central stronghold. The system's intent was clear, and he hated it. This was a game, a twisted challenge designed to force him and his companions to face their worst trials alone. The symmetry was deliberate, the parallels to their own group undeniable and insulting.
With a sigh that carried the weight of responsibility, he unsheathed Ida, the blade humming with restrained power. The sound alone seemed to cut through the tension like a knife through silk, a clear note in the oppressive atmosphere. Without a word, he stepped forward, crossing into the Yellow Zone.
[Event has started!]
The notification blared across every screen simultaneously, accompanied by a sound like thunder. The thralls roared to life, their stillness shattering into explosive violence. A tide of grotesque creatures surged toward them, thousands strong, claws, fangs, and crystalline weapons gleaming in the dim purple light that suffused the zone. Winged beasts took to the air, their shrieks creating a discordant symphony as they joined the fray.
"Go, Lord Titan Blade! This is no fight for you!" Idris bellowed, his earth cleaver already in motion, the massive weapon crushing the first wave of attackers with devastating efficiency. His voice carried authority that cut through even the chaos of battle.
Moyo nodded, his focus shifting as the tide pressed in from all directions. Blade Storm erupted from Ida, a whirlwind of destruction that carved through the thralls like paper, sending limbs and corrupted flesh flying.
Around him, Ayo's Inferno Surge blazed across the battlefield, turning the ground into an infernal wasteland where nothing could survive. Lightning crackled as Annika danced through the chaos, her spear a blur of motion that left charred corpses in her wake. Josh's hammer echoed like thunder, each impact shattering crystals and bone alike with force that created shockwaves.
The forces of Bastion held the line behind them, a wall of steel and magic that refused to break. The combined might of Bastion's mages and warriors unleashed a torrent of skills, weaving a wall of death that stemmed the endless tide.
Fire, lightning, earth, wind, every element was represented. Skills triggered in coordinated volleys that turned sections of the battlefield into kill zones. Still, the horde's sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm them through simple attrition.
"Grab on!" Moyo shouted over the din, his voice a commanding force that cut through the battle noise. "We're moving forward. Idris, you too!"
The group complied without hesitation, trusting in their leader absolutely. Hands grabbed his shoulders, his arms, creating a chain of contact. Moyo activated Titan Walk, warping space around them in a way that made reality bend and twist.
For a moment, resistance pushed back, an oppressive force that felt like trying to walk through solid stone. The zone itself rejected their movement, Durnak's domain exerting its authority. With a grunt of effort and a surge of power that made veins stand out on his forehead, Moyo pierced through the resistance, tearing a hole in space that allowed them passage.
They emerged near the stronghold that loomed in the distance, a massive crystalline fortress that pulsed with malevolent energy. The weight of Durnak's presence struck them like a physical hammer, making it hard to breathe.
It was oppressive, an almost tangible force that clawed at their resolve and whispered of futility. Moyo instinctively extended his aura, wrapping his companions in protective energy that shielded them from the worst of the spiritual assault.
"This pressure..." Josh growled, his grip tightening on Gravemaw until the weapon's handle creaked. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air.
"I hate to admit it," Ayo said, her voice strained but carrying grudging gratitude, "but I'm actually grateful for all that training. Without those sessions in the pocket realm, I'd be on my knees right now."
Moyo stepped forward, attempting to push past the four dungeons toward the stronghold itself, driven by the impulse to end this quickly. But his HUD flashed red with urgent warnings that blocked his vision.
[Warning: The four dungeons must be cleared before the stronghold itself can be accessed!]
"This just gets better and better," Annika muttered, her sarcasm barely masking the tension in her voice. Her fingers drummed nervously on Stormpiercer's shaft.
The dungeons pulsed as one, their surfaces rippling with energy, rousing to life with purpose. A new message scrolled across their screens in text that seemed to burn:
[The four dungeons represent the four aspects of the Forsaken Titan and his companions.]
The first dungeon's entrance cracked open with a sound like breaking bones, revealing jagged edges glowing faintly with sickly light.
