The mountains howled as the armies approached.
From the battlements of the Iron Hold, Damien stood like a carved statue, his black cloak whipping around him, the Crown pulsing against his forehead.
The enemy banners were countless — crimson, gold, green — the colors of kings and warlords who had come seeking glory, riches, and the Crown.
But they would find only death.
Rionach stood at Damien's side, her sword gleaming with runes. Joara, perched atop a high watchtower, ran her fingers along her bowstring, her keen eyes tracking every movement in the enemy camp.
Barendd and the dwarf warriors manned the gates, their hammers and axes ready.
Below, the Iron Hold itself had transformed into a fortress of nightmares — traps hidden in the stone, siege weapons manned by revenants Damien had summoned from the Forge's deep crypts.
This was no longer a defense.
It was a declaration.
"Commander," Barendd growled, stepping up beside Damien. "Their siege engines are ready. They'll strike by dawn."
Damien's mouth curled into a dark smile.
"Then let them come. We'll baptize this mountain in their blood."
---
At the break of dawn, the assault began.
Siege towers rumbled forward, dragged by chained beasts with glistening fangs.
Catapults hurled stones and fire, crashing against the outer walls.
War horns bellowed, shaking the very earth.
The first wave of soldiers — armored mercenaries and zealots hungry for fame — charged the gates.
And the Iron Hold answered.
From the walls, Damien's forces unleashed a hail of enchanted arrows and molten metal. Traps sprung beneath enemy feet, swallowing whole battalions into spiked pits.
Liora moved like a ghost, her twin blades dancing through the air, leaving only corpses in her wake.
Barendd fought at the front lines, his hammer smashing through enemy shields like paper.
Joara loosed arrow after arrow, each shot finding its mark with lethal precision.
And Damien — Damien was everywhere.
Wreathed in living shadow, he appeared atop the walls, cutting down invaders with a sword forged from pure darkness. Then, he vanished, only to reappear where the line was weakest, his presence turning fear into utter terror.
His system pulsed in his mind:
> [Shadow Authority: Level Up!]
[New Skill Unlocked: Shadow Wrath]
He called upon it without hesitation.
With a roar that split the sky, Damien summoned the shadows from every corner of the Iron Hold. They rose like a living sea, swallowing the invaders, draining their strength, breaking their minds.
Men screamed, dropped their weapons, fled blindly into death.
And above it all, Damien's laughter echoed — a deep, chilling sound that promised there would be no mercy.
---
Hours dragged into the afternoon.
The enemy threw everything they had — mages, berserkers, siege beasts.
And still, the Iron Hold stood.
Still, Damien stood.
Blood soaked the blackened stones. Smoke choked the skies.
But Damien's forces — his family, his loyal few — fought harder with every heartbeat.
Inside the courtyard, Damien paused for a moment, breathing heavily. His body was battered, blood streaming down his arm, but his spirit burned brighter than ever.
Rionach rushed to his side. "You're bleeding!"
Damien shook his head. "Blood is cheap. Victory is priceless."
A horn blast — louder, deeper than the rest — ripped through the air.
Damien's eyes snapped toward the mountain pass.
From the shadows emerged a monstrous figure — a knight clad in obsidian armor, riding a black warbeast. His crimson cape snapped behind him, and his sword radiated a sickly green light.
The enemy commander.
Damien's heart thrummed in his chest.
At last.
A worthy opponent.
---
The black knight dismounted, pointing his massive blade toward Damien.
"You, who defile the Crown," the knight boomed, his voice unnatural. "You will kneel. Or you will die."
Damien stepped forward, the Crown flashing ominously.
"I kneel to no one," he snarled, lifting his dark sword. "Especially not to cowards hiding behind armies."
The knight laughed — a sound like iron grating against bone — and charged.
Their clash shook the mountains.
Steel rang against steel. Magic flared and shattered the ground around them.
The black knight's blows were heavy, merciless. Each strike aimed to crush, to break, to destroy.
But Damien was faster.
He moved like liquid darkness, his system enhancing his every instinct. His blade found cracks in the knight's armor, each strike bleeding the giant slowly.
"You are nothing!" the knight roared, staggering.
"I am everything you fear," Damien hissed.
With a roar, he unleashed Shadow Wrath.
Tendrils of pure black energy burst from his body, piercing through the knight's armor, dragging the giant screaming into the abyss.
The battlefield fell silent.
Thousands of eyes turned toward Damien — eyes filled not with hope, but with terror.
He stood alone, victorious, the black sun of the Iron Hold burning behind him.
Damien lifted his sword high, blood dripping from its edge.
"Tell your kings!" he shouted, his voice thundering across the blood-soaked mountains. "The world has a new master. And his name is carved in shadows!"
---
That day, the legend of the Shadow King was born.
A king who knelt to no crown.
A king who bent the night itself to his will.
A king who would bring fire and ruin to those who dared stand against him.
And deep in the heart of the Iron Hold, the shadows whispered his name with reverence.
Damien.
Shadow King.
Breaker of Chains.
Bringer of Doom.
---