The wind howled across the mountains as Ren stood atop the balcony of his fortress, gazing out over the growing kingdom of Ebonreach. The fires in the city burned bright, illuminating the streets below as his people bustled through the night. Warriors trained in the courtyards, blacksmiths hammered steel, and scholars pored over ancient texts in the grand hall. They were preparing.
But was it enough?
Ren's grip tightened on the stone railing. The gods knew. They had felt the barrier shatter when he freed the Forgotten One. They had been watching ever since. And soon, they would come.
He turned as Mira and Draven approached, their expressions grim.
"They're restless," Mira said, nodding toward the warriors below. "They can feel it, Ren. Something's coming."
Draven crossed his arms. "We need to move before they do. We're sitting here waiting for divine retribution to fall on our heads."
Ren exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air. "I know. That's why we need to be ready."
Preparations for War
The great hall was filled with the voices of Ren's most trusted allies—generals, strategists, mages, and leaders of the various factions that had pledged loyalty to him. A massive map lay spread across the stone table, marked with key locations, fortifications, and potential threats.
Ren stood at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping across the gathered warriors.
"The gods will strike soon," he said, his voice unwavering. "We don't know when, but it will be swift and without mercy. We need to be ready."
One of his generals, an older warrior with deep scars across his face, leaned forward. "What kind of attack are we expecting?"
Mira answered before Ren could. "Divine Heralds, at the very least. And if the gods are truly angry… they might send an Avatar."
The room fell silent. An Avatar of the gods. A vessel carrying divine will, capable of leveling cities and turning armies to dust.
Draven leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "We've fought monsters, beasts, and men before. But if the gods send an Avatar, how the hell do we fight something like that?"
Ren's fingers traced the hilt of Voidfang. The sword pulsed in response. "We find a way."
A silence settled over the room. The weight of the coming storm hung over them all.
"We strengthen our defenses," Ren continued. "I want our barrier formations reinforced, our elite fighters ready, and our mages preparing countermeasures against divine magic."
Mira nodded. "The runes we salvaged from the ruins—some of them were designed to repel divine energy. We might be able to use them."
"Good," Ren said. He turned to one of the beast tamers. "What of the magical beasts?"
A younger man stepped forward, bowing slightly. "The wyverns have been restless. It's as if they sense what's coming. But they are ready to fight if needed."
Ren nodded. Every advantage counted.
"We do not wait for death to come to us," he said firmly. "If the gods want to destroy us, they'll find we are not so easily erased."
The warriors in the hall roared their agreement.
The Storm Breaks
The first sign of the gods' response came at dawn.
A tear in the sky split open above Ebonreach. From the rift descended figures cloaked in golden light—Divine Heralds, the enforcers of the gods' will.
There were five of them, each radiating power so immense it made the very air hum.
Ren stood at the front gates, Voidfang in hand, Mira and Draven at his side. His warriors stood behind him, ready but tense.
One of the Heralds stepped forward, their voice echoing across the battlefield. "Ren of Ebonreach. You have defied the divine order. The gods decree that you shall be erased."
Ren smirked, raising his sword. "Let them try."
With a single motion, the battle began.