The first clash was not fought with armies but with raw terror. When the Abyss Emperors reached Gaia's border forts, their very presence shattered the stone walls. Men died screaming as the Nihileth's corruption seeped into their veins, turning them into thralls with blank, glistening eyes. Others simply dropped to their knees and wept, overcome by the certainty that all hope had already perished.
In the heart of the fortress at Bastion's Edge, King Leonardo stood with his captains, the air reeking of brimstone and despair. Through shattered gates, Orion advanced alone, black sword dragging a wake of scalded earth. The defenders loosed arrows and hurled alchemical fire, but every missile disintegrated before it touched him.
Leonardo raised his blade. "Fall back to the inner keep," he commanded. "Delay them as long as you can."
Captain Merek saluted, face drawn tight with dread. "My king, you—"
"I will remain." Leonardo's gaze fixed on Orion. "If Gaia must see her king die, let it be here, where her heart still beats."
Elsewhere across the kingdom, other battles ignited. On the plains of Selune, Lady Seraphine led the Azure Guard in a doomed charge against Cthon's lumbering bulk. They fought with a courage that became legend—men and women hurling themselves into the jaws of a horror tall as a cathedral. In the western canyons, Umbrael's shades poured over the cliffs, erasing outposts in veils of darkness.
It was in these darkest hours that the forging of the Divine Artifacts began. Within Gaia's secret vaults, the last master smiths labored without rest, channeling the Creation Force into eight relics that would defy the Abyss. From blazing crucibles and chanting circles emerged the first: the Blade of Dawn, its edge bright enough to wound the night itself. One by one, the Artifacts took shape—a shield to turn aside the Nihileth, a staff to call down pure Creation, a lance to pierce even Cthon's bone-plated heart.
When the news reached Leonardo that the Artifacts were ready, he fought his way free of the keep. Beside him, Captain Merek fell, dragged into the dark by a dozen clawed hands. Leonardo did not look back. He ran, breath ragged, toward the citadel's last functioning gate, Orion's hollow eyes fixed upon him.
At the threshold, he turned and raised his sword in defiance. "You will not have Gaia," he swore.
And for one heartbeat, the darkness seemed to pause, as if even the Abyss recognized the birth of a resolve that would shape all that came after.