The sky hung gray, like a wound that had never healed, veiled in a suffocating smoke that smothered every breath. The daylight was swallowed, the sun itself hidden behind a black shroud through which nothing could be seen. The air pressed heavy, as though it might collapse upon shoulders under its crushing weight. All across the continent there was only one truth: war was coming, a war unlike any history had ever known.
At the heart of the camp rose a towering tent, its banners snapping in the storm. Inside, the commanders and the Awakened elites had gathered—faces stern, eyes sharpened, as though they already felt the hour of reckoning closing in. Upon the wide wooden table lay a map of the continent, its edges lit by trembling candles whose flames flickered with every breath of wind.
Bent over the map stood a man with brown hair slicked back, armor of steel embracing his frame and gleaming in the firelight. Upon his shoulders shone the insignia of two golden stars. He lifted his head suddenly, striking the table with such force that the map quaked, and his voice rang out firm and unyielding:
"Our continent is the last line of defense. We will not let it fall! The Awakened, and other races as well, have gathered beneath our banner. And we are close—so very close—to finding the Gate Crystal."
Eyes turned toward the emblem of the clan that hung behind him: a great golden eagle, its wings unfurled as though to defy the heavens themselves.
From the far end of the table, a voice cut the air—cold and sharp as a blade of ice. A woman of the Elves, half her face veiled in green, her gaze piercing as though it saw beyond walls:
"We will never truly unite, Deputy. This alliance will not hold through the next floor. Perhaps talk of unity may return one day, but what matters now is the Gate. We must cross it before it is too late."
A swordsman with hair of gold gleaming in the light stepped forward, his grip iron upon the hilt of his blade. His words rang as solid as forged steel:
"The commander will return soon. I have certain news he has forged alliances with other clans—chief among them the Clan of Light. This time, we will not fail."
A laugh broke the silence, heavy and cold as the grave. From the shadows stepped a hulking figure, broad-shouldered and muscled, his face hidden behind a mask shaped as a black skull. Arms folded across his chest, his voice rumbled rough and fractured:
"From the shadows I hear whispers—the Red Death has entered this floor. Dozens of the Awakened have fled, and an entire clan crumbled at the very mention of his name."
Breath caught in every chest, silence falling as though the night itself leaned in to listen.
The brown-haired knight fixed his gaze back on the map, fist tightening.
"It does not matter. When the commander returns with the alliances, we will drive back the Red Death."
But then, the curtain split aside, and a soldier burst into the tent, gasping, sweat streaming down his face.
"Sir! A black dragon was seen soaring above the Arithon mountains, in the heart of the continent!"
The golden-haired swordsman reeled, staring at him in disbelief.
"Impossible! The dragons were all destroyed!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a flash of blue light blazed across the tent. A glowing screen materialized in the air before them, its words carved as though into stone itself:
[ The Clan of Red Death has declared combat against you ]
[ Clan members: 01 ]
[ The Clan of Red Death is currently in open combat with all who dwell upon this floor ]
[ Do you accept combat? ]
[ Refusal will strip vast points from the clan and deny priority entry into the next floor! ]
The soldier who brought news of the dragon trembled, eyes wide, hand lifting toward his interface to withdraw. But before his finger touched the button, the deputy lunged, his fist slamming into the man's face, throwing him to the ground as he roared:
"Treason! Who gave you the order to retreat?!"
Outside, unrest swelled, the Awakened's faces heavy with dread, allies themselves wavering with hesitant eyes. The knight lifted his head, his voice thunderous as a storm:
"We will not wait for the commander. The Red Death must be stopped now!"
From behind the mask of the black skull, two eyes gleamed, and his voice hissed like the breath of an abyss:
""Indeed, Wait for nothing. I have the notice already—the Gate Crystal and its key lie in the hands of the Red Death. The other clans have launched their attack, marching toward the heart of the continent to strike it down."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then the golden-haired swordsman slowly nodded, turning toward the Elve woman and the others.
"Then we move. We will be the vanguard."
---
And so, hours later, an army unlike any seen upon the continent arose. Millions of Awakened, rank upon rank. Knights rode armored steeds at the front, while behind them, mages chanted their spells. Giants shook the earth with colossal steps, and other races aligned, flowing like a river of power.
In the skies above, vast eagles soared with Elves upon their backs, joined by summoned beasts whose roars split the clouds. The host surged forward like a living sea, bearing down upon the continent's darkened heart.
There, beyond the looming mountains of shadow, the Red Death waited.