The night bled crimson.
The once-green plains had turned into a sea of burning trenches, the earth cracked open under the clash of Elemental Monarchs.
Above it all, a streak of emerald light tore across the battlefield, cutting through the haze of smoke like a shooting star.
Duke Viron landed atop the shattered wall of Voltair's fallen fortress, his long coat snapping in the wind. His aura shimmered faintly—like a storm struggling to hold back its rage. The wind around him howled with restrained violence.
Across the blazing field, General Lyrn stood alone amidst the inferno, his crimson armor reflecting the flames he commanded. Each breath he took seemed to feed the fire itself. When he raised his gaze, their eyes met—one cold and sharp as lightning, the other burning with unyielding fury.
"Duke Viron of Voltair," Lyrn's voice rolled like thunder, his tone dripping disdain. "I expected your King to send an army, not his pet storm."
Viron stepped forward, the winds shifting with his every move. "And yet you stand before me, surrounded by your own ashes. Your war burns more than land, Lyrn—it burns people."
Lyrn smirked, igniting his gauntlet. "People die so empires live. You should know that."
Without another word, their auras exploded.
Wind and fire collided—two forces of nature meeting in a roar that shattered the night.
The ground cratered beneath their feet. Every gust from Viron's blade carved through the air like a divine edge, while Lyrn's flames twisted into dragons, striking with molten fangs. Sparks turned into lightning. The air screamed between them.
"Tempest Rend!"
Viron swung his blade, releasing a wave of cutting air that tore through the flames.
Lyrn countered instantly, his arm bursting into white-hot plasma. "Infernal Burst!"
The fire-dragon met the storm in midair—then detonated.
A shockwave flattened hundreds of soldiers on both sides. For a moment, the sky itself split open, torn between wind and fire.
Both armies paused, watching in awe as two silhouettes clashed amid the swirling chaos, their every movement reshaping the battlefield.
From the ridge, Earl Simon gritted his teeth as he fought to steady his forces. "So that's the Duke's power..."
Back in the heart of battle, Viron darted forward—his speed blurred, body dissolving into the storm. He reappeared behind Lyrn, his sword slashing downward with lethal precision.
But Lyrn caught it with a burning palm, sparks flying as metal met flame.
The air between them ignited.
"Too slow!" Lyrn roared, his fist flaring with golden heat. He slammed it forward, and a pillar of fire erupted beneath Viron.
The Duke vanished in a gust—only to reappear above the inferno.
He raised his sword skyward, eyes glowing with pale blue light. The clouds churned. Winds spiraled into a massive vortex that devoured the battlefield's flames.
"Heaven's Howl!"
The storm descended.
Lightning cascaded from the heavens, splitting the inferno in half. Rain of wind-blades poured down, turning Lyrn's firestorm into a maelstrom of chaos.
Lyrn braced himself, his armor cracking under the force. Then, through the storm, his voice boomed—a voice that seemed to command the fire of the world itself.
"Sunborn Ascension!"
He thrust his arm upward, and from his body erupted a second sun.
The storm disintegrated in an instant, replaced by blinding heat. The land warped, trees evaporated, and even the clouds above melted into golden mist.
The armies below screamed as both forces withdrew from the blast radius. Wind and fire surged upward, swallowing everything around the two generals.
And then—silence.
Viron emerged first, blood streaking his cheek, his aura flickering like a dying gale. He stood tall, his sword trembling slightly.
Lyrn knelt in the molten dirt, his armor half-melted, his breath heavy. Steam rose from his body as he looked up, grinning through the pain. "Not bad... for a Duke."
Viron pointed his sword at him, eyes calm, voice steady.
"The difference between us isn't rank—it's resolve."
Their auras flared once more—one a tempest, one an inferno—before they clashed again, faster than the eye could follow. Blades of wind and arcs of flame intertwined, tearing through the battlefield like the wrath of gods.
No one could tell who was winning.
Only that the sky itself trembled.
And far beyond the horizon, the faint sound of war horns echoed—the signal that more reinforcements from both empires had arrived.
The storm was far from over.
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