CHAPTER 9: ECLIPSE AT SUNRISE

  The pre-dawn gloom clung to the Temple Ruins like a heavy, suffocating shroud. The silence was deceptive—a fragile glass pane waiting to be shattered by a tsunami. The air itself hummed, vibrating with the tension of two polarizing magical forces.

  On one side of the hill stood the ranks of the Light Faction. Even in the darkness, their mithril armor radiated a soft, calming luminescence. They smelled of ozone, expensive oils, and arrogant confidence.

  On the other side, down in the lowlands, the black mass of the Horde seethed. The stench of sulfur, rotting meat, rust, and unwashed bodies was so thick it could be carved with a knife.

  At the very peak, amidst cracked marble columns, the neutral Grey Flag fluttered—the prize of this round of Selection.

  "One hundred years!" Elarion’s voice, amplified by Wind Magic, rolled across the valley like a crystal-clear bell. The Commander of Light raised two gleaming swords high. "For one hundred years we have kept this filth in the pit! Today, we show them once again why the Light always reigns supreme! Protect the Harmony! CHARGE!"

  "BLOOD!" Grommash roared in response, slamming the flat of his axe against his tower shield. The massive black banner with the white skull behind him snapped in the wind like a demon’s wing. "Feast on them! Tear them apart! Follow me to the summit!"

  Two waves—blinding white and filthy black—surged forward.

  ### PHASE 1: THE MEAT GRINDER

  The collision resembled a tectonic shift. The sound of the front lines crashing together—the sickening crack of bone, the screech of steel, the screams of the dying—was loud enough to rupture eardrums.

  Elven discipline against Orcish mass. The first rows of Orcs simply impaled themselves on perfectly braced Elven spears, turning into shish kebabs. But the rows behind them didn’t stop. They trampled the corpses of their own kin, using them as a ramp to crush the formation of Light inward.

  **Alex** was positioned in the second row, behind a wall of heavy Beastkin shield-bearers. He watched the combat interface: his allies' health bars were melting away like wax in fire.

  "They’re pushing with pure mass!" he shouted, his voice barely cutting through the roar. "Elias, the shield wall is buckling!"

  **Elias** raised his staff. His face was pale, sweat streaming down his temples.

  "**[Mass Heal]!**"

  A wave of warm, golden light washed over the front line. Deep gashes from Orcish scimitars knitted together instantly; severed muscles reconnected with a wet snap. The Beastkin snarled, feeling the surge of vitality, and shoved the wall of Orcs back.

  *(-150 Mana. Remaining: 65%)*

  "Tina, the left flank is breaking!" Alex commanded.

  A Troll wielding a tree trunk as a club was knocking Elves aside like bowling pins.

  Tina pointed a trembling finger at the monster.

  "Take him!"

  Her **Battle Cat (Level 4)** lunged. It was a blur of fur and muscle. Its claws shredded the Troll's throat, spraying black ichor across the grass. But a split second later, a Goblin spear whistled through the air, piercing the beast's flank. The animal hissed in agony.

  Alex saw that this was only the beginning. He drew his **Bone Knife**, dripping with **Holy Water**.

  He spotted an Orc breaking through the line, raising an axe over Leo.

  "Leo, duck!"

  Leo dropped to his knees, the axe whistling inches above his head. Alex used the momentum to dive under the Orc’s guard, driving his knife deep into the exposed armpit.

  *HISS!*

  The Holy Water burned through the black skin like acid. The Orc roared, foaming at the mouth, blinded by pain.

  "Finish him!"

  Leo spun, driving his short sword up into the enemy's throat.

  "+15 XP," Leo wheezed, gasping for air.

  "Hold the line!" Alex screamed. "Use the terrain! Smoke screen, now!"

  He tossed two homemade bombs at the feet of the advancing horde. Thick, acrid grey smoke engulfed the center. The Orcs began to cough, swinging their weapons blindly, hacking down their own Goblins in the confusion.

  ### PHASE 2: THE CRIMSON REAPER

  On the other flank of the battle, Ren was not a strategist. He was a natural disaster.

  He waded through the Elven formation, taking hits to deal death.

  *THWACK!*

  An Elven arrow punched through his pauldron, burying itself deep in his left shoulder.

  Ren didn’t even flinch. **[Berserk]** blocked the pain receptors completely. He simply snapped the arrow shaft with one hand and continued his advance.

  An elite Elven Swordsman (Level 3) lunged, his blade slicing open Ren’s thigh. Blood sprayed onto the grass.

  "Got you, monster!" the Elf cried.

  But Ren only smiled.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  *SWOOSH!*

  **[The Devourer]** described a brutal arc. The greatsword cleaved the Elf from collarbone to waist.

  The blade pulsed with a hungry red light. It drank the enemy's life force and instantly funneled it to its master. The deep gash on Ren’s thigh stopped bleeding, the flesh knitting together before the Elf’s body even hit the ground.