[This way for the General.]
Moyo's frown deepened, his tactical mind immediately rejecting what the system demanded.
"We're expected to be separated. How is this remotely fair? We should clear them together, one at a time."
A grotesque creature shimmered into existence behind them, appearing from nothing, wings spread wide and wielding a crystalline maul that dripped with corrupted energy. It lunged forward with surprising speed but was obliterated in seconds by a coordinated attack from the group. They didn't even need to communicate; their teamwork perfected through countless battles. The creature disintegrated into dust before it hit the ground.
The group turned to examine the other dungeon entrances, approaching cautiously. Each entrance was distinct, shaped by the nature of what waited within.
The second door pulsed with energy that felt solid, immovable, like standing before a mountain.
[Tier 2 Dungeon: Level 150. Prime Aberrant: Kraegor, the Iron Juggernaut. Guard Lord of the Forsaken Titan.]
"And that one's mine," Josh muttered grimly, recognizing the parallel to his own role as Bastion's Grand Sentinel.
The third and fourth dungeons revealed their details in turn, their entrances marked with symbols that spoke to their nature:
[Tier 2 Dungeon: Level 150. Prime Aberrant: Lyssara, the Wraith Blade. Unseen Blade of the Forsaken Titan.]
[Tier 2 Dungeon: Level 150. Prime Aberrant: Voryn, the Blighted Flame. Lord Mage of the Forsaken Titan.]
Annika's grip on Stormpiercer tightened, her knuckles going white. "It's almost mocking us, don't you think? Taking our roles and twisting them into nightmares."
Moyo scowled, the weight of the system's design pressing down on him like an accusation.
"We could clear them one at a time, together. I'm not about to leave you all to fight these alone. Level 150 is expert rank territory."
"And lose the chance to grow?" Annika countered, meeting his gaze with fierce determination.
"The dungeons are tailored to our paths, Moyo. This is intentional. We can't afford to hold back or take the safe route."
Idris spoke, his tone steady and pragmatic as always.
"We all have roles to play, and it's clear this is ours. The sooner we clear these, the sooner we get to that stronghold. Besides, separating us might be the system's plan, but it also means they can't overwhelm us all at once."
Moyo stared at the group, torn between his instincts to protect and the logic of their words. These were his friends, his companions, people he'd fought beside and trusted with his life.
"Fine. But if I sense anything wrong, if any of you are in real danger, I'll tear through these dungeons myself. Rules be damned. The system can punish me however it wants."
Annika's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite hide her nervousness. "Wouldn't expect anything less from our overprotective Titan."
One by one, they approached their assigned dungeons, pausing at the threshold. Each portal glowed with distinct colors, blue for Idris, silver for Josh, shadow black for Annika, and burning orange for Ayo.
Their forms vanished into the glowing portals, swallowed by light and purpose. The moment Ayo stepped through, the last of them to enter, laughter echoed across the battlefield, a deep, resonant sound that chilled Moyo to his core.
In a blink, reality twisted, and he found himself transported to a crystalline chamber. The transition was disorienting, space folding in ways that shouldn't be possible. Towering red and silver crystals loomed above him like ancient sentinels, their light casting fractured patterns across the walls. The air hummed with power, making his teeth ache.
At the chamber's center knelt a massive figure, bound by chains as thick as ship anchors. Each link was inscribed with runes that pulsed with containing force. Durnak, the Forsaken Titan. His molten amber eyes locked onto Moyo, burning with an unsettling mix of madness and clarity that suggested the being before him was both completely insane and terrifyingly lucid.
"Amusing, isn't it?" the giant rumbled, his voice like grinding stone and avalanches. "The system's little games."
A crystalline throne took shape before Moyo, its creation as effortless as breathing. The throne was beautiful in a terrible way, all sharp edges and cold perfection.
"Sit. I am harmless, for now. Until the system's game reaches its climax, we are but spectators, you and I." Durnak's chains rattled as he shifted slightly.
"Bound by rules we cannot break, forced to watch as our subordinates determine our fates."
