WORLDBREAKER: Rise of the Reborn Flame

Baptism in blood.

The winds shifted at dawn.

Adam stood at the mouth of the cave, watching the eastern sky bleed orange and crimson. The land before him a broad, cracked valley riddled with bones and the rusted ruins of old siege towers seemed to tremble under something vast and unseen.

Something was coming.

Even Nyra, usually so sarcastic and bold, was silent.

She crouched beside him, running a finger along the length of her spear. “Do you feel it?”

Adam nodded slowly. “Like thunder. Afar off.”

“Not thunder,” she said. “Footsteps.”

He looked at her in surprise. “What kind of footsteps?”

She smiled grimly. “The kind that don't stop walking until there's nothing left.”

It began like a whisper.

Low and steady. A tremor beneath the ground.

Then the birds stopped singing. The wind stopped blowing. The very air seemed to still, as though the land itself was holding its breath.

Then came the roar.

A thousand deep, inhuman voices howling, bellowing, shrieking as one. Trees trembled. Rocks rolled down the hillsides.

From the edge of the southern ridge, the horde appeared.

Orcs in jagged armor, their eyes burning green. Trolls stomping forward like walking siege towers, dragging clubs of bone and iron. Smaller beasts slithered between them, skinwalkers, fanged goblins, feral wyrmlings. And behind them all, darker shapes. Hulking forms with eyes like molten gold and mouths filled with needle-teeth.

Adam’s heart pounded.

“They’re early,” Nyra whispered. “The scouts said we had a week. Maybe more.”

“Then the scouts were wrong,” he muttered.

From the east, war horns echoed. Faint and distant.

The camps were mobilizing.

“Should we run?” Adam asked.

Nyra snorted. “Run where? This is the edge. Beyond us is the Maw.”

Adam looked westward. A black line on the horizon shimmered in the heat of a canyon so deep the sky itself seemed to sag above it. The Maw. The Beastlands’ true heart.

He clenched his fists. “Then we hold them.”

“We?” Nyra cocked an eyebrow. “You're not a soldier.”

“No. But I have something better.”

He placed his palm on his chest. His Essence stirred in response, a blue pulse like a heartbeat, racing faster with each second.

“Walter said I’d know when it mattered,” Adam whispered. “This is it.”

Nyra regarded him for a moment longer, then nodded once.

“Alright, Sword-Boy. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

They moved down into the valley as the first lines clashed.

The mercenary camps, Crimson Sun, Feldmar’s forces, and a dozen rogue sects had formed makeshift defenses. Trenches carved in the dirt, barricades of sharpened logs, rune-stones glowing faintly along the perimeter. Cultivators stood at the front, robes and armor billowing, their weapons humming with power.

The battle erupted like a storm.

Beasts hurled themselves against the walls, shrieking and snarling. Trolls smashed through lines of spearmen. Arrows lit with fire Essence rained down. Blades of pure energy danced across the field. The sky turned red, then black, then red again as flames consumed the air.

Adam and Nyra reached the Feldmar line as a wave of orcs broke through a side trench.

Without thinking, Adam leapt into the fray.

His blade moved on instinct, clean, swift and merciless.

An orc lunged. Adam sidestepped, drove his sword through its throat.

A goblin clambered up his back. He twisted, slashed, and it fell in two.

Essence surged through his veins like lightning. For the first time, he didn’t just use it.

He danced with it.

Nyra fought beside him, a blur of spinning death. Her spear moved like a living thing stabbing, spinning and blocking.

But for every beast they felled, three more came.

Then came the howl.

A shadow loomed over them.

A troll, not just large, but massive. Fifteen feet tall, with bone armor fused into its flesh and glowing sigils burned into its skin.

“Witch-marked,” Nyra hissed.

Adam didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, Essence flaring.

The troll charged and the ground shook.

Adam dropped low, raised his blade and unleashed a wave of aura.

Blue light exploded from his sword, cleaving through dirt and flesh.

The troll screamed. It stumbled but didn’t fall.

Adam was already moving, slashing again, aura dancing along his limbs. The troll struck as he barely dodged.

The third strike caught his shoulder.

Pain flared white causing him to hit the ground hard.

The troll raised its club but Nyra was already there.

Her spear drove through the troll’s side with a sound like cracking stone. She screamed a battle cry, then flipped over its back, carving lines into the runes on its hide.

The troll shrieked and collapsed. Then silence followed.

Followed by a voice: “Who are you two?”

Adam turned.

A man in dark purple armor stood above him, helm under one arm, his face chiseled and sharp. Eyes glowing faintly.

He wore a cape bearing the sigil of a crescent moon.

“Commander Varos,” Nyra said, panting. “We’re... strays.”

Varos looked between them. “Not anymore.”

They were brought into the command tent makeshift, but humming with enchantments. Maps lay across a central table, ink still drying on new battle plans.

Varos leaned over the map. “The tide is swelling too fast. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another season.”

“Something pushed them out,” Adam said.

Varos nodded. “A new force is rising. Something in the Maw.”

“Have you seen it?” Nyra asked.

“Only rumors. A beast with a crown. A voice that drives men mad. Something ancient… is waking up.”

Adam’s blood ran cold.

Nyra’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll help.”

Varos smirked. “You already have. But if you want to do more…” He gestured to a rune-stone glowing faintly on the map. “We need a message sent. To the Skyreach Tower. Only a cultivator can make the journey through the ravine. Interested?” He was referring specifically to Adam.

Adam didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

***

They left the battlefield behind.

The ravine was deep and narrow, filled with crawling mist and twisting roots. Strange shapes watched from the shadows. Adam kept his blade drawn. Nyra lit a stone with light Essence.

They moved in silence for an hour before they heard its whispers.

Not words but thoughts.

Echoes that weren’t theirs.

Adam stopped walking. His hand trembled.

“Do you hear that?”

Nyra nodded. Her face was pale. “Don’t answer it.”

“What is it?”

“The Ravine remembers. And it hates being forgotten.”

They moved faster.

Behind them, shadows followed, shapes that moved too smoothly. Too quietly.

Twice, they fought. The first was a beast of smoke. The second, a mimic in Adam’s shape.

He killed both.

The third time, they ran.

They reached the other side just as the sun dipped beneath the mountains.

Skyreach Tower loomed ahead, a spire of silver and stone that shimmered with celestial light. Floating runes circled it like orbiting moons. Guards in enchanted armor stood at its gates.

One stepped forward. “State your intent.”

Adam raised the rune-stone. “Commander Varos sent us. The Beast Tide has begun.”

Then they were taken to the upper chambers, where robed mages and cultivators debated over ancient tomes.

One looked at Adam for a long time. “You bear a fracture.”

Adam blinked. “What?”

“Your soul,” the mage said. “It has been broken once. And stitched back together with… something else.”

He didn’t know how to answer.

The mage smiled sadly. “The stars remember you. Be careful, Adam Smith.”

They left the Tower with new orders.

A relic had been found in the Maw. One that pulsed with power. It might be the key to the war.

But others were hunting it too.

Including a Sect that wore no name.

And had no faces.

The Shattered Sect.

Nyra looked at Adam. “Are you ready for this?”

He looked toward the dark horizon.

“Doesn't look like I have a choice.”