Screams. Chaos spreads with every spell I cast and brings with it the whispers of a world that cannot be seen. I fall from the skies enveloped in a fireball and explode in one of the wooden towers; arcane flames glow yellow in vibrant, maddening tones. Darkness clings to the light and tries to consume its surroundings, black smoke fights for dominance against the dense layer of green fog.

  Crying and gnashing of teeth, second and third degree burns. Behind every spell, every construct, every explosion and duel, red eyes glow and focus on the enemy in front of me. Step by step, I walk towards the horde general and let my influence spread.

  An orc's arm becomes an octopus; a troll next to me turns to cotton. The grass hardens and becomes glass, iron softens and bursts into soap bubbles. Fire falls from the sky, so wonderfully destructive, and charred the rest of the creatures.

  The general wears a lilac half-armor, like the layers of an onion. He stretches out his staff and prepares a spell, but the sound of his words comes out like the song of a bird. He forgets the enchantment and conjures magic, but chaos distorts its emission and weakens it. I beat off the electric sphere with my own hands. The elf tries again, but Chaos causes him to lose control and the spell freezes his hands. Yet again he tries, but his magic is cast against one of their own.

  I don't waste time, ionizing the air while the mage is distracted, and rip off his arm with a plasma shot. I approach at super speed and pierce his chest with my hand. The sorcerer's eyes become empty, the memory reminiscent in the heart of every being of this world returns to him.

  “… It is truly you…?”

  I let his body fall, then cough. He's strong, so I didn't allow him to fight and waste my time. There's someone worse for me to worry about, still regenerating in the north. Finished with the cardinal directions, I need to go back and destroy the Green Knight once and for all.

  I have to recover first…

  The Gates close, I feel my output and the influence of Chaos diminish. Numbness finally hits me, my arms itch as my touch returns.

  I breathe in. Dozens of thoughts in a single second. It is only within the disorder of a war that I feel myself reconciling them all at once. At war, the best move of exceptional beings is to face each other in direct combat. Let the union make the strength of those who need it, use its power to prevent the enemy from doing the same.

  Squires erect barriers—one for physical blows and one for spells —, sprinters run over enemies ahead, bombardiers cast spells. Humans and elves came to the same conclusion: it is impossible to know what each does all the time. That is why they are divided into the symbols, family coats of arms and colors to represent their function.

  The whole organization, like everything in your civilization, serves to make you sane and lucid. I have no such weakness. I let them protect me momentarily, but in the midst of death and destruction, my body forgets its weariness.

  I set sail through floating stones and bursts of energy, cancel one spell and cast another. Clouds wriggle and descend to earth like snakes, then I throw myself on a shadow to escape the attack and reappear behind the witch who conjured them.

  After ripping off his spine, I ignore most of the conflict. The initial rotation ends; the elf army cleans out the remaining horde in turns, preparing for the second wave. As long as I'm here, I can prevent them from stabilizing in a siege and force Hilda's hand in a direct confrontation. Hoffstein will defeat Grendel, and then we can go home.

  Easy. Too easy.

  I land in the ground, then move eyes over the field and ignore the presence of the other hundreds of little beings. Something's wrong. He's not here.

  “Is there something wrong?” Serdin approaches.

  “The ent should be here.”

  “Perhaps the soldiers destroyed the creature.”

  “… No. He must know something. And it was his fault that Elron died, wasn't it? Well, I'm the one who should ask him some questions.”

  “Leave your revenge there. Now the important thing is-”

  The ground shakes beneath my feet, newly accustomed to touch. An earthquake pulses across the battlefield, as does the boom that heralded the arrival of Hilda's army. This time, however, it does not come from the horizon.

  I turn and frown in the direction of Vanusia. Tremors from the city center.

  “Wait!” Serdin says.

  I propel myself through the air, bright flames tear through the skies and carry me from the battlefield to the outer wall. Serdin accompanies me with his griffin, but before we even land, a large tree steals our attention.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  She glows in gold and pulses in power, fighting the pressure of the magical barrier that prevents the influence of external agents. I see fragments expand through the air, wounds open on the ground.

  Then, it breaks.

  Vanusia's barrier bursts like a bubble, its bright shards are lost in the wind.

  The golden tree tremble. The ent of Vanusia recovers his body once more, wood creaks to shape the strange man with sheep's paws and the body adorned by emerald flora. He stares at me and brandishes his amber blade, challenging me amidst the destruction of the city he once swore to protect.

  But before it could even attack him, the ground vomits. Monsters emerge from the holes below his feet. Trolls invade the city like rats with bronze and iron weapons and take by surprise the few guards who protected the city from the inside. Reinforcements arrive just as elves detect the being's presences, and the battalions reorganize to try to return and save the citizens.

  I prepare to move forward, but hesitate. Serdin's hand holds my wrist.

  “Wait! You're tired! You won't be able to fight ent and save people at the same time! Your magic is bad in this situation!”

  I frown. “So?”

