From the heart of chaos, a figure emerged—born of shadow. Wielding an unyielding blade, he carved through countless soldiers in mere minutes. His sword was more than a weapon—it was a harbinger of death. He annihilated armies, and yet beneath his glorious armor, beneath the stench of blood and death he carried, there was something unmistakably human.
A storm was coming. A wave of terror. His name… was Norm.
Humans devoured one another, tearing flesh from bone, fighting until death claimed them. And for what? This carnage was no act of fate—it was orchestrated by mankind. Creatures swept across the battlefield, their only purpose: destruction. Swords and spears became instruments of fratricide. Corpses littered the land—some with blades driven through their chests, others with heads impaled upon pikes. Blood soaked the soil. Then came the rain, heavy and merciless, drowning the field in darkness and despair.
A lone rider cut through the downpour, galloping toward the command camp. He dismounted swiftly and made his way to the tent. Inside, the commander stood over a map, tense.
"They've breached the gates, Master," the soldier said.
"Have they?" the Master replied, voice low, radiating a sinister aura. "Is Norm among them?"
"No, sir."
"Retreat. Pull the soldiers out of the battlefield. I'll take care of them myself."
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Suddenly, another soldier burst in, drenched in rain. "We've breached their gates. Their army lies dead. As you ordered… we left one alive—to deliver the message."
"Good," the Master said. "Gather the army. Prepare for battle."
"As you wish… my King."
But before the words had even settled, a spear flew through the tent—and pierced the commander's skull.
The king turned sharply.
And for the first time… he felt true fear.
The storm intensified. Thunder cracked. The very earth trembled.
Out of the mist came a figure cloaked in dread. Twin swords glowed faintly in his hands, pulsing with deadly energy. He struck with monstrous strength—one blow sent entire squads flying. His aura was suffocating. The rain itself seemed to freeze in his presence.
"So… you've come," the king muttered.
"Of course I have," the warrior replied with a cold smirk. "I'm no coward who watches from afar. All I ever wanted… was a duel with you, oh 'Highly Crowned King.'"
"The Great Power of Thoms…" the king whispered, voice thin.
"Don't speak of that," the warrior snarled, eyes narrowing. "You're not worthy."
"I will burn you to ashes!" the king roared, flames bursting around him.
The warrior's expression didn't change. "What a terrible stench you emit."
The king dismounted and pointed his sword forward. "You will not pass through to Thoms!"
Their blades clashed in a storm of fury.
But it ended in an instant.
The king's body froze—his head slipped from his shoulders and fell to the ground. Blood gushed as the torso stood for a heartbeat longer, then collapsed in a lifeless heap. His chest was torn wide open—deep, brutal cuts from the warrior's twin blades.
Silence fell.
The remaining soldiers trembled in horror. Not one dared move.
Then… he smiled.
The dark warrior moved like death incarnate, slaughtering the rest without mercy. The corpses seemed to scream—burning endlessly in unseen flames.
"I have killed the Great Power of Thoms," he declared, voice echoing like doom. "Now, only one remains… Norm. And if he dares get in my way, I'll crush him too—and awaken my master, the Great Shadow."
He turned and walked toward his army, never once speaking the true name of his master.
But then… the ground rumbled.
He stopped. His breath caught.
A presence unlike any other approached.
Norm had arrived.
Every step he took seemed to bend the world around him. His aura was overwhelming. Death walked with him.
The dark warrior panicked. He and his men fled into the mist—vanished like shadows.
Norm stood silently, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield. He found the king's body and stared.
Then, without a word, he turned… and walked back into the mist.