A general born to rule

A new war already!?

Marcus wasted no time. The situation was dire, and he knew that hesitation could cost more lives. He stood in the command room, surrounded by naval officers, all waiting for his next orders. His voice was sharp and decisive as he issued commands.

"Send out reinforcements. I want every available naval ship out there—aircraft carriers, destroyers, frigates, submarines. Mobilize the fleet. I want fighter squadrons in the sky and AA guns prepped on every ship. We’re not dealing with any ordinary threat. Make sure every man knows what we’re up against.”

The officers nodded, quickly moving to relay the orders. The Valorcrest Navy would respond with full force.

Marcus turned to his desk and began writing a letter, his brow furrowed. It was a risky move, but perhaps he could buy some time—maybe even negotiate the safe return of the captured sailors. As he finished writing, he sealed the letter and handed it to a communications officer.

"Send this letter to the Demon Emperor," he said, his voice low and serious. "Demand the return of our sailors. And let him know we’re not going to sit idly by."

---

Far away, in the dark heart of a forgotten world, the Demon Emperor, Malakaroth, sat upon his throne of bones, treasures, and gold, the flickering flames casting long shadows across his grotesque empire—an empire known as the Abyssal Dominion. Its streets were paved with the skulls of the vanquished, and rivers of molten gold flowed through the capital. Demonic creatures of all shapes and sizes scurried about, their malevolent eyes gleaming with hunger and cruelty.

Malakaroth, draped in robes as black as night, his skin like charred stone, read the letter aloud, his voice a deep, guttural growl. His subordinates gathered before him—a vast array of demons, each more twisted and vile than the next. At his side stood his most trusted lieutenant, a cunning and seductive succubus named Selara, and his right-hand general, a monstrous figure named Vorgath, a towering demon with eyes that glowed like embers and a hulking frame brimming with muscle and malice.

"'Return our sailors,' he says," Malakaroth read, his lips curling into a cruel smile. The demons around him snickered, and the room filled with the sound of malicious laughter.

"He dares?" Selara hissed, her serpentine eyes gleaming as she approached the throne. "How bold of him to make demands."

Vorgath grunted, his massive arms folded across his chest. "Foolish. Humans think their ships and their armies can stand against us."

Malakaroth laughed, a deep, menacing sound that reverberated through the hall. He tore the letter in half, the pieces falling to the ground like ash.

"Let them send their ships. Let them send their jets. It won’t matter." He stood from his throne, his fiery eyes glowing brighter as his power crackled in the air around him. "The world has forgotten the Abyssal Dominion. Let them remember. Let them tremble in fear once again."

His demons cheered, a chaotic chorus of wicked voices.

Vorgath stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "What are your orders, my lord?"

Malakaroth raised his hand, his voice thundering. "Send out the legions. Let the skies burn with our might. I want the world to know that Malakaroth, the Demon Emperor of the Abyssal Dominion, has returned!"

---

The demons of the Abyssal Dominion were swift and relentless. Winged horrors flew from the blackened skies of their empire, streaking through the air like dark comets. They flew in massive formations, each carrying weapons forged in the deepest pits of hell, their eyes glowing with the anticipation of bloodshed.