A haze of dust swirled over the battlefield, blood staining the ground, and silence weighing heavy like death itself.
Gorath Maldir stood above Starmon, one foot planted near his broken body. His curse-infused hand was raised, ready to deliver the final blow.
Gorath (coldly): "WHERE IS THAT BRAT YT?"
But then—
BOOM!
A surge of glowing azure magic came crashing in like a tidal wave, crackling with violent energy. Gorath reacted on instinct—crossing his arms, he blocked the hit. The force was so strong, it sent him skidding backward, gouging deep trails in the ground with his boots. His coat flared in the magic wind as he came to a stop.
As the dust settled, a tall silhouette emerged, robes fluttering like shadowed wings.
The man had long jet-black hair, a thick beard, piercing eyes beneath a heavy brow—and a wooden staff crackling with blue ethereal energy. His presence carried the gravity of ancient wisdom and raw magical might.
Morpheous: "Fighting with weaklings? Why don't you face someone at your level?"
Gorath straightened, eyes narrowing as he observed the newcomer.
Gorath (grinning): "My level? Please. You're miles beneath me. You got guts though. Who the hell are you?"
Morpheous (smirking): "Who am I? …You could say I'm their savior."
Gorath: "Savior? You don't look like YT to me, Old Man."
Morpheous (tilting his head): "...Old man? Wait—do I look old? I'm only twenty-sev—oh god, it's the robe, isn't it?"
As he muttered to himself, casually adjusting his cloak, Gorath's eyes gleamed.
Gorath (low growl): "That's your biggest mistake, old man."
With a sudden burst of speed, Gorath vanished, blitzing forward in a blur of black and silver. His fist cocked back mid-air, glowing with a swirling curse.
He threw a devastating punch toward Morpheous' face—but it never landed.
Without even looking, Morpheous caught the punch with one hand.
Morpheous (deadpan): "Bro. I'm not that old."
Suddenly, Morpheous let go of his staff, clenched his other fist—and slammed it straight into Gorath's chest with a thunderous impact.
BOOOOM!
Gorath flew backward like a meteor, smashing through stone pillars. But he landed on his feetr.
His grin now replaced with a thin line of serious focus.
Morpheous (spinning his staff): "Why don't you use that hammer of yours? That would make this a fair fight."
Gorath (calmly exhaling): "...He stopped my attack. That's mean he isn't just ordinary magician."
He cracked his neck and shoulders, voice growing dark.
Gorath: "You've earned it then. I'll show you... why they call me The Destroyer."
He stomped the ground—and black cracks spread like spiderwebs beneath him.
Curse Aura erupted, the sky above them darkening, thunder rumbling as Gorath lifted one arm slowly.
[Curse Technique: Ruin Incantation – Death Zone]
A black circle spread across the battlefield, consuming the land beneath their feet. From within, skeletal hands and cursed chains whipped out like serpents trying to bind Morpheous. But Morpheous didn't flinch.
Morpheous: "Nice parlor trick."
He twirled his staff and slammed it into the ground.
[Arcane Technique: Mystic Ward – Celestial Bloom]
A radiant wave of blue flowers burst from the staff's tip, neutralizing the black chains mid-air. The petals became sharp as blades, slicing through Gorath's curse zone and restoring light.
The battlefield shook from the clash of magics.
Gorath reappeared behind Morpheous in an instant, swinging his fist, but Morpheous ducked and countered with a point-blank staff shot to the ribs, then spun and knocked him mid-air.
Gorath coughed, but turned it into a twisted grin mid-spin and landed, now finally taking it seriously.
Gorath (cracking his knuckles): "...This is gonna be fun."
The skies above Moonveil rumbled like thunder was clapping just for them.
Gorath Maldir's eyes glowing with corrupted fury—stood firm as Morpheous's attack forced him back, sliding across the broken marble of the courtyard. The cracked walls of the fortress behind him trembled. Debris rained. The crowd watched in silent awe and terror.
