Chapter 14 - The Crimson War Begins

The sky burned like a raging fire, a sea of red and black, smoke rising thick and heavy, spreading across the land like a curse that would never fade, and beneath it, the earth itself trembled, cracked, and shook as if the world was breaking apart, the forests reduced to ash, rivers boiling with cursed flames, and cities crumbled into ruins, all signs of the war that had finally come—the Crimson War, a battle that was no longer about kingdoms or crowns but the very fate of existence itself, and at the center of this storm stood Ceyr, the Devourer King, his body a map of glowing runes and cursed marks, his eyes burning with molten gold and fury, the power of the throne coursing through him like a living, hungry beast, every breath heavy with the scent of death and rebirth, knowing that this fight was more than just steel and magic—it was a war of wills, a test of strength and mind, and Ceyr welcomed it with the calm rage of a god who had been betrayed but refused to fall, the armies of demons, cursed beasts, and forgotten souls marched under banners torn and bloodied, their cries shaking the air and souls alike, an unstoppable force driven by hatred, hunger, and hope, while the fractured kingdoms gathered what remained of their forces, knights in armor scarred from endless battles, sorcerers with spells that twisted fate itself, and archers whose arrows sang death, but even their desperate efforts seemed small against the growing storm of darkness, and as the two forces collided, the clash was like the end of the world itself—the earth cracked open beneath their feet, mountains shattered, skies ripped apart by lightning that struck like the wrath of forgotten gods, and in the heart of the chaos, Ceyr moved like a storm unleashed, his cursed flames carving through enemies with hunger that never slept, his fists smashing through shields and bones, his voice a cold command that bent reality, summoning shadows that wrapped like chains around foes, flames that devoured all in their path, and winds sharp as blades that tore through ranks, and with every victory, his power grew, feeding on the destruction, the hunger inside him whispering for more, more power, more chaos, but Ceyr held it back, struggling to keep control, knowing that giving in fully would mean losing himself to the Devourer's curse, and as the battle raged, new threats emerged—the Archlords watched from their towers, their pale faces twisted with fear and greed, their ancient magics shaking like fragile glass against the rising tide, while in the shadows beyond the battlefield, secret factions moved silently, their motives hidden behind masks of loyalty and betrayal, waiting to strike when the world was weakest, and beneath it all, old gods and forgotten beasts stirred, awakened by the chaos, their ancient power leaking into the world once more, threatening to tip the balance toward destruction, and amidst the roar of war, Ceyr heard a voice—sharp and clear through the storm—it was Caelina, the Saintblade, her silver armor shining even in the darkest chaos, offering a fragile hope, a chance at salvation if he could trust her, and in that moment, time seemed to pause, the king of shadows and the blade of light standing on the edge of fate itself, the future hanging by a thread between war and peace, destruction and rebirth, but the storm was far from over, and the world knew this was only the beginning of a war that would burn for years, changing everything, breaking the old world, and forging a new one in fire and shadow, and as the crimson sky wept lightning and blood, the Devourer King roared into the chaos, his voice a promise of devastation and hope alike, and the Crimson War had begun.