A general born to rule

The new arrival

A massive Valorcrest tradeship sailed steadily through the night, its crew unaware that they were drifting off course. The sea was calm, almost unnervingly so, and the stars above offered no clue as to the danger they were sailing toward. The ship's captain, a seasoned sailor named Captain Arlin, had been navigating these waters for decades, but even he felt a sense of unease.

"Captain," a crewman called from the deck, "we've lost visual on the landmarks we usually pass by. This doesn’t feel right."

Arlin frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the dark horizon. "Check the maps again. We can't be that far off course. And send out an SOS, just in case."

The crew scrambled to send the distress signal, but before they could finish, the sky lit up with an ominous glow. A massive fireball streaked across the sky, heading directly toward the ship. The crew barely had time to react before it struck, tearing through the vessel like it was made of paper. Flames erupted, engulfing the ship in a hellish blaze.

"Abandon ship!" Arlin shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames and the cracking wood. The crew jumped into the sea, struggling to swim away from the burning wreckage. One by one, they fought their way through the waves, their only hope of survival being the nearby island that had appeared out of nowhere.

As they reached the shore, coughing and gasping for breath, the sailors collapsed on the sand, staring at the remains of their ship still burning in the distance. But their relief was short-lived. A figure emerged from the shadows of the dense jungle ahead, walking toward them with deliberate, slow steps.

He was tall, dressed in flowing black robes that seemed to absorb the light around him. His face was obscured by a dark hood, and the only thing visible was a faint glow from beneath it—his eyes, burning with unnatural fire. His right hand was engulfed in flames, crackling with a dark energy that pulsed with menace. The air around him grew hotter with each step, as if his very presence was igniting the world.

One of the sailors, still breathless, raised his hand in a weak plea. "Please… we’re survivors. We mean no harm."

The figure stopped just a few paces away from them, silent, his fiery hand held aloft. For a moment, he simply stared at the crew with cold, pitiless eyes. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the flames erupted from his hand, spreading out in a deadly arc. The sailor who had spoken didn’t even have time to scream as he was engulfed, his body turning to ash in an instant.

The other sailors scrambled backward in terror, but the figure moved forward, his steps slow and deliberate as he raised his hand again. One by one, the flames claimed the crew, their desperate cries echoing across the island before being silenced by the relentless fire.

When the last sailor had fallen, the figure stood at the edge of the shore, gazing at the smoldering remains of the Valorcrest ship. The flames that had consumed the crew now died down, and the air grew eerily still.

The figure raised his other hand, this one not burning but instead glowing with a dark, swirling energy. He clenched his fist, and the earth beneath him trembled. With a deep, rumbling voice, he muttered to himself, his words barely audible over the wind.

"Finally… they come. The pieces fall into place."

He turned, walking back into the dense jungle of the unknown island, his black robes fluttering in the heated air. The island was desolate, dark, and seemed to pulse with the same malevolent energy that surrounded him.

This man, this new villain, had power beyond anything the world had seen before. And now, with the discovery of this island, he would soon reveal himself to the world—his wrath, his ambition, and his burning hatred, all aimed toward one goal.