Morpheous twirled his staff once and pointed it forward.
Magic: "Astral Graviton Bind"
A spectral glyph spread beneath Gorath's feet, pulling at him with intense gravitational force.
But Gorath clenched his jaw. "Enough of your tricks, wizard."
Curse Technique: "Reversal Spiral"
With a flick of his finger, a spinning vortex of black and violet energy exploded around him, cracking the glyph beneath his feet and hurling the energy skyward in a violent spiral that split the clouds above.
"Nice little spell," he spat, "but I'm just warming up." Then Suddenly, Gorath raised his right arm toward the sky.
Curse Weapon Summon: "Gravemaw, The Crusher"
A deafening pulse. The regular Warhammer vanished from the ground then the sky split open like shattered glass as a monstrous warhammer, glowing with cursed inscriptions, descended into his hand—its impact cratering the ground.
Morpheous whistled. "There we go. The legendary toy."
Gorath didn't reply. He dashed forward, each step crushing stone.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM.
Their weapons collided mid-air, shockwaves tearing through the fortress' walls. Morpheous's staff radiated with ancient energy, parrying the hammer swings with sheer precision.
Gorath growled, "You're pushing your luck."
Curse Technique: "Oblivion Pulse: Ruin Storm"
He slammed Gravemaw into the earth. Cursed lightning burst from the point of contact, spreading in jagged lines like demonic veins, ripping through towers and walls—part of Moonveil's east battlement crumbled in a blinding explosion.
Morpheous lifted his staff, creating a dome of celestial magic that shielded the civilians behind him.
Magic: "Celestial Domain: Heaven's Aegis"
The impact rang like a bell across the battlefield, but the dome held.
"You'll have to hit harder than that," Morpheous said through gritted teeth.
With a stomp, he launched himself skyward. Staff glowing.
Magic: "Starlight Burst: Twin Moons Judgment"
Two enormous orbs of condensed cosmic energy formed above him and hurled toward Gorath like meteorites. Gorath spun Gravemaw and struck both from midair, but the backlash was enough to send him tumbling backward—through the outer wall, into a spire.
CRASH!!
Gorath burst from the rubble, face bloodied, coat gone, and now shirtless—his muscular form etched with black curse tattoos glowing wildly.
"You destroyed my coat?" he roared. "FINE!"
Curse Technique: "Dead King's Rampage"
Ground beneath Morpheous cracked and skeletal arms erupted from the ground, clawing at Morpheous, grabbing, ripping, dragging. The sky above turned a sickly green and a huge long sword appeared behind Gorath in the sky pointed toward Morpheous.
But Morpheous raised his staff skyward.
Magic: "Divine Light: Aurora's Wrath"
A blinding beam from the sky vaporized the arms, the curse mist, erased the sword and even scorched Gorath's shoulder.
They clashed again. This time Gorath swung Gravemaw with murderous precision.
Morpheous's staff broke—snapped in two. But he smiled.
"Finally," he whispered. "Now I can use this."
From his cloak, Morpheous pulled a small crystal and whispered into it.
Secret Magic: "Seventh Seal – Time Fracture Execution"
Time slowed.
Even Gorath felt it—the way his limbs moved heavy, the way the wind froze.
"What... what did you do!?"
Morpheous walked through the slowing field, placing one hand on Gorath's chest.
"You've done enough," he said coldly.
Final Spell: "Ancestral Banishing – Light Beyond the Rift"
The spell ignited from his palm—a burning light that pulsed through Gorath's body, severing his curse veins, destroying his core.
"No... NOOOO!!"
The light expanded until it engulfed the battlefield, consuming Gorath in a final burst of white fire.
The ashes of the Destroyer, carried into the wind. Moonveil stood—but barely.
Morpheous stood tall, robes fluttering in the breeze, eyes glowing faintly.
"I told you," he muttered to the silence, "I'm not that old."
He turned around—toward Starmon, toward Sofia, toward the remaining survivors—his expression grim, yet determined.
