Excerpt from The Annals of the War of Damnation, Global Alliance Archive — Year 83 After Emergence
The War of Damnation began over eighty years ago, heralded by the mysterious emergence of a single entity known throughout history as the Shadow Monarch.
In the grim and fantastical world of Estan'te, he rose as an absolute Tyrant, wielding devastating authority over the souls of the damned, with the ability to infinitely raise the dead into his endless Shadow Legion.
According to surviving records, the Shadow Monarch sought to unify all races, nations, and banners beneath a single universal rule—
His.
His objective was simple and unambiguous: total world domination.
Though such ambition is common among despots and tyrants, no villain in the long, war-torn history of Estan'te had ever succeeded in achieving true dominion before him.
The Monarch of Shadows—styled in later texts as Lord of Darkness and all that was dead, defiled, and forgotten—rose with an army of the damned, hundreds of thousands strong, and forced the world to its knees.
Estan'te, already fractured by centuries of racial conflict and territorial war, proved unable to resist a force that thrived upon death itself.
Nation after nation fell, their armies broken, their fallen soldiers conscripted into the Shadow Legion.
Only when extinction loomed did the surviving powers of the world unite. Guided by the emergence of a Hero chosen by divine light, the first Global Alliance of Estan'te was formed.
Orcs, Dwarves, Elves, and Human nations set aside ancient rivalries to stand as one against the encroaching darkness.
Thus began the conflict later named the War of Damnation—also known as the Shadow War.
Despite this unity, the war endured for over eight decades. Multiple chosen Heroes rose to challenge the Shadow Monarch, and each, in time, fell.
Early Alliance campaigns ended in catastrophic losses, as the Monarch's dominion over the dead rendered conventional victory impossible. Countless warriors perished upon the battlefield, only to rise again within the ranks of the Shadow Legion, further swelling its numbers.
Alas, history was finally rewritten during the last Campaign. The bulk of the Global Alliance marched on to the Edge of the World, Heliodor, with resolution, bringing the fight to the very territory of the Shadow Monarch this time with a preemptive force.
It is recorded that the war ended with the defeat of the Shadow Monarch, led by the current Hero of divine light; Sir Alister Light Sinclair. Bringing a close to Dark Monarch's tyrannical reign.
And an end to the War of Damnation.
.
.
.
The Battle at Heliodor.
That was what the world would come to call it.
And as the final radiance of Alister's attack tore through the sky and dispersed, the entire Global Alliance army was awash in an embracing warmth of light that kept them safe from the sheer scale of destruction.
It was as though the sky itself had opened and poured down divine judgment upon the Dark Castle—pulling down its tall, mighty spires and tearing its ancient, magnificent walls into rubble.
Behind it, only the warmth of devastation was left in its wake.
The survivors of the Alliance, some missing an eye or a limb, couldn't directly see the battle raging within what remained of the audience chamber.
But once it was over, the countless unliving Shades of the Shadow Monarch's Dark Legion grew still. Then they crumbled apart like pillars of salt and ash, scattering into the wind as flickering, illusory dust.
It happened all at once across the battlefield.
The soldiers of the Alliance watched as the monstrous Shades faltered, then withered. And this time, as they did, pale glowing specks floated outward from within their collapsing shadowy constructs and vanished into thin air.
"This…"
The knight captain with a dislodged eye and a twisted arm stared at the magnificent sight with his one good eye, words failing him at the height of it.
He was sprawled against a rock, missing his left leg as blood flowed from the bleeding stump. But the pain barely registered—barely mattered—at that moment.
He, like the others, couldn't closely spectate the battle within the Dark Castle, but the spectacle unfolding all around them defined everything.
The Shadow Monarch… had fallen. And with that, the countless millions of souls bound in captivity were finally free to return to a perfect cycle of death.
And as the last of the Shades vanished, its soul escaping—
"It's over…"
WOOAAAHHHHHHH!!!
The Alliance army roared across the land until Heliodor itself shook beneath their voices. They chanted from the very depths of their souls—voices of victory after eight long decades of tyranny and oppression.
Over at the ruins of the Dark Castle, from what was left of the audience chamber, Alister Sinclair—the Hero—could hear the cries of his men and kin.
The soft, warm golden glow had vanished from his body, and his appearance had reverted to his regular, younger, charming self.
His long hair was shorter, and the sense of profound aura that had surrounded him moments ago had disappeared, taking with it the strength of millions of souls and hopes.
Now he simply stood there, surrounded by ruin and rubble, the dark clouds torn apart above to reveal a boundless blue sky for the first time in centuries.
The Sword of Judgement rested in his limp grasp, finally quiet, as he stared distantly at the place where the Shadow Monarch had stood moments ago—raising his blade until the very end.
Now that very same sword was plunged into the hard stone ground, looking as bold and untouched as it ever had.
The Sword of Dominion bent the new light of the heavens around its regal blade. And resting right beside it lay the Shadow Monarch's iconic helm, empty and charred against the stone.
Even until the end, no one in history had ever beheld the Dark Monarch's true face or identity. There were no known records of a proper name—only titles, monikers, and whispered rumors of origin.
