Chapter 1: Change the story if you dare
The sky was painted in fire.
Not the warm orange of a sunset, but the chaotic blend of magical explosions and broken aircraft raining down like dead birds.
Craters ruptured the earth with every clash. Crystal weapons and shattered relics stuck out of the scorched ground like thorns. The battlefield was buried in bodies—humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—no race had been spared.
The great city of Valenhold, jewel of the Human Dominion, was now nothing more than smoke, ash, and memory.
At the heart of it all stood a man who twisted the world simply by existing.
His long black hair flowed like liquid shadow, and his eyes were endless void—pitch-black, with no whites. His armor was ancient and regal, etched in crimson runes that pulsed like a dying heartbeat.
Vorthas vel Azriel, The Demon Prince
He stood still, silent, his gaze fixed on the two dying men before him.
One lay face-down in blood and rubble. His golden hair, once radiant, was drenched in crimson. His blue eyes still burned, even as life faded from them.
Marcus Ardent, the People’s Hope.
Beside him, another man lay broken. His body was mutilated—his left arm severed, both legs gone. Black flames crawled over his body, eating away at him, stopping even regeneration.