As the dust of Gorath's annihilation began to settle, from the shattered tower above, a half-dozen Curse Users—robes soaked in darkness, their eyes glowing with malice—leapt down like shadows from hell.
"You damn wizard!" one snarled, veins crawling with curse energy.
"We'll burst you into PIECES!" another shrieked, forming twisted glyphs with his hands.
Morpheous stood calmly, the air around him now quiet—eerily so. He reached into his robe and gently tucked away the glowing crystal. Then he clenched his fists.
BOOM. A radiant, holy aura ignited around both his hands—blinding white with streaks of gold.
His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone.
"Then try it."
Instantly, every Curse User raised their arms. Dark magic swirled like black hurricanes above them. The ground cracked. Gravity trembled.
But Morpheous vanished. A flash of white.
WHOOOSH!
Like divine lightning, he appeared between them. Each hit landed with precision and silence—until the final strike shattered the cursed glyphs mid-cast.
Bodies dropped. All of them.
Morpheous stood in the center of the pile, his breath calm, his fists smoking. He exhaled slowly, dusted off his robes, and started walking—slowly—toward the outer wall.
The camera pans over Moonveil's broken towers, the blood-soaked bricks, the wounded soldiers behind him... and then— outside the main gates:
An army of Gorath's soldiers—cloaked in black armor, demonic insignias—stood in rank formation. Almost hundreds. Their weapons raised.
As Morpheous stepped through the broken gate, silence fell.
The front lines raised their weapons with a battle cry.
"RAAAHHHH!!"
But Morpheous? He just grinned.
"Chill, guys..." he said, spreading his arms. "Let's have some fun."
He slammed both palms into the ground.
Magic: "Tempest Spiral: Sky Rend Tornado"
The earth cracked. Winds screamed. A massive white tornado exploded from beneath him, spiraling into the sky. It lifted dust, bodies, and magic essence into the air. The pressure bent trees, shattered remaining wall fragments, and threw the black-armored troops back.
Morpheous stood in the eye of the storm, his robes flapping.
He raised his hands again—fingers dancing through the air with purpose—and his smile widened.
Then screen faded to black and title card appeared:
"Chronicles of YT
Inside the battered remains of Moonveil's inner courtyard, the dust of battle still hung thick in the air. Crumbled walls. Bloodied stone. Burnt banners. The once-vibrant magical capital had become a graveyard of hopes.
Morpheous stepped back through the shattered gateway, his robe fluttering behind him like the wind itself bent to his presence. Around him, the survivors of Moonveil—soldiers, mages, and villagers—lay in pain. Some dragged themselves across the rubble, others coughed blood or helped comrades to their feet.
Near the collapsed throne dais, King Albert Arc sat slumped, his breath ragged. His once-glorious white cloak was charred.
Across the stone steps, Sofia groaned, reaching for the sword still impaled through her stomach. With trembling fingers, she pulled it free. Blood poured from the wound, and she gasped, falling forward.
Not far from her, Starmon stumbled across the rubble, eyes wide in disbelief. His face was smeared with dirt and dried blood, his steps weak, but unwavering. He limped toward Sofia.
Morpheous knelt beside his broken staff and ran his fingers gently along the splintered wood. "Tch... it'll take a while to fix this," he murmured.
Then he turned, eyes glowing faintly. He raised one hand to the sky. A column of divine light descended, scattering across the battlefield. Every injured soldier, every moaning mage—bathed in it. Wounds sealed. Bones realigned. Blood vanished.
Gasps filled the courtyard as the impossible unfolded.
Morpheous walked toward Starmon and Sofia. The girl was now lying back, her breath shallow.
Nearby, Elisa and Mark stirred, clutching their heads as they woke up from unconsciousness.
"Thank you," Starmon said quietly, watching him.
Morpheous turned, narrowing his eyes. "You're not him."
Starmon blinked. "Huh?"