Moyo tried to draw Ida but found himself unable, his hand frozen in place. Panic flared briefly before he suppressed it through sheer will.
"This is your doing?" Moyo growled, fighting against the invisible force. "The dungeons, the thralls, this madness?"
Durnak chuckled, the sound reverberating through the chamber and shaking loose crystal fragments from the ceiling.
"No, young Titan. This is the system's design, not mine. I am merely its crucible, forged to test those who dare to claim the mantle we both bear. Come, let us watch your companions test their mettle. Perhaps then you will understand the cost of this path you tread so confidently."
Left with no choice, feeling the compulsion settle over him like chains of his own, Moyo sat. The throne was cold, uncomfortable, wrong in ways he couldn't articulate. The chains binding Durnak rattled ominously as the Forsaken Titan leaned forward, his molten eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation.
"Let the trials begin," Durnak whispered, and the crystals around them flared to life, showing images of distant battlefields.
*****
Idris, General of the forces of Bastion and right hand to the Titan Blade, stood on a vast, desolate battlefield that stretched to the horizon in every direction. The ground beneath him was sodden with blackened mud and ancient, dried blood that had long since soaked into the earth. Broken weapons and shattered bones littered the landscape, brittle remnants of countless wars fought and lost. Each step cracked the debris beneath his boots, the grim silence around him broken only by the occasional whisper of a cold wind that carried the scent of decay and old death.
Above, the skies churned with dark clouds, streaked with the promise of rain or smoke from distant fires that never seemed to go out. The air tasted of ash and copper, coating his tongue with every breath. This was a place where hope came to die.
Gripping Earth Cleaver tightly, feeling its familiar weight, Idris pushed forward, his eyes scanning the eerie expanse. He passed relics of battles long forgotten, weapons too broken or alien for him to understand their original use. A blade with three edges that spiralled impossibly. A staff topped with a crystal that had long since gone dark. Armor that seemed designed for bodies with too many limbs.
A feeling of unease settled over him, an oppressive stillness that only deepened the further he went. The silence was wrong, too complete, as if even sound itself feared to exist in this place.
He wondered where the aberrants were hiding, why no enemy had yet shown themselves, when his HUD blinked with a sudden notification that made his blood run cold:
[Zarnok, the Herald and General of Durnak, is the oldest and most loyal of his followers. Once a member of a long dead race abandoned on the fields of battle, he was reborn by the Forsaken Titan, pieced together with the remains of his slain foes. Defeat him in a game of war. Seize his mantle and depose him as the general of the 'Titan.']
The ground trembled violently, not a brief shake but a sustained quaking that made standing difficult. The battlefield itself seemed to groan, the sound of tortured earth as something massive stirred beneath its surface. A raspy, hollow voice broke through the stillness, carried on the wind like the dying whispers of a forgotten age.
"Too long have I slept... Too long has this prison held me in dreamless void... Finally, my lord calls me to battle once again."
Idris turned, his eyes narrowing, every instinct screaming warnings as the earth split open. From the bloodied soil, a monstrous figure emerged, shaking off the dirt and fragments of bone that clung to its grotesque frame like grave clothes.
Zarnok rose to his full height, easily twenty feet tall, his patchwork body a horrific amalgamation of bones and sinew stolen from a hundred different species. Jagged shards of crystal jutted from his form, pulsing with a faint red glow that matched the light in his eyes.
His skeletal face was crowned with uneven, jagged horns that looked like they'd been broken and re-fused multiple times, his hollow eye sockets blazing with malevolent crimson light.
Wings of skeletal remains, tattered flesh clinging to the bones like rotted fabric, spread wide behind him, casting a shadow over the battlefield that seemed to darken the very air. In one oversized hand that ended in talons instead of fingers, he gripped a jagged staff that seemed more like an executioner's weapon than a general's symbol. The staff was crowned with a skull that still had fragments of flesh clinging to it.
"You," Zarnok rasped, his voice like the grinding of stones in a millstone.
