The ground trembled beneath a thousand marching feet.
Dust clouds swallowed the horizon,
carrying the heavy, cold scent of battle.
Across plains scorched by old wars,
through forests still healing from ancient scars,
two armies moved toward each other —
like twin storms destined to collide.
On one side:
The Purifiers.
Clad in gleaming armor stitched with corrupted sigils.
Faces hidden by masks of bone and steel.
Weapons forged from the forbidden arts — blades that ate light, spears that whispered madness.
Their banners bore a single, twisted symbol:
A broken Hero's Sigil impaled on a sword.
They marched without song.
Without mercy.
Without hesitation.
Their belief was absolute:
"The weak must be erased. The world must be purified."
On the other side:
The Children of the Abyss.
Young.
Imperfect.
Beautiful in their brokenness.
They carried no grand banners, no gleaming relics.
Only simple, stitched flags bearing the spiral of light and darkness —
the symbol of choice, of freedom, of Kai Arashi's dream.
They marched not as conquerors, but as protectors.
Each step forward was an act of defiance against centuries of cruelty.
Each heartbeat was a promise:
"We will not kneel."
"We will not forget."
"We are enough."
At the head of the Children, Arin rode atop a black armored beast —
a creature gifted to her by the remnants of the Abyss, loyal and fierce.
She wore no crown.
Only the simple black-and-silver uniform marked by Kai's spiral.
In her hand, she carried the Blade of Dawn and Dusk —
a fusion of her Heroic System and Kai's Abyssal remnants.
Beside her:
Sira, with her Healing Abyss System, shining faintly with hope.
Kael, eyes glowing gold, calculating a thousand battle paths every second.
Drayce, fists wrapped in fire and fury, grinning wildly at the oncoming storm.
They were ready.
Or as ready as anyone could be.
Because they knew:
This was not just a battle for survival.
It was a battle for the soul of the world.
Across the wastelands, on the Purifier front:
The figure in shattered golden armor rode a skeletal beast stitched together from light and darkness.
Their voice echoed across their army:
"Burn their dreams."
"Break their spirits."
"Purify the world."
The two armies saw each other now.
At first, just shadows on the horizon.
Then shapes.
Then faces.
And then —
The silence shattered.
The Purifiers roared, a sound like collapsing mountains.
The Children of the Abyss answered,
not with a scream of rage —
but with a war-cry of hope.
The March of the Broken had begun.
Steel clashed.
Systems flared.
Dreams collided.
The battlefield became a living nightmare,
a place where the old world's hatred and the new world's hope tore at each other in endless, desperate fury.
And in the center of it all,
two destinies hurtled toward each other like dying stars:
Arin Veyla, heir of light and shadow.
The Purifier Commander, bearer of the corrupted Heroic Sigil.
Only one could shape the future.
Only one would walk away.
Above the battlefield, high among the swirling clouds,
a silver-eyed figure stood unseen.
Watching.
Waiting.
And smiling.
Because no matter how bloody,
no matter how broken,
this was the world Kai Arashi had fought for:
A world where everyone had the right to choose.
Even if it cost everything.