"You're not Astor. Why isn't he here?"
Starmon gave a nervous chuckle. "What makes you say that?"
Morpheous frowned. "Astor doesn't thank people. I know I've met him once but I know that guy... doesn't know how to say 'thank you' if his life depended on it."
Starmon blinked again. "Wow… was he that rude?"
Morpheous stepped closer, gaze sharp. "I won't ask again. Why are you here instead of him?"
The air froze. Everyone was silent.
Starmon looked around—at the ruined kingdom, the tired faces, the scars left by war—and slowly lowered his head.
A quiet scene transition played across the screen as Starmon explained everything he had been told: Astor's past. His sacrifices. The confrontation. The collapse. The decision. When it ended, silence lingered.
Morpheous's face was grim. "If that's true... then we need to bring him back. No matter what."
"Is that even possible?" King Albert asked, voice hoarse.
Morpheous folded his arms. "Not sure. But we don't have a choice. It's our last hope."
"No. You don't!" a voice snapped.
Everyone turned to see Sofia, still sitting, eyes cold and determined.
"What do you mean?" Morpheous asked.
Sofia stood, glaring at him. "You killed the Destroyer like it was nothing. You didn't even break a sweat. Why don't you just kill Malakar yourself if you're that powerful?"
"I would," Morpheous said quietly, "if I could. But the prophecy… I wasn't the one chosen."
"I don't believe in that prophecy!" Sofia shouted. "And we are NOT handing Starmon's life back to that murderer!"
Elisa flinched. "Sofia, stop... look at the situation…"
Morpheous tilted his head. "Murderer?"
Sofia's eyes flashed. "You don't know what happened between us. Astor—he used us. Used Lily. Liliana. Even Sylphie. All of us. Everything was for his revenge. He doesn't care about us, he never did!"
The crowd fell quiet.
Sofia took a step forward. "That prophecy of yours? It said 'two minds, one fate.' But it never said which mind was the savior. Maybe... it's Starmon who's meant to save the world. Not Astor."
Everyone thought her point was valid.
Mark spoke up. "Starmon has a unique skill: the Power of Creation. So maybe..."
Sofia raised her voice. "And if we're wrong? Then fine! But at least we'll die as ourselves, not puppets of fate. If this is the end then we will prefer to spend our last moments with our precious ones not fighting with impossible!"
Morpheous narrowed his eyes. "You think this is just about you? If we fail, the whole world falls. Look at around, everyone here sacrificed their everything not just you but they still fighting and you are saying you want to spend your time with your lover? "
He turned toward the castle's broken gates, walking slowly.
"Do what you want but if you change your mind," he said, "come find me."
Everyone watched as he paused at the threshold.
"But know this," he added, glancing back. "My house in the forest is hidden by magic. Only those who truly seek me will ever find it."
Then, quieter: "...Kids these days."
And with that, he walked into the smoke, vanishing into the forest beyond Moonveil.
Two Hours Later...
The Aetherians and Moonveilians sat, resting. Quiet. Uncertain.
Starmon stood up. His fists clenched.
"I've made my decision."
Elisa turned. "What did you decide?"
He raised his voice. "Everyone, listen to me! We've lost too much, but we're still standing. And now—we finish what we started. You all followed us this far, gave everything you had. And I'm proud of you."
He looked at the faces surrounding him. "Please… forgive me. For everything."
Mark stepped forward. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Starmon smiled. "What? You scared of dying now? Aren't we Aetherian Heroes?"
Mark chuckled. "No. I'm worried about you, idiot."
Albert tried to object. "But if he—"
Starmon raised a hand. "We are Aetherians. And everyone knows Aetherians… are not ordinary."
Alice stepped toward him. Her eyes were full of tears. She placed her hands around his face.
"I don't care what anyone says. I raised both of you—Astor and Starmon—as my sons."
She smiled through her pain. "And today... I'm asking you to make the one who hurt your brother... suffer."
Starmon's eyes filled with determination. "I will."
