Kenjuroth closed his eyes.
For a moment, the entire battlefield fell still — no sound, no breath, only the rhythmic beating of his heart echoing inside his chest. Then, drawing in a deep, thunderous breath, he roared —
"Stormcleaver! Let the winds scream through my blade!"
His voice shattered the silence like lightning ripping open the heavens.
When his eyes opened again, they blazed with an electric fury. The sword in his hands pulsed with divine power — radiant veins of blue and gold raced across its edge, whispering the language of the storm itself.
He raised Stormcleaver high, aiming its tip toward the towering abomination — Ekzyros. Then, with a single, effortless slash through the air, he unleashed its will.
And the world… went silent.
That heavy, suffocating silence — the calm before the storm.
At the Kingdom of Novels
For five days and nights, rain had buried the kingdom under despair. Streets drowned, roofs shattered, and hearts lost hope.
A young mother stood by her window, holding her crying infant, whispering desperate prayers.
"If this keeps happening, we'll have no choice but to end our lives…" she murmured through tears.
But then — she stopped.
The clouds above began to move, swirling violently as if being torn apart by unseen hands. Within moments, the endless gray sky broke open. The rain ceased. Not a single drop remained.
Sunlight touched her trembling hands. She fell to her knees, crying with relief.
At the Green Kingdom
"Hey! Look—the sea! The water's moving so fast!"
A dockworker shouted, staring at the waves curling unnaturally toward the southwest.
A guard ran to the edge, confusion etched on his face. "You're right… this current— it's unnatural…"
Then realization struck him.
"The King of the Kingdom of Knights… he's using that."
Every man on the dock froze. Their eyes widened. They all knew what "that" meant.
The sword of wind and thunder had awakened.
At the Seven Warrior Kingdom
The first division captain stood in a pitch-black war chamber, the flicker of a torch barely revealing his scarred face.
"The winds are changing," he muttered. "That means Kenjuroth has drawn Stormcleaver."
"What's our next move?" asked the second captain — his voice calm, though one eye was hidden behind a dark eyepatch.
The third captain remained silent, his expression grim.
They all understood — this wasn't just a battle. This was the awakening of a god's power.
At the Heart Kingdom
The grand hall was silent.
Golden torches flickered weakly against the walls of black stone. Ministers stood in two lines, their heads bowed, as the King sat motionless upon his throne — a shadow wearing a crown.
His voice, deep and commanding, shattered the quiet.
"Garrick… are you certain of what you just said?"
"Yes, my King," the minister replied. "The King of the Kingdom of Knights has unsheathed the Stormcleaver. There's no need to fear anymore."
The King leaned forward slightly, his eyes hidden beneath the dark of his crown.
"Very well," he said simply. "Then let it begin."
The air in the chamber grew heavier. No one dared breathe.
At the Kingdom of the Caves
A royal family crossed a long bridge on their way from the Kingdom of Novels. The youngest among them, a boy, looked up — sensing something unnatural.
"The sea…" he whispered.
In an instant, the calm waves turned violent. The sky twisted into a spiraling black hole.
A cyclone—colossal, merciless—rose from the ocean's heart, consuming everything in sight. The bridge shattered in seconds. The royal carriage, the guards, the family — all vanished into the storm.
The cyclone grew larger and larger, its direction turning toward the Kingdom of Knights.
Those who lived near the caves had already hidden deep underground. They knew what was coming.
At the Battlefield of the Kingdom of Knights
The silence broke.
A hot wind swept across the ground, brushing against faces and armor. It began as a whisper — and then roared into chaos.
The sky turned black, lightning veins splitting the heavens. The winds screamed like a thousand dying gods.
The soldiers looked up in horror. The sea itself had risen. A monstrous cyclone spun toward them, devouring the horizon.
Even Ekzyros — the towering demon — stood frozen, unable to move under the immense pressure of the storm.
Kenjuroth Tharosk stood amidst it all — his body shimmering, his form shifting. His skin flickered with lightning; his hair blazed like white fire.
He was no longer just a man. He was the embodiment of the storm.
Stormcleaver glowed like a fragment of heaven — a blade forged from thunder itself.
Rain poured in heavy sheets.
Kenjuroth rose into the air, lifted by the cyclone, until he hovered at eye level with the devil. His voice cut through the storm — calm, cold, divine.
"You killed my soldiers… now it's your turn. This is your end — cursed child of the Goddess Nythera."
Ekzyros trembled. His monstrous faces twisted in fear. He tried to speak — his voice layered with ancient tongues:
"Ni Ai… Kreth Gao Aesyr Veyr…"
No one understood.
Then — he was gone.
The cyclone consumed him whole.
No blood. No body. No scream. Nothing remained but the echo of thunder.
The same storm swallowed the fallen — the bodies of soldiers, the blood of the brave. And then, as if mercy had returned to the world, it all vanished.
Only silence.
And a cold, steady wind brushing across the field.
Kenjuroth landed softly, placing Stormcleaver back into its sheath. His eyes were calm again, his face unshaken.
"A cursed one, huh…" he murmured. "Then the real game begins. Now, I must wait for the other kings to decide."
The battlefield stood in stunned silence. Even the most battle-hardened warriors had forgotten how to breathe.
An old veteran whispered to a young soldier beside him, voice trembling with awe:
"This… this is the power of one of the Gods of Destruction... the power of the Stormcleaver."
The young warrior's eyes shimmered. "It's… beautiful," he said. "Beautiful and terrifying."
The veteran smiled faintly. "Aye… even for us, it is."
Thus ended The Battle of the Six Kingdoms, known to history as The Battle of Death.
And the victor between Ekzyros, the Cursed Devil, and Kenjuroth Tharosk, the King of Knights,
was none other than Kenjuroth Tharosk himself.