*The following scenarios/chapters are flashbacks
*Bang! *ROAR!
*kaBOOM!!!
*Boom! *Boom! *Boom! *ROAR!!!
A wild, relentless symphony of chaos raged across the sky and earth—echoes of artillery blasts and thunderous energy detonations shook the very crust of the war-scarred plains of Chasmratt.
Shrapnel cut through the blackened air while flames licked the twisted wrecks of armored carriers and broken barricades.
It was a battlefield where silence had long been exiled.
Once a green planet, Chasmratt had long since been reduced to nothing more than a scorched wasteland—a violent cradle for carnage where no life could thrive outside of war.
Its name echoed through the ranks of soldiers like a curse, a place that bore witness to endless bloodshed and despair.
The true enemy here, however, was not merely the climate, nor the hunger, nor the exhaustion, but a nightmarish hive-minded species known across the stars as the Atroxians.
These creatures didn't fight with honor or tactics—they consumed, they devoured, and they multiplied.
Chasmratt was no ordinary world.
It was a highly contested frontier, sitting as the final bastion before entering the dreaded region of space known as Maw's Deep.
A cursed galaxy brimming with unspeakable horrors and monstrous entities that made the Atroxians seem tame by comparison.
Many civilizations had sent their finest warriors to Maw's Deep, but few returned.
And even fewer returned sane.
Yet, within the swirling shadows of that chaotic galaxy lay the whispers of something ancient—something powerful.
A relic of immense significance, one said to hold dominion over all Eidra-corrupted monstrosities.
A relic that could control them.
And so, as countless civilizations schemed to uncover this forgotten treasure.
And one empire marched forward without hesitation.
The Empire of Zerafhon.
They would have Chasmratt.
They would open Maw's Deep.
And they would claim the relic no matter the cost.
===
*Boom! *Boom! *Boom! *Boom!
*zap! *zap! *zap!
The battlefield was a living nightmare. Every moment was a clash of shrieking death and howling rage.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and scorched bone.
Explosions blossomed in all directions—huge blooming flowers of fire and ruin—tearing open the ground and sending soldiers flying like ragdolls.
Amid this carnage stood a lone figure.
A woman whose very presence was like a blade through the storm.
Crimson-haired, tall and battle-scarred, she held a massive twin-bladed glaive etched with ancient runes that hissed with serpentine coils of crimson wind-like energy.
Wherever she moved, Atroxians died.
With speed that defied the eye, she vanished and reappeared in streaks of blood and steel, carving through swaths of Atroxians with elegant fury.
Their dismembered bodies were flung high into the air like shredded paper.
The woman's name was Merilyn.
And she was no mere warrior.
Her eyes glowed with power as she focused her Eidra, wrapping it around her limbs like a second skin.
*SKREEEEEEEEEEE!!!
*FWOOOOSH!!!
The crimson wind began to spiral violently, rising like a hurricane around her as she clenched her fist.
The very air warped with the sheer pressure.
Around her, the ground trembled.
*ROAR!!!
Thousands of Atroxians charged at once, a black sea of snarling mouths and bone-crusted claws.
They shrieked and screamed in unison, the hive mind surging forward in overwhelming numbers.
Merilyn raised her glaive above her head.
It shimmered violently with Eidra, then spun in her grip like a whirlpool of death.
She slammed the blade into the earth.
*crack!
"Eidra in Jehkiar," she whispered, her voice barely audible amidst the storm.
Bloodwind.
A moment later, the earth responded.
*BANG!!!
The battlefield exploded.
*SHRAAAAAAAAAH!!!
A massive cyclone burst from where she stood—twisting, spinning, and tearing everything in its path.
It engulfed thousands of Atroxians in seconds, slicing them apart and pulling their dismembered bodies into the air like leaves in a hurricane.
Their blood sprayed in a grotesque rain, painting the already crimson soil a deeper red.
From that rain of gore, Merilyn remained standing—untouched.
Then, her eyes narrowed.
She sensed movement beyond the dust and blood.
A single silhouette pushed through the haze, his figure tall and steady despite the destruction.
He carried a rifle—no, a weapon that gleamed violet with refined power.
An energy rifle of high caliber, built for warfare against the worst of enemies.
"Merilyn!" he shouted,
*thud! *crunch!
his boots crunching over broken bone and ash.
"Main horde sighted moving west—biggest group yet!"
His voice was urgent.
"Brood mother's there—I can feel it!"
Merilyn didn't waste a second.
The glaive in her hand hissed as she twisted it, folding it into a compact form and locking it to the strap on her chest.
"Then we're heading west," she said without hesitation, her eyes flicking with new fire.
"Enerken and Heria are already there."
The man nodded once, his grip on the weapon tightening.
"Time to run."
And run they did.
In a blink, they launched forward.
*Bang!
Each leap covered massive distances, their forms blurring through the battlefield like red and silver streaks of lightning.
Soldiers looked up in awe.
Even Atroxians staggered under the wind force they left behind.
Then, the man's voice cried out again.
"Dust cloud—two o'clock!"
Merilyn turned her head.
A massive wall of churning dust rumbled across the battlefield—a sign of the main horde's movement.
"They're trying to break our flank!"
Without pausing, the man shifted the shape of his weapon.
*click! *clack!
*Whirrrrr!!!
The energy rifle began to click and transform, stretching and morphing until it became a heavy plasma cannon.
Cores within the weapon surged to life, glowing brighter with each step he took.
He fired.
*BANG! *BANG! *BANG!
The projectiles arced high above the battlefield—then rained down upon the oncoming horde with a barrage of violent explosions that lit the sky.
The ground shook.
But the Atroxians did not stop.
*rumbling
"They're not slowing down!" the man cursed.
"Evaan!" Merilyn called to him.
"Erenhold must already be at the western HQ—we need to link up with him!"
"You're reading my mind, love!" Evaan replied.
Just then, the horizon lit up with roaring fire.
A wall of flame.
A colossus of searing red fire that burned like a vertical sea of molten death.
The horde halted.
Even the Atroxians recoiled.
"That's Mezra's Eidra!" Merilyn said with a sharp smile. "Let's move!"
===
*moments later
They slid across the charred ground, finally arriving at the western headquarters.
All around them, massive artillery units thundered like gods, launching explosive payloads into the sky.
The heavens were streaked with green, gold, and red.
It looked like the apocalypse had arrived—and the Empire of Zerafhon welcomed it.
Then came a voice—soft, familiar, and warm.
"Mother… Father."
They turned.
Two young warriors approached.
Eyes fierce, armor bloodied but proud.
Enerken.
Heria.
"My children…" Merilyn whispered with a tired but proud smile.
She touched both of their shoulders, pride welling in her chest.
Enerken beamed.
"The brood mother trembles before us—I can feel it!"
Heria stepped forward.
"Master Erenhold and Master Mezra wait for you in the command tent, mother."
Merilyn cupped Heria's cheek.
"M-Mom, stop," Heria mumbled.
"You'll always be my baby."
Evaan chuckled beside them.
Then Merilyn's tone shifted.
Her gaze sharpened.
"Evaan. Ready the soldiers."
He nodded without hesitation. "Aye."
"Maw's Deep will open to us today."
Merilyn leaned in close, placing a kiss upon his lips.
A fleeting gesture—but filled with depth.
"Vuilet es Krina, Evaan," she whispered.
"Vuilet es Deriva, Meri," he answered.
She leaned her forehead against his.
*huff!
One final breath.
Then she turned.
Toward the tent.
Toward the battlemasters.
Toward war.
"Time to burn this godforsaken planet."