They embraced tightly. And the screen faded to black.
Location: Veilgrave Citadel – Throne of the Cursed One
A suffocating silence echoed through the halls of the Blackstone Citadel, the towering fortress carved from obsidian itself. Its walls hummed with ancient curses, and every flicker of torchlight bent unnaturally, like even the flames feared who dwelled within.
At the heart of this castle, in a vast throne room lined with weeping statues of faceless souls, sat the Lord of Calamity himself—
Malakar Veilgrave.
Reclining lazily upon a jagged throne made of bone and crystalized magic, the cursed monarch rested his head against a clawed fist. His long, silver-black hair spilled like ink over his shoulder. Crimson eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge and infinite boredom.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Footsteps broke the silence.
A curse user, cloaked in ragged ceremonial black and trembling with every step, sprinted across the marbled floor. He dropped to his knees, head bowed so low it almost touched the stone.
"My Lord... it's bad news!"
Malakar didn't move. He simply raised one pale, bony hand.
The room froze. The curse user's voice caught in his throat—choked silent by nothing more than a gesture.
Malakar finally spoke. His voice was like a cold whisper crawling up the spine—deep, smooth, and void of warmth.
"So… Gorath Maldir is also dead."
He didn't ask. He already knew.
With fluid, inhuman grace, Malakar sat up. The ancient throne groaned under the shift in his presence.
The torches dimmed. The castle quaked faintly. Even the curse user began to sweat blood.
Malakar lowered his head, long strands of hair hiding his face like curtains. Then he whispered with eerie calm—
"Aetherians…"
He slowly lifted his gaze, and his eyes glowed like a dying sun— a promise of destruction incarnate.
A faint, mirthless grin crept across his lips.
"Let's see... what you really got."
The screen shatters into darkness with a bass drop. His laughter echoes faintly in the void like it's crawling through reality itself.
The wind whispered through the charred remains of Aetherium. Ash danced in the dawn light as Starmon and the others arrived—quiet, solemn, and battle-worn. What once stood as the vibrant heart of their homeland now lay in ruin. Burnt houses, collapsed rooftops, and silence heavy with grief.
Starmon looked around, his heart aching. In his eyes, the village still lived—laughing children, blooming gardens, the warmth of his parents' home. But now…
Nothing. Only smoke and memory.
Sofia walked beside him, silent, her eyes tracing every broken wall like pieces of her past she couldn't pick up.
Meanwhile, near the Elder Tree
Mark and Elisa stood before the ancient hill where the Elder Tree is—its massive, twisted trunk still alive.
Elisa knelt down and placed her hand on the bark.
"Elder Tree," she whispered, "you once chose a hero to protect us. Why haven't you chosen another? Please… we need someone. Anyone."
Mark, staring beyond the hill, suddenly squinted.
A shadow moved in the distance. Then another. His expression shifted to dread as his eyes widened.
"Starmon! Sofia! Hurry! Get over here!"
As Starmon heard his voice, They rushed up the hill, breathless.
"What happened?" Starmon asked.
Mark pointed. "L-Look..."
Below the hill, emerging from a massive glowing portal, was a horde. Not just any horde—an army of nightmares. Curse Users, undead monstrosities, and Black Armored soldiers flooded out in synchronized formation.
But leading them—towering, monstrous, and silent—was a giant of a man with black hair, a glimmering double-sided battle axe, and a glare that could shatter stone.
Drogath Veylor, Malakar's Fifth and most powerful General.
He stepped forward and planted his axe into the ground, resting both hands on its hilt as if merely waiting.
Starmon's breath hitched.
"What… is this?"
Mark couldn't take his eyes off the sheer size of the army.
"This isn't an army," he whispered. "This is WRATH."
Elisa turned pale. "What do we do now?"
Starmon clenched his jaw and unsheathed his sword.
"We'll fight."
Mark grabbed his shoulder.
