In The Land of Eldar a screams of battle through the burning fields, as the forces of Eldar clashed with the encroaching tide of the Eldritch. Meanwhile Inside the Obsidian Keep in Arvandor Kingdom, Lord Thrush sat upon his throne, his gaze cold and his will unshaken.
"Hassan" he commanded and continue "remain within these walls. Your time will come, but for now, bear witness. Tonight will be our age!"
Hassan bowed, though unease twisted in his chest. "As you command, my lord," With that, Thrush rise and turned to the figure beside him - the Black General, his most loyal and terrible weapon.
"It is time," Thrush intoned, his lips curling into something between a smile and a snarl. "Crush their hope. Shatter their resistance. Let them know despair."
The Black General lowered his helm in acknowledgment, "As you wish... my lord. Then I will shed this shell and reveal my true self."
The battlefield fell into a tense silence as the Black General stepped forward. At Lord Thrush's command, he slammed his greatsword into the ground. The metal shrieked, splintering stone, and then he spread his arms wide.
"Witness the truth of what I am" he growled, his voice splitting into layered tones - human, beast, and something that was never meant to be heard.
The transformation began with a sickening crack. His bones snapped and reformed at impossible angles, jutting through his flesh as if eager to escape. Veins burst beneath his skin, spilling streams of black ichor that hissed when it touched the ground, burning it like acid.
His armor didn't fall away - fused into him. Plates of steel melted into muscle, grafting with bone, until what had once been man became an unholy lattice of writhing, pulsating flesh. His chest split down the center, ribs peeling open like rotten gates.
His wings erupted. Not the proud wings of dragon, but great slabs of membrane riddled with veins and sores, sprouting like tumors from his back. Finally his head split in half. The helmet cracked open, jaw stretching, tearing wider and wider until his skull reshaped into a maw that could swallow whole battalions. Rows of teeth sprouted endlessly, twisting like stalagmites, some curving outward, some inward, forming a grotesque cage of fangs.
When his roar came, the air vibrated with madness. Soldiers fell clutching their skulls, and even the bravest warriors vomited black bile as the world itself seemed to recoil from his existence.
The Eldritch Dragon had risen. Its scales writhed like colonies of insects beneath translucent skin, every inch of its body alive with horrors. With each step, the ground rotted and cracked, birthing eldritch minions from pools of his spilled ichor - warped figures with too many eyes, too many limbs and mouths that shrieked prayers to gods long dead.
Through the veil of collapsing reality. Lord Thrush ascended to the realm known as The Seventh Realm, where no mortal had ever dared tread. As Thrush stepped into that divine expanse, his flesh could no longer contain what he had become - his form shimmered between human, beast and god. Three voices echoed when he spoke.
"Father!" His roar shattered the stillness of the heavens. "At last.. I have ascended beyond your design. I will claim the Chalice of Hopes!" His laughter resounded across the infinite horizon - arrogant, blasphemous, filled with the certainty of his new divinity.
But in the vastness before him, there was only silence. Then, a voice like eternity itself spoke - calm and resounding.
"My son.. Azathoth."
The creator's presence unfolded like the dawn - no form, no face, yet every atom bent beneath His will. The stars trembled as His words followed.
"You cannot claim what is not yet yours. The Chalice of Hopes is not a crown to be taken, but a truth to be proven. Even I, who forged its essence, cannot command its will. it belongs to the world's harmony - and it chooses by its nature, not by force."
The Creator's voice deepened, now echoing through every plane of existence.
"This will be the final judgment - between gods, eldritch and mankind. Only the one who endures, who preserves hope when all light fades, shall inherit the Chalice."
Thrush's no, Azathoth's - laughter curdled into fury. His three voices continue "So be it then, Father. Let this world burn! Let hope itself scream as I devour your creation!"
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Ashes Whisper
FantasyAshes Whisper is a novel that follows the story of Elara, a young woman cursed with the ability to absorb the souls of the dead. As the war takes a heavy toll on Elara, she struggles to keep fighting, and her curse becomes increasingly difficult to...