"Reduced to a mere advocate, I see. Level ninety-five, barely scratching the surface of true power. Does the system have no shame? To send children to face a true general?"
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Despite the vast gulf in their levels, despite the fifty five level difference that should have made this battle impossible, Idris stood firm. His eyes met the soulless glow of Zarnok's with unflinching resolve.
Zarnok raised a crooked finger, bone clicking against bone, and Idris's HUD flashed again:
[Rules of Engagement]
- The battle will end only when one general falls in combat.
- The forces of the Forsaken General will outnumber the Blade General's two to one.
- Each general is given a stronghold to defend.
- The generals cannot clash outside the battlefield; their strongholds must be captured by their forces.
All around the field, the remnants of the fallen began to stir. Bones rattled and rose, given false life by an unseen force that defied natural law. Some glowed with crimson light, flying toward Zarnok's position like iron to a magnet, while others, dimmer and fewer in number, gathered around Idris with hesitant movements.
"A thousand years ago," Zarnok began, his footsteps thundering as he advanced, each step splattering mud and blood in great arcs, "I stood at the Battle of the Lost Gates. My liege, victorious as is the way of Titans, stood before the Gates of the Monarchs to claim his rightful place among them. He had liberated worlds, brought order to chaos, done everything the system demanded. But treachery awaited him, betrayal by those who fancied themselves the pinnacle of the cosmos."
Zarnok spread his wings wide, releasing a blast of aether that suffused the battlefield with oppressive energy that made breathing difficult.
"Tell me, little general of a toothless Titan," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, "do you truly believe you can stand against such a force? Against one who has fought for millennia?"
[Zarnok has unleashed skill: Call of the Last General.]
[All warriors of the Forsaken are now impervious to mana attacks and take 40% less damage from intent based abilities.]
Idris glanced at the hundreds of soldiers now gathered at his side, maybe three hundred against Zarnok's six hundred. Their forms glowed faintly with purple light, their empty eyes watching him in eerie silence that spoke of long suffering.
He tightened his grip on Earth Cleaver, his mind already racing through tactical possibilities, scanning the battlefield for advantages he could exploit.
"Why is your master called the Forsaken?" Idris demanded; his voice steady despite the odds.
"What happened to make a Titan fall so far?"
"Because the system he served," Zarnok replied, spreading his skeletal arms wide in a gesture that encompassed everything, "the hundreds of planets he liberated from tyrants and chaos, all turned their backs on him in his moment of need. And for that, when they demanded his execution for crimes he did not commit, he burned them to husks. But you still haven't answered my question, little general."
Idris picked up a piece of twisted mithril armor that lay at his feet, the weight of it heavy in his hands. The metal was scorched, bent, marked with damage that spoke of desperate final stands.
"I may not know what happened all those years ago. I wasn't there. I can't judge what choices were made in moments I didn't experience. But I see what you've done here, what you've allowed to happen. Different forces have fought here, over and over, struggling against you. And every time, you've crushed them without mercy, without hesitation."
Idris locked eyes with Zarnok, his voice rising with conviction. "Tell me, Zarnok. What does it mean to be the general of a Titan?"
Zarnok's laughter boomed across the field, a sound like grinding bone and splintering stone that made the air itself vibrate.
"And what would you know about that, child? Your world has barely left its cradle! Your people have been ascenders for less than a year! Your Titan has dragged you into a battle you are hopelessly outmanned for, thrown you against an enemy you cannot possibly defeat!"
Idris ignored the taunt, his mind racing as his tactical genius began to piece together not just a battle plan but something deeper. As his eyes fell on one of the undead soldiers beside him, he reached out on impulse, his hand brushing its form, and a memory consumed his vision like drowning in someone else's life.
[He was Jamut, Scion of the ancient Herandil house of the Eastern Yellow Empire. The memories flooded through him with overwhelming intensity. The murals of the Crystal Titan adorned his family's halls, beautiful works of art depicting a savior whose power had once liberated their world from the tyranny of the Old Kings. Jamut remembered kneeling before those murals as a child, promising to live up to the ideals they represented.
