Novels by Unattra3tive

The night sky blazed with the glow of torches and fire. The battlefield, once filled with the clash of steel, had turned into a sea of chaos. The warlord’s army pressed forward with merciless rhythm, each step like a drumbeat of doom, each strike carving deeper into Aric’s line.Aric’s blade was heavy in his hands, but his spirit refused to falter. His men looked to him with desperate eyes—eyes that screamed for hope, for strength, for anything to believe in. He clenched his jaw, wiped the blood from his face, and raised his sword high.“Stand fast!” he shouted, his voice raw. “This ground will not fall!”The soldiers rallied, though their bodies trembled. They struck back with every ounce of strength left in them, but still the tide pushed forward.Kael roared, swinging his greatsword in an arc that split the enemy’s shield wall. For a moment, the line bent back. His presence was like a storm, his fury contagious. Aric felt the surge in his chest—fury, envy, admiration all tangled to

The battlefield was a storm of steel and screams. Aric’s blade cut through the press of soldiers, his arms aching, his breaths ragged, but his resolve unbroken. Every strike echoed with the weight of Isolde’s gaze, every parry sharpened by the memory of Kael’s challenge. The night air was thick with the smell of iron and fire, and above them, the banners of the enemy snapped like wolves howling at the moon.“Hold the line!” Aric shouted, forcing his voice above the clash. His men responded with a roar, though he could hear the fear woven beneath their defiance.A spear lunged for his chest. He twisted, steel ringing as he deflected the blow, countering with a slash that dropped his foe. Blood sprayed across his gauntlet, warm and sticky, but he pressed forward. His men needed to see him relentless. He was not just their commander—he was their anchor against the storm.Kael fought nearby, his greatsword sweeping arcs of destruction through the enemy. His strikes were brutal, efficient,

The great hall of the Fallen Kingdom stood silent, the torches flickering weakly against the cold stone walls. It was once a place of celebration and honor, where kings swore oaths and knights pledged loyalty. Now, every echo of footsteps seemed to carry betrayal.Aric pushed the heavy doors open, his jaw clenched tight. Behind him, Kael followed, his blade strapped across his back, his expression unreadable. The council had been summoned, and word had spread like wildfire—one of their own had broken the sacred vow that bound the remnants of the realm together.The air smelled of damp iron, of rust and blood—a reminder that war was never far away.“Speak,” demanded Lord Veynor, an elder with a voice like gravel, his eyes burning into Aric. “You called us here with talk of betrayal. Do not waste our time with rumors.”Aric stepped forward, his voice steady but cold. “It is no rumor. The vow sworn before the Blade of Oaths has been shattered. Someone has betrayed the kingdom’s last hope

The storm roared as Kael leapt from the battlements, his blade flashing like silver lightning. The enemy surged beneath him, a sea of fire-lit steel, but he landed with the force of a thunderclap, cutting a path straight toward the masked commander.Isolde shouted his name, but her voice was lost in the chaos. Arrows rained, villagers screamed, Eldrin’s curse clawed at the ground while fire tried to burn it away. The mountain itself groaned under the weight of two powers too great to coexist.The commander strode forward through the flames, unhurried, untouchable. His armor glowed as though forged from molten rock, his mask reflecting Kael’s storm-lit face. With a flick of his blade, fire swept in an arc, searing soldiers—friend and foe alike.“Still clinging to shadows?” His voice was thunder wrapped in scorn. “The throne will never bend to you. You were born of blood, Kael. You cannot escape it.”Kael charged, fury burning away fear. Their blades met in a clash that split the night.

The horn’s cry tore through the mountain like the scream of a dying beast. Villagers scrambled in terror, clutching their children, while soldiers rushed to the battlements of the broken citadel. Torches flickered along the lower slopes, a river of fire crawling toward them—an army vast enough to swallow their hope whole.Kael stood at the highest wall, the storm raging around him. His sword gleamed in the lightning, his jaw set like stone. Behind him, the people looked to him with eyes that begged for more than strength—they begged for salvation.Isolde gripped her blades, scanning the cliffs. “There’s too many. Even if we hold the walls, they’ll bleed us dry.”Kael’s gaze never wavered. “Then we make the Spires fight for us.”Eldrin planted his staff into the stone. The ruins trembled as faint sigils lit along the broken ground, pulsing with ancient power. “The mountain remembers the kings who defied the gods. If we awaken its curse, the enemy will find no footing here. But…” His vo

The march to the mountains drained every ounce of strength the survivors had left. For three days they trudged through thickets and rivers, their footsteps heavy, their hope thinner than smoke. Children whimpered against their mothers’ shoulders, soldiers carried comrades too weak to stand, and Kael pressed on at the front, his blade like a beacon leading them into the unknown.The Ruined Spires rose before them at last, jagged black peaks clawing at the storm-filled skies. Lightning carved across their ridges, thunder rolling like the growl of some ancient beast. The sight made even the bravest falter.Isolde muttered under her breath, “This place was never meant for men.”Eldrin’s staff glowed faintly, as though resisting the pull of the mountain. “The Spires were once a citadel of kings. But when their pride reached beyond the gods, the stone cursed itself. Time broke it, storms devoured it, and the dead never left.”The villagers shivered, clutching charms and prayers. Yet Kael st