Three commanders fell.

The battlefield still burned. The armies still tore each other apart.

But at the center, only two figures remained.

Ren.

And the obsidian commander.

The final duel of the field.

★★★

The plain was broken.

Three commanders had fallen. The Titan's corpse bled into stone. The void-walker was gone, erased. The woman of masks had been consumed in light.

But one remained.

The Obsidian Commander stood in silence. His armor gleamed black, unmarred. His helm's crest caught the light of burning skies. In his hands rested a blade longer than a man, its edge perfect, its weight infinite.

Around him, Ren's fog bent away.

Ervin lay slumped in the ruins of his lightning-spire, ribs shattered, lungs drowning in blood. Vael leaned against stone, half-blind, his good hand still tight around nothing. Elara knelt, hair tangled, her glow reduced to embers.

None of them could rise.

Ren alone still stood.

The fog thickened at his feet. His arm remained blackened, scars etched deep into his veins. His eyes carried no fury, no tremor. Only silence.

The commander raised his blade.

The ground split with no sound. The blade's descent carved a trench hundreds of meters long, splitting towers, ships and soldiers. Ren did not move until the last breath. His fog rose, catching the edge.

For the first time, his erasure stalled.

The black blade held against the fog. It did not corrode. It did not break. Where nothingness met steel, sparks of void-light burst, each one tearing the air into fragments.

Ren's breath came sharp. His hand trembled, but only once.

He pushed.

The fog surged upward, swallowing the trench, devouring the ruin. The commander stepped through without pause. His blade cut again, slower, heavier, inevitable.

Ren raised both hands. His fog split into fangs, biting down from both sides. The steel parted the mist and kept moving.

Ren's jaw clenched. ["He cuts the void itself."]

The air cracked.

They clashed again and again. Blade against fog. No thunder, no flame, only silence and fracture. The battlefield trembled. Armies froze, mages choking on their chants, unable to move while inevitability warred against inevitability.

Ervin's eyes flickered open once. His lips moved bloodlessly.

"…Ren."

Vael smiled faint, broken, watching shadows curl.

"Go on… end him."

Elara lifted her face, whispering with the last of her breath.

"…please."

Ren heard none of it. His world had narrowed to steel.

The commander's blade lifted once more. This time he thrust. The ground itself folded, a canyon opening where the point passed. Soldiers screamed as the land beneath them fell away.

Ren stepped into the thrust. His fog coiled, devouring the canyon's edge, sealing it. His palm struck the flat of the blade. Erasure poured down the steel.

The blade burned back against him.

It did not dissolve. But it cracked.

The commander's helm turned, faintly, as though noting the change. His grip tightened. His next swing came faster, sharper, an arc meant to sever the sky itself.

Ren moved through it. His body blurred into the fog, reappearing within reach. His blackened hand closed on the commander's helm.

"Fall."

The world broke.

Fog erupted outward in a dome, swallowing stone, flame, soldiers, ships. Silence consumed the plain. For a heartbeat, nothing existed.

When the mist lifted, half the commander's armor was gone. His helm shattered. His blade fractured along its length.

Yet he still stood.

His face was revealed at last. A gray skin carved with lines of mana, eyes hollow pits burning with violet fire. He bled light, not blood.

He raised the broken blade.

Ren's chest heaved. His arm shook. His body screamed at him to stop.

He did not.

The fog rose again, denser, darker, climbing the commander's body like chains. Every fracture in the armor split wider. Every step he took was slower.

The commander thrust one last time.

Ren caught the blade with both hands. Fog consumed it from hilt to tip. The steel screamed, shrieked, splintered.

The commander did not let go until nothing was left.

Then Ren's hand closed around his throat.

"No more."

The fog surged. The commander's body unraveled, armor crumbling into shards, light spilling in rivers before vanishing. His face dissolved into fragments. His hollow eyes flickered once and went dark.

Silence spread.

The last of the five had fallen.

Ren stood alone in the crater, fog trailing from his shoulders like torn banners. His arm burned black, his body broken, but his gaze was steady.

Above them all, the flagship still loomed. The King's shadow covered the field.

Ren turned his eyes upward.

The war was not finished.

The true trial was still waiting.

★★★

The battlefield still.

Ash drifted where fire had been. Craters smoked where commanders had struck. The screams of thousands fell quiet, leaving only the rasp of breath, the groan of stone collapsing into silence.

Four shadows still stood where none should. Their cloaks torn, their bodies broken, their blood soaking the ruins beneath them. Yet upright, unyielding.

Around them, soldiers stared. Some were friend and foe alike. No roar of triumph rose, no cry of mourning. Only disbelief. The five commanders, the pillars of the invasion, lay fallen.

The air itself seemed unsure.

Among the living Council, faces turned. Eyes dark, unreadable. They said nothing, but their silence carried weight heavier than grief. Judgment. Calculation. Fear. Resolve. Each reaction hidden, yet blazing behind their gaze.

Above, the sky had not changed. The fleet still hung, vast and endless. And on the horizon, untouched, unshaken, the King still waited.

The pause was fragile, a single breath before the next collapse.

[Note:- I know in starting, i revealed the 5 commanders. But among them two are twins. They both holding a same position. So don't ask me again that you introduced 5 and later it became 6. Are you mad? Yaah, I am mad. Sometimes I became mad during writing. Hahaha... Your author is mad to write weird things. Hope you enjoy the reading. Stay happy, stay healthy and hydrated. Your CursedInk.]

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