The End of Their World - Introduction

Chapter 1: The Flames of Iterum

Azriel Blackwood

Azriel perched atop the church's rooftop, surveying the chaotic scene below. Thick plumes of smoke rose up from the city, obscuring the once-clear sky. The screams of terror, the clashing of steel, and the chanting of unknown incantations filled the air, all part of the morbid symphony that accompanied Abaddon's armies as they advanced. For millennia, the Church had been a refuge for those seeking protection from the unknown power of magic. It was a place of solace and security for those unfamiliar with its force. But as the dark forces of Abaddon marched closer and closer, the church's once-bright light began to dim, threatening to vanish in the face of the enemy.

The frigid stones beneath Azriel's feet presented a stark contrast to the tumultuous events that had befallen the city. The night sky, formerly illuminated by a thousand stars, was now blanketed by clouds of smoke and ash, streaked by streaks of magical energy as it clashed against Abaddon's might. Where vitality and magic had once flourished, the city was now a battleground where bravery and strength were the only currency.

The skyline was marred by the sight of tall, charred buildings, a testament to the city's suffering. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke, the metallic tang of blood, and the sickening odor of terror. Mages of all ages and skill levels fought back against the ceaseless onslaught, their magical blasts illuminating the streets with a mesmerizing display of destruction. A cruel ballet was being performed in the city, with every spell, chant, and droplet of blood forming an aria of sorrow.

Azriel stood motionless at the edge of the rooftop, his back to the danger he could feel looming closer. An oppressive, malevolent energy permeated the atmosphere, making his skin crawl in warning. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the runes that ran along his arms, his source of strength and knowledge. He felt their power thrumming through him, and he was ready.

He began to intone a rhythmic chant, an ancient incantation uttered in a long-forgotten tongue. The atmosphere around him began to undulate, shimmering like the heat waves of a summer's day, a prelude to the impending tempest. It was alive with primal energy, raw and powerful, responding to the sorcerer's will.

From atop the towering roof, a group of sorcerers materialized, their eyes glinting with an otherworldly light. They glided across the ground, cloaked in the gentle yet powerful radiance of their magic. The atmosphere was heavy with their presence, a sinister energy that filled the darkness with dread.

But Azriel remained steadfast. In a flash, he released a surge of power with a swift wave of his arm. An intense wave of light spread from him, rushing forward with the power of a tempest. His spell bellowed as it flew through the sky, a pure, palpable manifestation of his will, rocketing towards the wicked magicians with immense might.

The sorcerers of Abaddon confronted Azriel's defiance with their own dark magic. Azriel reacted swiftly, raising a dazzling emerald shield in front of him. The vibrant light of the shield illuminated the darkness, providing a formidable barrier against their wicked spells.

Like a storm, clumps of concentrated energy, bolts of malicious lightning, and balls of devouring fire clashed against Azriel's shield. They clashed and exploded like gargantuan waves against a resolute cliff, a show of raw, unrestrained power. Nevertheless, Azriel, the veteran sorcerer, remained unmovable, his courage and resolution an anchor against the unceasing onslaught of assaults.

He once more tapped into the depths of his own strength, activating the runes inscribed on his skin. They shone brightly, a testament to his might. His movements were lithe and graceful, like a dancer, as he swiftly avoided the endless attacks.

He launched his counterattack in a remarkable display. His hand moved gracefully, like an artist painting symbols that shimmered with a deep purple light. With a wave of his hand, the symbol split into five pieces radiating an intense radiance before erupting into a powerful explosion. His enemies were hit hard, their bodies thudding onto the rooftop before tumbling into the depths below.