  “… Get back on the field. Let the army reorganize and take care of them. Don't abandon your post, keep the outside hordes busy, and maybe we can survive the onslaught!”

  Trees fall on stone buildings and families scream in horror. Before the elves were in the city, the rot disease would have already spread. What Serdin asks of me is not merely to carry out his plan, but to let Vanusia die and risk losing the battle.

  And even if they could, it's impossible. More hordes arrive to surround the city, stronger than the first. It was predictable that we would fight for a long time, but how is this possible?

  Guards retreat, orders are executed, commands made by trembling voices. Dozens of thoughts and possibilities in a few seconds. How did ent get here? How did he manage to analyze and destroy the barrier? How did Hilda enter the city without alerting the elves for so long?

  “… No.”

  Serdin frowns. “What…?!”

  Infiltrators in the army communicating with Hilda. An invasion. The suspicious looks of the guards. I stare at Serdin and feel the anxiety in his gaze. They planned to sell us. I don't know who or how, but this infiltration—the whole war—had already been planned.

  “Where are Nia and Wander?”

  “They're in Sieghart, it doesn't matter!”

  Voices whisper, asking in whom my trust lies. Not to soldiers, still men, frightened by what they do not know and bewitched by greed. Not Nia or Wander, people I barely met a few weeks ago. Not Cloud, someone who hates me, or Hoffstein, who's not here. It's funny how everyone always has an excuse but never a risk to take.

  “Sieghart?” Morgana manifests by my side. “What are you thinking of doing?”

  I'm tired of excuses.

  “Save the civilians.” I say.

  I throw myself off the wall. Serdin's voice is lost in the wind, but his command is ineffective; he accepts the situation and flies it with his griffin to reorganize the army. I land on the ground and abandon the protocols and the command line, leave the elves to fight alone and advance against the ent.

  Tunnels. The earth opens and swallows the structures, monsters crawl through the depths and smile like demons. Elves defend themselves with what little magic they know and walk away, abandoning their homes to run to the officers.

  There's no one else I can trust. Even soldiers—any of them—can hide something. I forget about them, tear the wind with fire, raise walls to separate monsters from civilians. In the process of saving the city, I also destroy it.

  They will worry about it later. Now, my problem is-

  Ent moves forward. I mold aura into the shape of a shield a second before the blade sinks me against the ground. The pressure cracks the stone, red aura collides against verdant magic. I maximize the emission, surround the creature with red fetters and contaminate it with chaos.

  I grab the chains. He is strong enough to break free, but I will not allow him to have time for this. I turn on the axis itself and carry the ent, then throw it into the air and join my hands.

  “Firespear!” I enchant and cast. Fire takes the form of glowing spears, hurling projectiles like arrows that illuminate the sky.

  I roll back and avoid an orc attack. The creature spins its axe, but fire consumes the wood from its handle before it completes the move. I transfer the heat until it is unbearable, he screams in pain and drops the weapon. I rip his head off before he can react, puff myself into the air, and use a house as a trampoline to keep fighting.

  Screaming. Soldiers help civilians defend themselves and evacuate. Monsters avoid me, knowing they couldn't win, and leave the heavy lifting to ent.

  My magic shouldn't get in the way that much now that the gates have been closed—anything to keep them out of my way.

  Green. I propel myself to the left and dodge a wooden arrow that explodes a statue. The ent deforms and falls to the ground, extinguishing the flames from his body. It's not just regeneration. The ent doesn't seem to have a problem holding up to a direct spell, even from an element it would supposedly be weak against.

  There's no way he lost to Elron and Cloud. He got stronger. Is that Hilda's influence?

  I land on the ground. It's not important. The capital is already destroyed, its statues crumbling to the ground and vineyards lacerated. The perfume of the flowers is killed along with their colors, transformed into the cadaverous and charred odor. The air is invaded by toxic spores, the dense fog envelops the skies and slowly corrodes the structures like acid.

  “You seem conscious, somehow. Who are you?” I say.

  The ent turns his face and lifts his back, prepared. “I am Versati, the Ent of Vanusia, one of Hilda's Green Knights who protect the mountains from Vergas. You're the Demon King, aren't you?”

  I breathe in. “My name is Sieghart Morningstar. If you want to kill the Demon King, I'm sorry to tell you're late. He no longer exists. Your mission no longer exists.”

  “My mission will continue, for the evil one does not rest. It was prophesied: he will wander the Earth in the form of a pale demon, roar like a Lion, be taught by a crow and burn the whole cosmos. No! It won't, even if my life is the price!”

  “… I don't know what corruption has done to you or Alfheim, but if you were chosen to protect Vanusia, stop the attack. Look around you, what are you protecting?”

  The Ent stares at my face for a moment. He hesitates as if his conscience is bleeding from behind the roots, then ignores the warning. “The world.” Say.

  There is no more mind to be rescued, only a corrupt mission that the remaining shell must obey.

  And so, over the mild sun of the new battlefield, I conjure.