But now, that same Titan sought their extinction. Jamut had taken up arms to protect his home, his family, his people against the sins of a once great being who had become the very thing he once fought against. The terror in his wife's eyes as the sky burned. The sound of his children crying as the walls shook. The desperate last stand where he fell, knowing he'd failed everyone he loved.]
The memory ended abruptly, leaving Idris breathless and gasping. His hand trembled as he reached for another soldier, drawn by morbid curiosity and strategic necessity. Again, his mind was flooded with life and death.
[He was Amalut, warrior priestess of the Old Sun Order. She and her sisters had sworn unbreakable oaths to always fight for good and for the Titans who brought order to chaos. The oaths were sacred, carved into their very souls through ritual and devotion.
But as the Crystal Titan's armies darkened her skies, as she watched her temple burn and her sisters fall, she had shattered those oaths with tears streaming down her face. Taking up arms against the very being she had once revered, knowing that her soul was damned by the breaking of sacred vows but unable to stand aside while innocents died.]
Again, Idris wrenched himself free, the weight of countless lives pressing on him like physical chains. He gasped, his hands trembling as he looked to Zarnok, understanding beginning to dawn.
"Do you now understand, little general?" Zarnok growled, prowling forward with predatory grace.
"Countless worlds depended on him. Entire civilizations owed their existence to his intervention. And when they turned their backs on him in his moment of need, when they sided with those who sought his destruction, he turned their betrayal into ash. He made them understand the cost of their choice."
Idris raised Earth Cleaver, his voice firm despite the horror of what he'd witnessed.
"And then what? He condemned entire worlds to die for the sins of the few? Billions of innocents burned because their leaders made a choice?"
Zarnok's eyes blazed brighter, the crimson intensifying to painful brightness.
"Self righteous fool. I was once like you, believing the universe could change, that justice and mercy could coexist. I followed his vision because I believed in it. And I watched it burn. I watched as everything we built turned to ash and ruin."
Zarnok slammed his staff to the ground, creating a crater and sending shockwaves across the battlefield. His horde surged forward in response, a tide of undead warriors animated by corrupted will.
"None of that matters now, little general. Philosophy and morality are luxuries for those who can afford them. This, this is all that matters. Strength. Victory. Survival. Let us begin!"
Idris felt the ground beneath his feet tremble as the battlefield came alive with terrible purpose. Bones rattled and snapped into grotesque forms as Zarnok's army began to rise, filling the air with the sound of clicking joints and scraping metal.
The towering herald of the forsaken titan watched him with glowing red eyes, his staff crackling with malevolent energy that distorted the air around it. The rules of this battle were clear: he was outnumbered two to one, outmatched by fifty five levels, and the enemy was fortified by abilities that negated his advantages.
Yet, Idris knew this was not a battle of brute force. It had never been. The system had given him a challenge that couldn't be overcome through power alone.
It was a battle of wits. Of leadership. Of understanding what it truly meant to command.
As Zarnok's forces began to form ranks with mechanical precision, Idris turned to his own army. His warriors were far fewer, their purple lit forms radiating a feeble strength compared to the overwhelming presence of the crimson horde.
But they were his, and they would follow his orders. More importantly, unlike Zarnok's mindless thralls, they still had something resembling choice.
He gripped Earth Cleaver, raising it high above his head where all could see.
"Warriors long dead and forgotten!" he called out, his voice carrying across the battlefield with conviction.
"We may be fewer, but we are not weak! Look at them, mindless constructs driven by a hollow cause, slaves to rage and bitterness! We are more than that. You were more than that in life, and you can be again in this half-life! Fight for me, fight for each other, and together we will carve through this tide. Victory will be yours, redemption will be yours! For those forgotten, for those lost, for those who were betrayed by the one you called savior!"
The faint glow in their eyes brightened perceptibly, their bodies straightening as if shedding invisible weights. Sentience flooded their gazes, replacing empty compliance with something resembling will.