  "Delicious..." Ren whispered.

  He was drenched in blood—his own and his enemies'. His **Aura of Evil (Level 4)** pressed down on the battlefield, making the hands of weaker foes tremble uncontrollably. Every swing was fatal. He didn’t waste stamina on defense; he traded his health for death, knowing the sword’s vampirism would sustain him.

  Behind him, at a safe distance, **Sarah** worked.

  She was weeping from the tension, tears streaking the grime on her face, but her hands were steady as stone.

  "Eye... joint... throat..."

  Her arrows, coated in paralyzing toxin, found the gaps in the officers' armor.

  "Watch my back!" Ren barked as two Beastkin tried to flank him.

  Sarah loosed two arrows in under a second. The Beastkin fell, clutching their throats, silent.

  ### PHASE 3: DANCE OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

  A circle formed in the center of the battlefield, a void in the chaos. Neither Orc nor Elf dared approach the spot where the Titans clashed.

  Grommash was the embodiment of raw, unbridled power. He spun his massive two-handed axe, turning it into a whirlwind of death.

  "I WILL SPLIT YOU IN TWO, POINTY-EAR!" the Warchief roared, delivering a strike that made the ground tremble.

  But Elarion was not just a warrior. He was a master of the dance of death.

  At the last possible second, the Elf side-stepped—fluid as flowing water. Grommash’s axe smashed into a granite slab, showering sparks, while Elarion was already on the giant's back.

  "You are too loud," the Elf stated coldly.

  Two mithril blades ignited with blinding white fire.

  "**[Twin Radiant Sunder]!**"

  Elarion struck a cross-shaped slash across the Orc’s back. Light Magic seared Grommash’s thick hide, hissing like hot iron on wet meat.

  Grommash bellowed, throwing the Elf off with a violent shrug of his shoulders. He tried to bash with his shield, but Elarion vaulted over it, flipping in the air.

  "Your strength is worthless if you cannot hit the target!" Elarion mocked.

  He launched a flurry of rapid thrusts. *Clang! Clang! Slash!*

  Grommash tried to defend, but he was too slow. Elarion’s blades found every opening: slicing the tendon behind the knee, piercing the shoulder, cutting the brow.

  Blood filled Grommash’s eyes. He was breathing heavily, his movements becoming sluggish and desperate.

  "Time to end this," Elarion brought his swords together. They glowed like a miniature sun. "**[Judgment of Light]!**"

  He lunged with impossible speed, piercing the Orc’s defense and slashing deep across his chest.

  Grommash fell to one knee. His HP dropped to a critical 15%. His axe slipped from his weakening fingers.

  "The Commander falls!" a cry of horror swept through the ranks of the Horde.

  The Elves cheered in triumph. Elarion slowly raised his swords for the final execution strike, aiming to sever the Warchief's head.

  "The Light always wins," he pronounced his verdict.

  ### PHASE 4: THE ECLIPSE

  Ren saw the moment.

  He stood atop a pile of corpses ten meters away, wiping gore from his eyes. His health was fluctuating wildly, but he was alive.

  *If Grommash dies, we lose. I lose the bonus. I lose everything.*

  Ren took a deep breath.

  "**[Enhanced Berserk]**."

  It hurt. His muscles tightened to the tearing point, veins bulging like black snakes beneath his skin. The world lost its color, leaving only the red outline of the enemy.

  He exploded into motion.

  Elarion brought his swords down. It was a matter of milliseconds.

  *CLANG!*

  The shockwave from the impact threw up dust and stones.

  Elarion’s eyes widened in shock. His swords stopped a centimeter from the Orc’s neck. They were blocked by a black, jagged blade pulsating with blood-red light.

  Between him and Grommash stood a Human.

  Ren held the block, though his knees trembled from the immense pressure. His **Aura of Evil (Level 4)** ground against Elarion’s **Aura of Good (Level 5)**, creating sparks that scorched the earth.

  "You..." Elarion leaped back, assessing the new threat. His perfect face twisted in disgust. "A Human? With a soul this black? How dare you interfere in a duel of honor?!"

  Ren spat a thick glob of blood at the Elf’s feet.

  "Honor is a fairy tale for corpses. I came here to win."

  Elarion narrowed his eyes.

  "You think you can stop me, filthy animal? I am the Chosen of the Light!"

  The Elf launched his attack.

  This was a fight on a different level. Elarion was faster than the wind. He landed five strikes for every single block Ren managed.

  *SLASH!* An Elven blade slipped past the guard, carving open Ren’s side.

  *SLICE!* A second sword left a deep gash on Ren’s cheek.

  But Ren didn't fall. He laughed.

  Every time he took a hit, he responded with a wild, sweeping swing of **[The Devourer]**. He didn't need to hit precisely. He just needed to graze.

