The forest trembles.
Each tree bends, creaking under a pressure that isn't wind.
The sound crawls across the battlefield — a deep, bone-grinding vibration that makes the ground itself feel alive.
Something moves beneath the roots.
Something enormous.
Then—silence.
The wind dies.
Even the flames on the fortress walls flicker out for a heartbeat.
I can't breathe.
A moment later, the treeline explodes.
Hundreds of trees snap like twigs as something tears its way through.
The shockwave alone sends knights flying.
Dust, splinters, and ash fill the sky.
When it emerges, the world seems to shrink.
It isn't a beast.
It is a calamity given flesh — a towering figure of molten muscle and blackened bone.
Its skin ripples with glowing veins of magma that pulse like rivers beneath cracked stone.
Where eyes should be, two pits of burning crimson light glare through the haze.
Its breath comes out as smoke — thick, searing, and hot enough to melt the ground under its claws.
The monsters around it fall to their knees, trembling — not from fear, but worship.
My every instinct screams at me to run.
Gareth takes a step back.
His body trembles.
Even an A-rank can't stand without fear before this thing.
The creature moves — one step — and the ground collapses beneath its weight.
Another — and shockwaves ripple through the field, hurling men and beasts alike like rag dolls.
I barely catch myself before falling.
My ears ring; my heart hammers against my ribs.
The air itself distorts around it.
Mana screams.
Space bends.
It isn't just strong — it is wrong.
I look around — every knight lies sprawled across the ground, groaning or motionless.
Some don't even move.
Only Gareth remains standing… barely.
His hands shake around his spear.
That creature is an abomination.
A Giant.
A fucking Lava Giant.
Giants are inherently stronger than any race alive — their bodies are nature's raw muscle.
But this one… it's beyond that.
An S-rank Giant, molten veins glow through its chest like the cracks of a dying world.
I look up again — its veins pulse violently, lava spills from its mouth and drips down its chin like burning blood.
Its claws are large enough to crush ten men in one swing.
Then it opens its mouth — wide enough to swallow a horse whole — and roars.
It isn't a sound.
It is a command.
The roar tears through the battlefield like a storm.
Knights collapse instantly, blood gushes from their ears.
Monsters go mad, turning on each other in blind frenzy, tearing their own flesh apart.
The air itself vibrates — saturated with raw killing intent.
And through that chaos, Gareth moves.
His aura flares — a radiant burst of white, bright enough to split the darkness.
His spear ignites, burning like lightning forged into form.
He leaps — a streak of divine brilliance cutting through the haze, aimed straight at the creature's heart.
For a moment, it looks divine.
A single man daring to strike down a god.
The spear strikes.
The spear strikes the giant square in the chest.
A blinding explosion follows — heat, smoke, and dust swallowing everything.
Gareth smirks faintly through the haze.
"Got you, bastard…" he mutters.
But as the smoke thins, his expression freezes.
The giant still stands — completely unharmed.
The spear melts into its flesh, hissing like molten iron before dripping to the ground.
Its massive frame casts a shadow that devours Gareth whole.
In a blur, the creature moves.
One moment it is yards away
the next, it is looming right above him.
Despite its colossal frame, it is fast.
Too fast to even see it move.
Its claws slice through the air, inches from Gareth's face.
His eyes widen.
Too fast.
Too late
BOOM!
The ground quakes.
Gareth squeezes his eyes shut.
When he dares to open them again, the claws stop.
Frozen — mere inches from his throat.
A dark silhouette stands between them, gripping the giant's wrist with one hand.
Commander Arvell Dyne.
His small hand stops the giant's claw — each finger thicker than a tree trunk — as if it weighs nothing.
"C-Commander…" Gareth breathes.
Arvell's aura blazes like a storm, waves of pressure cracking the ground beneath his feet.
He pushes the giant back a step, eyes glinting with cold fury.
"Stand back," Arvell says quietly. "I'll take it from here."
Gareth nods absentmindedly and staggers back.
I let out a deep breath I didn't even realize I was holding.
When that giant appeared, hope vanished.
But now—
Now that the Commander is here—
maybe… we can survive this.
Clench.
The fortress gates creak open once more.
Step. Step.
Knights march out—
the Elite Force.
Every one of them a B or A-rank warrior.
Their arrival should bring comfort…
but it only means one thing: a distraction.
The real monsters are coming.
Out in the field, the Commander and the giant stand motionless.
Neither speaks.
Neither blinks.
Two predators, measuring one another's power—
a silent exchange of killing intent thick enough to crush the air itself.
Then, as if the giant sees enough—
it roars.
The sound tears through the battlefield, shattering stone and sky alike.
It swings its arm down with earth-splitting force,
the sheer pressure collapsing the air,
ripping trenches into the ground where its blow passes.
Commander Arvell doesn't move.
He simply raises his hand—
and stops it.
The impact explodes like thunder.
The ground craters, trees disintegrate,
the fortress walls tremble—
yet Arvell stands firm, his palm locked against the beast's claw.
