Ash fell like snow across Earth's eastern skies.
Once-thriving cities lay hollowed—monuments reduced to craters, fields scorched to bone. Above, the stars pulsed like open wounds.
Matt stood atop Hollow Sky Mountain—the sacred altar where gods once met mortals.
Now, it would become his first war camp.
---
"We need an army," Grey panted. "Like… now."
Matt said nothing. The Void stirred—but held its tongue.
Sam unrolled a scroll across the altar. Red sigils glowed—Paladin invasion routes. Dozens. Rapid. Ruthless.
Too fast.
Mailane touched Matt's hand. "We're not ready. But we never will be. So we act."
Matt nodded.
---
Signal One: Orc Horn.
Ondharo's warhorn split the clouds.
Crimson lit the sky as the Hybrid Orc Legions marched—thousands of warriors, blades forged from fallen stars, chanting hymns in old Thunfrie.
Matt raised a hand.
"Welcome back, King."
Ondharo knelt. "I follow your fire now, Flameborn."
---
Signal Two: Thunder Rift Echo.
A storm pulse cracked through the atmosphere.
Myuthor's skeletal thunder-army emerged through Riftgates—lightning streaking with every step. Their arrival echoed like judgment.
He saluted Matt with thunderclaps.
"Storm serves only the worthy. And you, boy… are worthy."
---
Signal Three: Emberlight Sigil.
From beneath the mountain, fire surged.
Namgari's legions rose—disciplined, silent, divine. They marched in perfect formation, ash parting before them.
Namgari stepped forward.
"You gave me mercy. I return it with vengeance."
---
The Tri-Kings knelt.
Behind them, the Hollow Sky howled.
Thousands raised steel in unison.
Matt turned to Earth's battered defenders—humans, mages, rebels, even fallen gods.
"Today, we stop waiting. We stop running. This mountain will not fall."
He plunged the Shadowsidian Blade into the altar.
Void Sigils burst outward.
A radiant shield expanded across the entire range—woven from memory and soul.
---
Imperial Paladin Vanguard: Incoming.
Three fronts:
Nimistran's Nullborn Assassins
Thermuz's Selvage Ravagers
Analice's Shadowian Beastriders
They struck at dusk.
Grey held the east flank—glyph traps lighting up in succession.
Sam synchronized Rift beacons—freezing Phantom infiltrators mid-phase.
Mailane defended the main gate—her blade pulsing with Soulflare resonance.
Matt?
He didn't wait.
He teleported straight into Nimistran's vanguard.
---
He moved like pure will.
The Void sang.
His wings burned.
Every step rewrote terrain. Every swing cut not just flesh—but intention itself.
Then—
A sword appeared. Black. Silent. Ancient.
Nimistran emerged from nothing.
"You should've stayed dead," he said.
Matt turned, his gaze twin dying suns.
"And you should've stayed a god."
Their blades clashed.
Time cracked.
---
Above, the war raged.
But hope surged.
The Army of the Hollow Sky had been born.
And Matt Salurga—the God Who Returned—had just declared war.