The connection to his soldiers became palpable, their resolve feeding into his own strength through bonds he didn't fully understand. Names came to him unbidden, whispered by the system or by the souls themselves: Jamut, Amalut, Verek, Salana, dozens upon dozens. Their capabilities, their skills, the knowledge of who they'd been before death.
Idris divided his forces into three groups with swift efficiency. The most mobile warriors, those who still retained speed despite their undead state, he sent to flank the enemy stronghold. The heaviest fighters formed his center, a wall that would hold against the inevitable charge. The remainder he kept in reserve, ready to plug gaps or exploit opportunities.
Zarnok's army surged forward like a crimson tide, a monstrous wave of undead and crystalline constructs. Their movements were mechanical but precise, the kind of coordination that came from being directly controlled rather than independently commanded.
The first clash was brutal: Earth Cleaver slammed into the ground with Idris's skill Roaring Cleave, sending a shockwave that shattered dozens of Zarnok's thralls into bone fragments. But for every one that fell, two more pushed forward to take its place, an endless tide.
Zarnok watched from a distance, a predator surveying its prey with ancient patience.
"Clever, little general, but not clever enough," he muttered, raising his staff with calculated purpose.
The thralls surged with renewed speed, pressing Idris's forces toward their stronghold with overwhelming momentum. Idris cursed under his breath, pivoting his tactics immediately. He pulled back his main force, drawing the enemy deeper into the center of the battlefield, forcing them into tighter formations where their numbers became a liability rather than an advantage. Bodies pressed against bodies, limiting their movement, creating vulnerabilities.
From his flank, the swiftest warriors struck, harrying the rear lines of Zarnok's army with precision. Their hit and run tactics disrupted the enemy's coordination, creating pockets of chaos in the otherwise orderly advance. But Zarnok responded quickly, demonstrating the experience of centuries.
[Call of the Last General: Enhanced]
The thralls became completely impervious to magic attacks, spells simply fizzling against their forms. Even physical blows seemed to glance off their reinforced bodies as if striking stone. Idris gritted his teeth, signaling his flankers to fall back before they were overwhelmed and destroyed.
Idris called his second in command, the one with the most sentience, a former lieutenant in the forces of the crystal titan, and a keen eyed warrior named Varek, to his side. The undead warrior moved with purpose rather than shambling, his eyes showing clear intelligence.
"We can't beat them head on," Idris said, his mind racing through options. "We need to lure Zarnok himself into the field. He's the keystone. Remove him, and his forces crumble."
"How?" Varek asked, his gaze flicking to the enemy's overwhelming forces. "He's too experienced to fall for simple tricks."
Idris smiled grimly, a plan forming. "By making him think we're weaker than we are. By giving him what every commander craves, a decisive victory within reach."
He gave the order: his troops feigned retreat with convincing panic, drawing closer to their stronghold as if seeking the protection of its walls. Zarnok, sensing weakness like a shark smelling blood, advanced with his forces, leaving his own stronghold lightly defended. It was a calculated risk, but Zarnok's confidence worked against him.
"You're running, little general," Zarnok sneered, his staff glowing ominously with gathered power. "So much for your brave words."
Idris's forces gathered near the base of their stronghold, forming a tight phalanx that looked desperate. Zarnok's horde crashed into them like a wave against rocks, but Idris held his ground with grim determination.
Earth Cleaver swung with devastating precision, carving through the thralls with skills he'd perfected through countless battles. Then, at Idris's signal executed through their shared bond, his hidden flankers struck again, this time targeting Zarnok's unguarded stronghold.
Zarnok turned, his molten eyes narrowing as he realized the trap. Understanding and fury warred on his skeletal features. "Impressive... but futile! Do you think I don't have contingencies?"
The herald took flight, skeletal wings propelling him toward his stronghold with supernatural speed. Idris gritted his teeth. This was the moment they'd been building toward.
"Hold the line!" he shouted to his forces, then launched himself forward to intercept Zarnok mid flight.