The two forces clash,
and the world between them ceases to exist.
Then Arvell moves.
His left fist slams into the giant's abdomen.
The sound that follows is deafening—
a blast wave tears through the field as the creature is hurled backward,
skidding across the ground like a meteor striking earth.
Before it can recover, Arvell is already there—
appearing before the giant in a blur of white aura.
Another punch.
Another explosion.
Both figures vanish into the distance,
their battle tearing through the plains beyond the fortress.
He drags it away.
Taking the fight far from us—
away from the walls, away from the knights.
Because if those two clash here…
none of us will be left alive
The earth trembles again.
Not from footsteps—
but from impact.
Far beyond the plains, flashes of light clash against waves of molten fire.
Each collision paints the horizon red and white.
The shockwaves arrive seconds later, rattling the fortress walls and shattering what few windows still stand.
I grit my teeth and cover my ears, but it doesn't help.
The air itself shrieks.
"Hold the line!" someone shouts.
But no one listens.
Every knight on the wall stares at the distant carnage—
at two beings locked in a battle that doesn't belong to mortals.
Each strike from the Commander splits the clouds.
Each counter from the giant melts the earth.
Even from this distance, I can feel it.
The heat.
The pressure.
The suffocating reminder of what true strength is.
The Elite Knights tighten their grips on their weapons, expressions pale.
Some pray.
Others just watch, silent, as mountains of power collide in the distance.
A single blow from either of them could erase the entire fortress.
And yet—
Commander Arvell fights alone.
Another explosion rips through the night.
A ring of fire expands outward, devouring the treeline.
The sky itself bleeds with crimson sparks, like falling embers from a dying sun.
The giant roars again—
its voice deep enough to shake the marrow inside my bones.
Its molten veins glow brighter, its entire body shifts into something more monstrous, more unstable.
I can see it even from here—
its massive chest splits open, molten light spills through cracks in its flesh.
And yet, Commander Arvell doesn't flinch.
He stands amid that inferno like a blade that refuses to bend.
Then—he moves.
A faint light flares around him.
It isn't just aura anymore.
It is something else—something ancient.
For a moment, the battlefield goes silent.
Even the giant hesitates.
And then—
The world erupts.
Flash.
Thunderclap.
A wall of energy so intense it blinds everyone on the ramparts.
When my vision clears, all I can see is devastation.
The forest is gone—reduced to a crater of glass and ash.
The giant has fallen, half its body missing, molten flesh solidifying into black stone.
But the commander…
He stands there, barely visible in the haze—
his aura flickering, his stance unwavering.
For the first time that night, I feel something unfamiliar.
Not fear.
Not awe.
For a moment, everyone thinks the Commander has won.
The battlefield is silent—
no roars, no screams, just the crackle of cooling fire.
Knights begin to lower their weapons.
Some even smile through their exhaustion.
Maybe… we can win this.
But then—
The impossible happens.
The giant moves.
Smoke hisses from its wounds.
The molten cracks along its flesh begin to glow again—hotter, brighter—until the very air distorts.
The half of its body that was obliterated starts knitting back together, veins of fire crawling across its frame like living magma.
In mere seconds, it stands whole again.
Unscathed.
"No…" Gareth whispers beside me. "It's impossible."
Before anyone can react, the giant lunges forward—faster than before.
Its fist ignites mid-swing, trailing molten ash behind it.
Commander Arvell barely raises his arm before the blow connects.
BOOM!
The shockwave levels everything in its path—trees, stone, and men alike.
The Commander is hurled backward, carving a trench through the scorched earth.
The giant roars, its voice now distorted, warped—like a chorus of beasts screaming in unison.
Lava pours from its mouth as it stomps forward, every step melts the ground.
The Commander rises slowly, armor cracked, his face calm.
He doesn't flinch.
He doesn't retreat.
Instead, he reaches behind his back—
and draws his sword.
The moment the blade leaves its sheath, the world changes.
A pure, radiant hum fills the air.
Even from the fortress, I can feel the edge of its power slicing through the atmosphere itself.
The Commander takes one breath—
and swings.
The light takes the Giant.
The forest splits clean in two, an entire stretch of land reduced to molten glass.
The slash carves through the giant's chest, severing flesh, bone, and flame alike.
For an instant, I dare to hope again—
but the hope dies just as fast.
The wound seals.
Instantly.
The giant's regeneration has gone mad, its body pulses with unstable mana.
Every strike the Commander lands heals faster than it can cut.
Then—both vanish.
Only the shockwaves remain.
Two blurs—one of light, one of molten crimson—collide again and again, tearing through the plains beyond our sight.
Each impact reshapes the land, mountains crumbling, skies flashing with thunder and flame.
We can't see them anymore.
Only the aftermath.
The sound of gods waging war in the distance.
And for the first time that night,
I realize something horrifying.
Even if the Commander wins…
the world around us might not survive it.