"You out of your mind? This is suicide! This is more than 1 vs. 100"
"Then what do we do?" Starmon challenged. Silence.
Everyone turned to Sofia.
"Why're you looking at me?" she said defensively.
Mark stepped forward. "We need to bring Astor back."
"What?! You too?" Sofia's voice trembled.
"There's no other choice," Elisa said softly. "Zarek, Lirion, Zyra... all of them was killed by Astor."
"And don't forget what happened to us when we tried facing Gorath alone," Mark added.
Sofia looked around. All eyes were on her. She sighed, looked away, then whispered—
"Fine… but if Starmon doesn't come back safe—"
"He will," Elisa said. "We'll make sure of it."
Starmon said "Okay Now let's go"
Starmon turned toward the forest.
Mark said "No—we'll buy you time. I don't know why this army is stopped but the thing I know is if they start rumbling then they won't stop until they destroy everything."
Starmon looked at everyone and nodded.
"Alright. I'm going but take care of each other."
Then he vanished into the forest.
Battle Begins
Mark looked at Drogath, still unmoving, still silent.
"We have killed his comrades and he's alone now. That's our chance. He got more muscles than other that will make him slower," Mark said. "Elisa, cover me. Sofia—boost my speed. We'll end this in one strike!"
Sofia boosted his speed then He surged forward, boosted toward Drogath Veylor.
"Flame Spear!" Elisa chanted, and the burning projectile spiraled toward the army.
"Thousand Strikes!" Mark shouted, lightning filling the sky and crashing down toward the army and Drogath.
Smoke blanketed the field. For a second, they thought it worked— Until they saw him.
Drogath stood untouched. His axe was in the way shielding him from everything. And then he planted his axe into the ground again, resting both hands on its hilt as if nothing happened.
One of Drogath minion asked other "Why aren't we attacking? We can wipe them easily"
Then other one responded "Wait for orders"
Mark gritted his teeth. "Damn. Fine. Let's see you dodge this." He swung his sword.
"Final Judgment!"
Drogath leaned slightly to the side and raised one massive hand.
Mark's eyes wide opened in surprise "Even after Sofia's boost? How faster is he? Is he monster?
WHAM!
Mark's body bent from the impact and crashed into the earth. He didn't get up.
"MARK!!" Sofia and Elisa screamed.
Before they could run to him, Drogath tilted his head—
A blur passed his face. Claws.
He leaned back just in time.
Liliana—fully transformed—had joined the battle.
She struck relentlessly, claw after claw, blow after blow, but Drogath dodged with unnerving calmness. When she finally landed a punch—
Drogath returned with a counterpunch to her hand, forcing her back. Both hands strike then Liliana pulled her hand back due to pain and leapt back.
Drogath pulled his axe up and was about to swung but then--
"Fire Wall!" Lily shouted, slamming her sword down and created fire wall between them.
"Liliana, grab Mark and fall back!" Lily commanded.
Liliana obeyed, dragging Mark to Sofia's side.
"Heal him!" Lily commanded.
Sofia and Elisa worked fast. Within seconds, Mark coughed and back to conscious.
"I'm not… dead?" he wheezed.
Then— A horn blew.
From the forest, villagers, soldiers and mages emerged —reinforcements from Aetherium and Moonveil.
King Albert Arc stood atop a ridge. "This may be our last stand. But we are not cowards! Show them that we can fight to the end! CHARGE!!"
The army roared and sprinted down— Until a massive explosion halted them in their tracks.
Smoke clouded the earth.
Everyone was surprised by sudden explosion then from the center, a monstrous voice growled—
"I am Malakar Veilgrave."
The smoke parted, revealing a man hovering above a demonic beast. His cloak billowed in the black winds, eyes glowing like twin embers of destruction, holding a staff covered with red dangerous Aura and his arms wide opened.
His voice turned more cold and merciless "And I will kill you all."
The screen shattered to black.
Episode Ends.
"Chronicles of YT"
Episode Title: The Last Hope