Their clash was seismic, creating shockwaves that rippled across the battlefield. Earth Cleaver met the jagged staff in a shower of sparks and force that sent both combatants reeling. Idris felt the weight of Zarnok's power with every blow, his arms screaming in protest as bones creaked and muscles tore, but he did not yield. Could not yield.
"You think you can defeat me, little general?" Zarnok growled, his strikes growing fiercer, each one carrying the weight of centuries of battle experience.
"I don't think. I know," Idris shot back, driving Earth Cleaver into the ground and triggering Roaring Cleave again, a skill that sent jagged spikes of aura and intent upwards, piercing through Zarnok's wings and forcing him to the ground in a crash that cratered the earth.
Zarnok roared in fury, his staff slamming into the earth as crimson energy erupted around him in waves of corrupted power. Idris leaped back, barely dodging the blast that melted stone where he'd stood. But he wasn't finished. He called on every ounce of strength, channeling his aura and intent into a single, devastating blow.
Roaring Cleave came down again with the weight of a mountain, shattering Zarnok's staff and cleaving through the herald's chest with a sound like breaking the world. Zarnok staggered, his skeletal form crumbling as the crimson glow in his eyes dimmed slightly. But even breaking, he lashed out. The shattered staff's fragments slammed into Idris like projectiles, agony spearing through him as crystal shards embedded themselves in his flesh, cutting deep.
All around him his forces fought for supremacy, holding the lines as he and the rapidly crumbling general fought a battle of ruthlessness. He, a mere peak acolyte, somehow climbing levels as he slowly overpowered Zarnok, was fighting against a level 150 being and not being instantly destroyed.
As the battle wore on, as blood loss made his movements sluggish and pain became his constant companion, Idris realized the truth of what was happening. He could feel it in every swing of the forsaken general's shattered staff and blows, in his roar of rage that carried more frustration than fury, and from one general to another, Idris understood.
A glancing blow tore through his skin and deep into his shoulders even as he brought his axe down on Zarnok with his Severing Blow skill. He watched the general withhold his full strength, allowing Idris's skill to pierce through skin and bone, straight to his core.
Zarnok was letting him win. Not giving up, but not fighting at full strength. Testing him. Or perhaps seeking release from a war he no longer believed in.
"You... fight well," Zarnok rasped, collapsing to his knees, his massive form no longer able to support itself.
Idris approached cautiously, bleeding profusely from dozens of wounds, watching as the forces of Zarnok shattered to dust in waves spreading from their fallen commander. A faint light pulsed in Zarnok's chest, visible through cracked bone. His HUD flashed with notifications:
[Skill Acquired: Call of the Last General – Temporarily imbue your forces with enhanced resilience and tactical awareness, increasing their effectiveness in battle.]
[Durnak Skill Unlocked: Titan's Will – Manipulate the battlefield itself, controlling the terrain and even the weapons of enemies for a brief period.]
[Level Up! You have reached Level 150 – Advocate Rank Achieved!]
[Title Gained: Herald's Bane – You have defeated a general who served for a millennium. +10% effectiveness when commanding forces.]
As Zarnok's form began to disintegrate, his bones crumbling to ash, Idris was flooded with a vision that came not from his own mind but from the dying general's memories.
[Zarnok stood on a battlefield long ago, watching as Durnak's forces burned another world to ash. The sky was wrong, tinted red by flames that consumed everything, and the screams of the dying echoed for miles. For a moment, hesitation flickered in his molten eyes, a crack in the absolute certainty that had driven him for so long.
"This is not right," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of destruction.
"They were innocent... the children, they had no part in their leaders' decisions..."
But the voice of the forsaken titan thundered in his mind, overriding his doubts with overwhelming will.
"They are guilty by association. Their existence defies my will. Their leaders made their choice, and these are the consequences. Would you have me show mercy to those who showed me none?"
Zarnok clenched his fists, his resolve faltering for the first and only time. Around him, other commanders watched, waiting to see if he would break, if doubt would consume him.
"I should have fought you," he murmured, his regret carving into his very essence like acid on stone. "I should have stood against this madness when there was still time."
