DJUEthan
On a distant, war scarred planet beneath skies cracked with red lightning, a tribe of knights gathered around a glowing portal carved into the side of a mountain of black stone. Their armor rattled softly in the cold wind, heavy plates etched with ancient symbols dulled by centuries of bloodshed. Massive banners whipped violently behind them while ash drifted through the air like dying snow. Nobody spoke above a whisper because the portal itself sounded alive, humming with enough power to make the ground tremble beneath their boots.
At the center of the gathering stood a father and son.
Both carried the same black hair, the same sharp eyes, the same blood running through their veins, yet there was nothing warm between them. The boy looked young, maybe sixteen, his hands curled into fists at his sides while questions burned visibly across his face. Beside him stood his father, tall and hollow, a man whose expression looked carved from stone long ago. His eyes carried no warmth at all, only exhaustion and something colder buried beneath it.
In front of them towered the tribe's chief.
Strapped across his back rested the sixth strongest blade ever forged, the Cursed Sword. The weapon pulsed faintly inside its cracked sheath, dark veins crawling along the metal like something alive trapped beneath the surface. Legends whispered the sword could cut through gods themselves, though every owner before had eventually lost pieces of their soul to it.
The chief stepped protectively in front of the portal.
"We do not know what waits beyond that rift."
His voice boomed across the mountain.
"I will not lead my people blindly into death."
The father stared at him silently for a moment.
Then he moved.
Fast.
A blade flashed silver beneath the stormlight before burying itself deep into the chief's chest. Gasps exploded through the tribe while blood splattered across the stone ground. The chief stumbled backward in disbelief, coughing violently while the father ripped the Cursed Sword