Michael stood atop the highest mountain of the Vastyrion Realm.
Winter worsened, wind biting through layers of his cloak, yet he remained calm. He sensed someone behind him.
"Step forward," he called, his voice even. "I know you're there."
A man approached. A king. King Johan Belier of the North Snow Kingdom. He came beside Michael.
"You are the Tenth Sentinel. I know you," Johan said.
"How do you know me?" Michael asked calmly.
Johan smirked. "Obviously. I have the ability to sense strong energy, those destined to reach higher planes. And I sensed you."
Michael nodded slowly. "You are the King of North Snow Kingdom?"
Johan affirmed. "The Ninth Sentinel was my friend, millions of years ago. But I am saddened… he now exists on an unreachable plane, alongside the Highest Being."
Michael's hair floated lightly behind him in the wind. "Do not be saddened by what has already been decided. Focus on what is happening now."
Johan knew Michael was right. Another bloody war was approaching, and there was no time to dwell on the past.
King Johan asked, "Are the demons near?"
"Not yet," Michael said. "I have weakened their forces, but they will grow stronger again. They will come to invade."
Johan furrowed his brow. "But why don't you just destroy them? Their demon lord… you could stop them before they reach Vastyrion."
Michael paused, cloak floating around him, long sleeves drifting in the wind. He stood tall, calm. "The demon lord, Azmodan, is different. He is addicted to war. I cannot be certain I can take him down alone. He is unlike any demon lord I have faced before. Even as a Sentinel, I may not survive."
Johan was silent, surprised by Michael's honesty. Results mattered. Even the Tenth Sentinel could face death before reaching his full potential. Yet in Johan's judgment, Michael could overcome it. Michael would rise above all demons and erase them from existence.
Michael began walking beside the mountain ridges, his presence imposing even against the raging winter.
"The winter is good, isn't it?" he said softly. "Despite its bite, it feels warm. But peace is coming to an end. Even if we succeed against Azmodan and his forces, there will be more—endless waves, over and over again. It is infuriating."
He smirked briefly, then returned to calm. "You, King of North Snow, prepare your army, your generals, and your people. Don't worry. I am on the side of Vastyrion. I am the Tenth Sentinel. I carry a sword that can erase demons from existence. It has killed beings beyond comprehension."
Confidence returned to his eyes.
"I change my mind," Michael said firmly. "Azmodan is not too much for me. I can defeat him. The Highest Being is beside us. Now, Johan, pray with me. Pray for guidance and victory."
The two kings sat together atop the mountain, hands raised in prayer.
Johan prayed for Michael's success, for the Sentinel to stand above the demons. Michael prayed for strength from the Highest Being, to wield enough power to defeat Azmodan and ensure the forces of good prevailed.
Meanwhile, in Aldervain, morning broke.
General Fred rode atop his horse, leading other generals across the massive military base. Knights, cavalry, archers, and all the defensive weapons Michael had helped inspire were being prepared. Fred's inventions, despite his youth, were now integral to Aldervain's defenses.
"Prepare all divisions!" Fred commanded. "The demons could arrive at any moment. Ensure the nation's defenses are fully secured!"
He turned to his fellow generals. "Some of you will ride to neighboring kingdoms. Only North Snow Kingdom has been informed. Rally support and prepare them as well."
They nodded, spurring their horses to leave immediately.
Fred hoped for the best. Vastyrion had survived countless wars before, and he had faith it would survive again.
His younger sister, Bella, watched from the palace, fifteen years old. The palace was stocked and defended, protected by thousands of soldiers and an efficient system of food supplies engineered to last indefinitely. Peace had made preparation possible, and preparation was now their greatest weapon.
The new war was drawing near.
Subspace Hell.
Azmodan sat on his massive throne. Since yesterday, his army had grown exponentially. His demons—floating, flying, and massive—now numbered twelve million. His giant assistant, Dero, had been resurrected and strengthened.
"I will not fail again, my lord," Dero promised. "I will not lose to that Tenth Sentinel."
Azmodan's bloated torso flexed as he grinned. His cavernous maw, lined with molten-like teeth, glowed. Jagged crown-like protrusions atop his head shimmered with bloodlust. Chains coiled around his form, glowing like burning fire, reflecting his excitement.
"Relax," Azmodan said. "Michael is mine. Soon, he will face me. Ha ha ha! I am ready."
He rose, immense in size, dwarfing his millions of demons. The subspace trembled beneath him with each step. His sword glowed brilliantly, capable of slicing through endless space with a single swing.
"You should not fear me," Azmodan told his army, "You should fear the Tenth Sentinel, the one who will destroy your beautiful plans for the endless worlds."
Azmodan prepared for more than just battle. This was his war. Vastyrion Realm would be his first conquest, and then the other infinite realms would fall before him. His demons readied themselves, floating, walking, and hovering, awaiting his command.
He laughed, a booming, overwhelming sound. "Ha ha ha ha! Michael! Your time is near! I am Azmodan, Lord of Sin! None will stop me… except you!"
The war had begun.