A general born to rule

The fight for life or death

As Nyzora’s grip tightened around Marcus's throat, he could feel his vision dimming, but his mind remained sharp, clear. Gritting his teeth, he reached for his radio, struggling to get the words out as the dark goddess of death loomed over him. With her power radiating off her like a suffocating shroud, Marcus spoke into the comm with a resolve that shook the very air around him.

“Target my position,” he commanded, his voice hoarse but unwavering. “Guide the bombers to me… If it’s our time to die, it’s our time. All I ask is, if we have to give these bastards our lives… WE GIVE ‘EM HELL BEFORE WE DO!”

The response came quickly, and above the battlefield, the distant rumble of approaching bombers filled the sky. Nyzora's cold, calculating gaze shifted briefly upward, but she made no move to release him. Marcus didn’t flinch as the sound of bombs whistling toward the ground grew louder. He met her eyes defiantly, showing no fear even as the world seemed to collapse around him.

The explosions rocked the battlefield, shaking the earth with a thunderous roar as the bombers released their payload. Fire and smoke engulfed them, the ground quaking beneath the force of the barrage. Soldiers on both sides froze, watching in awe and terror as the entire area was reduced to rubble.

When the dust settled, Nyzora still stood, completely unscathed, her figure emerging from the smoke as though she had walked through mere mist. But Marcus lay motionless on the ground, lifeless, his body broken beneath the relentless assault.

Nyzora stared down at him, her eyes glowing with an earthy green hue as she knelt beside him. A sinister smile spread across her lips. With a wave of her hand, her magic flowed through Marcus, and in moments, his body jerked back to life, his wounds healing as if death itself had been rewound.

“No,” Nyzora whispered, her voice dripping with malice. “I’m going to have fun first. You and Sam cheated me once—you won’t die so easily this time. Not without learning the true consequences.”

She was about to unleash her full fury, preparing to torture him, when suddenly a shot rang out. A high-velocity round hit Nyzora square in the back, causing her to drop Marcus. Though it didn’t penetrate her exoskeleton, the force of the shot staggered her. Marcus, seizing the moment, scrambled to his feet and fired rapidly into her side. The bullets had little effect at first, ricocheting off her shield, but with persistence, one found its mark and pierced through her armor.

With quick reflexes, Marcus retreated toward his forces, signaling the artillery to resume. Tanks fired in unison, planes screeched overhead, and bombs rained down on Nyzora as she stood in the center of the chaos. She withstood the onslaught, but even she had her limits. Her body shield and exoskeleton were weakening, and though her power was great, she knew when to retreat. With a final, furious glare at Marcus, she vanished into the shadows, her forces pulling back with her.

This marked the first real turning point in the war. Nyzora, for the first time, had been forced to retreat. And that fact alone drove her to the edge of madness.

As she regrouped with her undead army, Nyzora couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind—Marcus, calling in an airstrike on his own position, knowing it would kill him. The lack of fear, the cold determination in his eyes—it was a feeling she hadn’t known in millennia. She couldn’t place it, but it stirred something deep within her, something dangerous.

Her dark aura began to pulsate, growing more intense, radiating out from her like a black storm. The undead forces under her command quivered in fear, sensing her growing instability. The human tribes, blood elves, vampires, trolls, and goblins who had summoned her now lay prostrate before her, crushed under the weight of her presence.