But he didn't. Fear, loyalty, or perhaps simple exhaustion kept him silent. And that silence condemned countless souls.]
The vision faded, leaving Idris alone in the now silent battlefield. The stronghold of Zarnok collapsed into dust that scattered on an unfelt wind, and Idris felt a surge of strength flow through him as the system recognized his victory. His wounds began to close, accelerated healing granted by his new rank.
"You should have," Idris whispered to the empty air, to the fading essence of a warrior who had served the wrong master for too long. "But your sins end here. You're finally free."
He turned, rallying his remaining forces, watching as they crumbled with a sigh that sounded almost grateful. Not into bones again, but to dust, floating around him in a swirl before settling on his skin as a jumble of writings he didn't understand. Ancient languages from dozens of dead cultures, blessings from the dead, gratitude for their release.
The battle was won, and the path to the next challenge was now open. But as Idris stood alone on that field of ash and memory, he understood something profound. Being a general wasn't about strength or tactics alone. It was about the choices you made when no one was watching, about standing for what was right even when the cost was unbearable.
He would not forget the lessons written in Zarnok's regret.
****
In the crystalline chamber, Moyo watched through the viewing crystals as Idris collapsed to his knees, exhausted but victorious. Pride swelled in his chest, mixed with relief that his friend had survived the impossible odds.
"Your general fights well," Durnak rumbled, his voice carrying grudging respect.
"Better than Zarnok fought in his final centuries. Tell me, does he know what it means to be a general of a Titan?"
Moyo turned to face the bound figure, his expression hard.
"He knows it means making impossible choices. Leading people who trust you into danger. Living with the consequences when not everyone comes home."
"And do you know what it means to be the Titan they serve?" Durnak asked, leaning forward as much as his chains allowed.
His molten eyes burned with intensity that suggested this question mattered more than casual conversation.
"Do you understand the weight that will crush you if you let it?"
"I'm learning," Moyo replied carefully, unwilling to show vulnerability before this creature.
"Are you?" Durnak laughed, the sound bitter and mocking.
"You've barely scratched the surface, young one. Wait until you've led your people for decades, for centuries. Wait until you've made the hard choices, sacrificed the few to save the many. Wait until you've watched worlds burn because you were too weak, too merciful, or too proud."
"I'll never become like you," Moyo said firmly, conviction in every word.
"They all say that," Durnak whispered, his smile terrible to behold.
"Every Titan believes they'll be different, that they'll find the balance between strength and compassion. But the system doesn't allow for balance. It demands extremes. And eventually, you'll understand why I made the choices I did."
Before Moyo could respond, the crystals flared again, showing another battlefield. Josh's trial was beginning, and Moyo's attention shifted, worry replacing his anger as he watched his friend step into danger.
But in the back of his mind, Durnak's words echoed with uncomfortable weight. What if the forsaken titan was right? What if the path itself was corrupted, designed to break those who walked it?
He pushed the thought aside. He had to believe he could be different. Had to believe that strength and mercy weren't mutually exclusive.
Because if Durnak was right, if every Titan inevitably fell to madness and cruelty, then everything Moyo had built was doomed from the start.
And that was a truth he refused to accept.
The crystals pulsed with renewed light, and Moyo leaned forward, watching as Josh raised Gravemaw to face whatever nightmare awaited him. Three trials remained, and each would test not just his companions' strength, but the very foundation of what they believed.
"Watch carefully," Durnak said, his voice almost gentle, almost pitying.
"Your sentinel faces Kraegor, and that one... that one breaks spirits before it breaks bones. Let us see if your friend's resolve is as strong as his armor."
The chamber filled with the sound of distant thunder as Josh's battle began, and Moyo could do nothing but watch, bound by rules he didn't understand, forced to witness his companions face their demons alone.
It was a special kind of torture, he realized. Not physical pain, but the agony of helplessness, of watching those you care about suffer while being unable to intervene.
Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps this trial wasn't just for his companions.
It was for him too.