One Day in the Modern world a young adult Named Skyler. and has a wonderful life,
but unfortunately, he died from an accident
in the void, he met a spooky gas mask man call himself a god of darkness, death, apocalypse, and chaos. give a chance to li...
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. . . . .
Meanwhile, in Occupied Astoria Kingdom...
"The Dreadhold Citadel is WHAT?!" Orangorian Lord Karl Peterson shouted, his voice echoing through the grand hall. The room fell silent, every guard and servant within earshot standing tense and motionless.
Verrat, the halfling, stood before him, trembling slightly. "The Dreadhold Citadel... it's under attack, my lord. By an unknown force. I... I was the only one who escaped. I don't know what happened to the others."
Peterson's face twisted with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "How is this possible? The Dreadhold Citadel is the most fortified location in Terra Arcana! No one would dare attack it!"
Verrat shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "These... these gray demons, my lord. They came out of nowhere. Their weapons, their tactics... we've never seen anything like it. It was a massacre."
Peterson slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne. "Gray demons? What nonsense is this? How could our defenses fall so quickly?"
"Lord Judas sent a message requesting reinforcements," Verrat added, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "But that was before the attack began. I don't know if the message even got through in time."
Peterson took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "We need to verify this information. If the Citadel has truly fallen, it could mean disaster for our operations across the empire."
"My lord," one of Peterson's advisors interjected cautiously, "if these gray demons are as powerful as Verrat claims, we must prepare our defenses. They could be coming here next."
Peterson nodded slowly, his mind racing with possibilities. "Send scouts to the Dreadhold Citadel immediately. We need to know the true extent of this threat. And begin fortifying our defenses here in Astoria. We cannot afford to be caught off guard."
"Yes, my lord," the advisor replied, bowing before hurrying out of the room to carry out the orders.
Peterson turned his gaze back to Verrat. "You did well to bring this information to me. Rest now. We'll need everyone at their best if these gray demons come for us next."
Verrat nodded gratefully and backed out of the room, his relief evident. As he left, Peterson leaned back in his throne, his mind racing. The fall of the Dreadhold Citadel was a dire omen, and he had to prepare for the worst.
. . . . .
Outside the formidable walls of Avalon, a flurry of activity transformed the landscape into a bastion of defense. Engineers, soldiers, and robotic units worked tirelessly, ensuring that any future threats would be met with impenetrable fortifications.
In the trenches, soldiers dug deep, carving out networks designed to slow and trap any approaching enemies. Heavy machine gun bunkers were strategically positioned, their barrels gleaming in the morning sun, ready to unleash a hail of bullets upon any intruder.