  The greatsword slid against Elarion’s arm. A minor scratch.

  But Elarion felt his strength suddenly drain away. Ren’s sword drank a portion of his stamina, instantly stitching the wound on the Human's side.

  "What is this sorcery?!" Elarion shouted, retreating. "You steal life?!"

  "I am the Reaper," Ren rasped.

  The Elf realized he couldn't drag this out. This monster was regenerating before his eyes.

  "**[Holy Flash]!**" Elarion screamed, raising his swords. Blinding white light erupted, dazzling everyone nearby.

  Ren was momentarily blinded.

  Elarion lunged forward for the final strike to the heart.

  Ren couldn't see him, but he could *feel* the displacement of air. And he did something the proud Elf never expected.

  Ren didn't block. He dropped to his knees, letting the swords pass harmlessly over his head, and scooped up a handful of dirt, ash, and Goblin blood from the ground with both hands.

  And he threw it directly into Elarion’s eyes.

  "Argh!" Elarion screamed as the grit blinded him. Instinctively, he covered his face, losing concentration for a fatal second.

  That was enough.

  Ren uncoiled from the ground like a spring.

  "Your end."

  He lunged. **[The Devourer]**, now shining brighter than the sun, punched into Elarion’s stomach, piercing mithril, skin, and spine.

  The Elf gasped.

  Ren looked into his terror-filled eyes.

  "The Light has gone out."

  With a violent upward motion, Ren ripped the sword up, bisecting Elarion from navel to chin.

  The Commander’s body split in two. A fountain of glowing blood showered Ren from head to toe, like a baptism of the devil.

  > **?? LEGENDARY KILL!**

  > **You have destroyed the Commander of the Light Faction (Elite, Lvl 5)!**

  > **Received a critical dose of Evil Essence.**

  > **LIMIT BREAK!**

  > **EVIL AURA: Level 4 -> LEVEL 5 (MAX).**

  > **Effect:** [Aura of Terror] — Your presence causes panic in all enemies.

  Ren stood over the corpse, breathing heavily. Steam rose from his body. His wounds were closing. He felt like a god.

  ### PHASE 5: THE ROUT

  Elarion’s death broke the Light Army instantly.

  "The Commander is dead! Run!" screams of panic drowned out everything else.

  "FINISH THEM!" Grommash roared, struggling to his feet and hacking off the dead Elf's head as a trophy. "FOR THE REAPER! FOR THE HORDE!"

  It was a massacre. The Orcs chased down the Elves, who threw away their weapons, and butchered them from behind.

  "Retreat!" Alex screamed, watching the horror from cover. His hands shook. He had watched Ren’s fight. He saw how Ren won—not with skill, but with animalistic brutality.

  "I can't..." Elias collapsed, blood dripping from his nose.

  Tina grabbed him. Her eyes were hollow—she had felt her Cat die as if it were part of her.

  Leo limped last, an arrow sticking out of his leg.

  "Run!" Alex threw his last smoke bombs, creating a veil for their shameful escape.

  Out of a hundred elite soldiers of Light, only six vanished into the forest.

  ### FINALE

  The sun, which had just begun to rise over the field of death, suddenly shuddered.

  Grommash planted the Black Banner into the earth at the summit. Ren stood beside him, watching the fugitives disappear.

  Sarah approached him. She was exhausted, bruised, but alive. She dropped to both knees, bowing her head low, though her face did not touch the dirt. She trembled, but her posture screamed fanatical devotion.

  "You won, Master. You killed the Sun itself."

  Around them, Orcs began banging their weapons against their shields. Grommash raised his axe and bellowed a new name for his champion:

  "**REAPER! REAPER! REAPER!**"

  And in that moment, the world shifted.

  The sky, which should have been blue, was suddenly choked by heavy, purple-black clouds. The sun turned into a dim, sickly disk. Shadows grew thick and long, swallowing the remnants of light.

  The air filled with a humming sound, like a violin string pulled to the breaking point.

  A gigantic, red-pulsing message appeared before the eyes of every living creature in the zone—from the Warchief to Alex hiding in the ravine.

  > **?? GLOBAL ANNOUNCEMENT**

  > **Event Complete: Battle for the Temple.**

  > **Winner: DARKNESS FACTION.**

  > **Status:** "Novice Forest" Location is now under Horde control.

  >

  > **WARNING! TRANSITION PROTOCOL INITIATED.**

  > **Prepare for transport to the CONTINENT.**

  At the top of the interface, an ominous timer appeared, its digits dripping with blood:

  > **? TIME TO TRANSITION: 00:59:59**

  Alex, staring at the message, wiped the dirt and tears from his face.

  "You won the battle, Ren," he whispered, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. "But on the Continent, I will find your weakness. And I will destroy you."