No one knew. The Shadow Monarch had simply descended upon Estan'te one day.
And now, with Him gone, those truths and details were destined to remain forever lost to history.
Yet something stirred uneasily within Alister.
Something told him that the Shadow Monarch—all that he was and stood for—would not simply become a name forgotten to time.
The War of Damnation would not be merely another great conflict chronicled in the annals of Estan'te.
Perhaps…
He couldn't explain it, but—
…for now, that was okay as well.
***
Much later…
News of the conclusion of the Battle at Heliodor spread swiftly through the Alliance after messengers were dispatched from the main army.
Heliodor was the largest continent, situated beyond and around all other nations—one of the reasons it was called the Edge of the World. It was a landmass of vast, largely unexplored territory.
This meant it lay far from the Global Alliance's capitals and border nations. It had taken the army weeks to march there, and the return journey would take even longer.
As such, only the badly injured and heavily scarred were sent back first. Those assigned to escort them would later return with additional reinforcements and resources.
Now that the Shadow Monarch and his forces were truly wiped out, the nations and races of the Alliance moved quickly to establish camps and bases across the continent under their respective banners—most importantly within the region surrounding the Shadow Monarch's ruined fortress.
Heliodor had remained largely unexplored throughout history, and with the Dark Fortress now lying unclaimed in ruins, vast resources stood ready to be claimed.
Alas, the Dark Fortress itself was far too immense and ancient. It was riddled with traps, arrays, dark knowledge, and hidden layers.
It would take months on end before even thirty-five percent of it could be thoroughly swept.
And so, soldiers and research teams settled in, establishing camps and facilities in the surrounding area.
Meanwhile… in one of the ruined chambers where the walls had been torn down and the roof blown off…
A dark, formless shape swept swiftly across the ground like a shadow. It was quick, silent, and most importantly—quiet.
The darkness in the ruined chamber flickered and deepened despite the open light of day pouring in from above.
It undulated as if alive, shadows hissing softly from the corners, as something stepped out.
No… not something—someone.
A young-looking man walked out of the darkness, as though pure shadow had been given human shape and form.
He had raven-black hair falling past his ears, weaving seamlessly from the darkness itself. His inky black eyes contrasted sharply against soft, fair—almost ivory—skin.
He wasn't too tall or too short; some would say average. His entire appearance would have been unassuming… if it hadn't seemed as though he were shaped from formless shadow pulled out of empty darkness.
He looked like a regular youth, wearing the typical clothes of human commoners—nothing fancy.
The bright light of day struck his eyes immediately, causing him to wince and raise an arm to shield his face.
Was it always this bright?
The young man hissed lightly under his breath.
Finally, after adjusting to the light, he stepped forward and embraced the new world with arms spread wide.
"Ah…" He exhaled deeply, sighed, then smiled brightly—like a child finally released to play in an open field…
"My lieeeggeee!!"
Something small, black, furry, and winged slammed into the side of his face out of nowhere.
"Uhk!"
It was like an assaulting furball launched straight from the shadows. It blurred through the air like a needle and impacted like a cannonball.
The youth stumbled back on his feet, heart jolting. For a split second, he thought he'd been discovered—under attack by the Alliance once more—until he quickly recognized the voice.
"Shhh! Pip, be silent!"
The youth caught himself before he could fall to the ground, shifting his weight as he grabbed the furry little devil between his fingers.
Indeed, it was the same black, furry creature—with leathery wings and a pair of tiny horns jutting from the top of its head.
Pip's big, round, blood-red eyes trembled and glistened with tears so bright that the youth could see his own troubled reflection in them. He quickly let go.
"Okay, okay, okay—shhh! Don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Pip sniffled, rubbing its tiny arms across its tear-streaked face.
"My liege, I thought… I thought you were dead!"
The youth gave a small, sad smile at the sight. It felt comforting to know that, after all this time, there was still someone who would cry on his behalf.
Then the sad smile was wiped away, replaced by a shameless grin.
"I did. Would anyone else be capable of surviving that?"
He shrugged noncommittally and turned to face the wide expanse ahead.
"What…?"
Pip stared at him as if he were looking at a creature with two heads—and Pip had seen his fair share of strange things.
The youth tilted his head slightly, offering only an insufferable smile that explained nothing.
Before Pip could say anything else, he casually cut him off, hopping over a pile of rubble and continuing forward.
"There's no time, Pip. Come on, let's go."
Pip blinked, confused and startled, his tiny wings fluttering as he hovered in midair.
"Wh—wha… how…? At least say something, my liege!" the little creature protested.
Meanwhile, the black-haired youth looked around casually, as though he weren't standing amidst the ruins of his former fortress.
He shrugged at Pip's protest without even turning around.
"What's there to say? I lost to the Hero. The Alliance won. And now—"
He slowed to a stop and stared toward the horizon stretching across the expanse.
His inky black eyes shimmered strangely beneath the sunlight, holding something akin to hopeful anticipation.
"I want to see the world Alister spoke about," he added, an unreadable smile on his lips.
"A world without the Shadow Monarch—me."