[Flashback Timeline - Moments Before The War Began]
Deep in the barbarian outpost's shadowed hall, Raiking sat cross-legged before the grand array. Soul power streamed from his palms in steady rivers. Strand by strand he pulled Ezmelral's shattered soul back into one whole.
Darkness at the far wall bled outward. Warlord Primnear stepped free from the black and dropped to one knee. Raiking kept his eyes shut.
"Are the pieces in place?"
"All messages sent," Primnear answered with head bowed. "Arshka's vanguard strikes the enemy as we speak. Venarayer's pawns in the Evil Sects wear chains or stand seconds from capture."
"And the human king?"
"He moved exactly as you foresaw. The Giant Clan now sits behind bars."
"Excellent. Dia'Tia stands at the edge. She will soon learn that truth holds no worth."
Primnear bowed lower still. "Lord, I speak out of turn. Why grant the giantess mercy once more? The horde whispers of her trespass into your domain. Yet you let her draw breath again."
"Her hands carry no stain. She remains innocent."
"Lord... when the Void Magic plague falls upon the mortal realm, will the human innocents truly escape the flames?"
Raiking opened his eyes. A void older than empires stared out, heavy with the weight of ages. "Arshara bled for that kingdom. One night they eagerly swallowed the lie that she was a traitor. Those who knew the truth cowered in silence. Tell me, Primnear—who amongst them is truly innocent?"
"I see the eternal truth. The next phase begins now."
With a solemn nod Primnear dissolved into the shadows and raced toward the slaughter that would echo through history.
---
[Location - Near The Alliance's Northern Camp]
Across the barren northern wastes, where melting snow had finally stripped away the last veil to reveal the scarred truth of the land, the grand alliance formed its final battle lines. Fifteen thousand souls stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down the absolute enemies of humanity.
The barbarian horde vanguard advanced as one. They drew their bowstrings taut in perfect unison, a single force of destruction ready to unleash a barrage that could shatter any fortress.
In flawless sync the alliance Water cultivators lifted their weapons. Foroan stood among them. A pure azure stream bled from the steel of her battleaxe and wove itself into the shared array.
A single heartbeat later a colossal translucent dome of water rose and swallowed the entire legion.
Elric stood at his sister's side. His gaze left the glowing barrier and settled on her trembling frame. She was only Transcendent Stage, yet her will burned with the fire of ancient heroes. Her face stayed pale and tight under the crushing spiritual weight of anchoring a legendary formation built to survive the end of the world.
"Sister..." he breathed, the word carrying the weight of shared destiny.
Every brotherly instinct roared at him to drag her back, to let greater cultivators bear the burden. But the pride of a warrior sealed his lips. How could he steal this crucible from her? He knew the price she had already paid. While he had swung his blade until his palms split, she had spent night after night in the triage tents, draining her mana to stitch broken men whole again.
This glory belongs to her as much as it belongs to him. Elric steeled his heart, tore his eyes from her silent struggle, and braced for the jagged purple rain now falling from the heavens.
In a blur of motion the unexpected struck. General Mozark, who had held the vanguard line on his armored horse, suddenly leapt skyward.
"What is he doing?"
Elric was not the only one asking. Frantic whispers spread through the ranks, but no one had time to wonder.
Mozark vanished.
Even Elric, who proudly stood among the youngest Ascended Stage cultivators, could not track the general's path. Witnessing true unfettered power was breathtaking. Mozark's devastating aerial strikes lit up the sky and violently shattered the deadly volley. Shards of purple crystal drifted harmlessly downward, fragile and light. The sight only fueled Elric's burning urge to break past his own limits and claim his destined place among legends.
The general's assault did not end there. Channeling raw energy, Mozark soared straight toward the enemy camp.
On the ground the barbarians' usual tactics unfolded. Shadow Magic users exploded from the soldiers' cast shadows, blackened blades raised to slaughter the unsuspecting ranks.
One target was his sister.
"Foroan, behind you!"
The warning came just in time. She could not fully evade the strike, yet it bought her the split second needed to shift a few inches aside. That was enough for Elric to draw his blade and intercept the blow.
The heavy clash of steel sent chaotic sparks of black and red mana spiraling in every direction. In that brief window Foroan summoned a single droplet of water above her palm. She wasted no time and slapped it forward. Mid-flight the water instantly froze into a razor-sharp spike of ice.
Blood spattered across the dirt as the spike pierced the barbarian's forehead and ended him in one clean strike.
Elric and Foroan fought as heirs to an ancient legacy of war. Elric charged at the front and swung his blazing sword to carve a burning path that split the enemy ranks wide open. Foroan flowed right behind him and shifted her mana in perfect rhythm to launch ice spikes that finished the wounded while she raised heavy water shields to block every counter.
They drove forward together to meet the barbarian horde. The mass of enemies had finally charged after that cataclysmic shockwave from the heavens marked the true war's beginning.
High above the slaughter the duel between the Immortal Cultivators shook the very heavens. Mozark's peerless speed turned him into a force of legend. He flickered into place around Arshka from every direction and unleashed devastating gale slashes that tore the air apart. Yet the brutal new truth stood clear. Strikes that once wounded Arshka now meant nothing. The warlord deflected every blinding blow with lazy ease using his blade coated in crackling static.
Arshka drew his next breath and his eyes ignited with pure violently churning electricity. The atmosphere warped under the weight of unfathomable mana he gathered.
The heavens answered his call. Clouds bruised into a suffocating gloomy gray. An ominous rumble shook the battlefield and then the sky tore open. Pillars of lightning erupted downward with apocalyptic force that could level mountain peaks.
Mozark faced absolute destruction he could not parry. He pushed his wind arts to their absolute limit and became a phantom weaving desperately through the continuous blinding bombardment.
But the heavenly wrath was only a cage meant to stall his incredible speed. It bought Arshka all the time he needed.
"Void Magic: Lightning Cloud Maw."