THE DARK SAVAGE IN UNITED STATE

When I inherited the name of my ancestor, Conan the Barbarian, I rejected the title of the Immortal King. The barbarians had long lost their homeland under the unrelenting assault of hell itself. How could I, the last of my kind, claim to be an immortal king when Harrogath, the holy mountain, was shattered before the legions of hell, and Sescheron's once-mighty fortress became a sanctuary for demons? Even when I severed the grotesque head of Shao Kahn with my own hands, it did nothing to bring back the lost. My brothers and sisters followed our ancestors into oblivion, leaving me as the last flame of a people devastated by the fires of war.

The armor I wear is worn, beaten, and barely endures the bite of swords. Yet I stand, unwavering. Darkseid, you were right—no one can conquer death. But hear me, for barbarians do not back down! I, Conan the Barbarian, keep my oaths! And today, I will pour my endless wrath onto you!

Conan's deep growl grew into a thundering roar, his battle cry ripping through the chaos of the battlefield. His tangled blonde hair, once shining like gold, dulled under the shadow of death, becoming as brittle as ash. "Barbarians are never afraid!" he bellowed. With an earth-shaking stomp, he launched himself into the air like a cannonball, his twin swords glinting with the fury of ancestral spirits. His target: Darkseid, the grim harbinger of death who defeated Silver Surfer and absorbed the power of the Demon Kings sealed within the Soul Stone.

The edge of his blades sought the shrouded visage beneath Darkseid's hood, his ancient combat technique—the Jump Cut—a skill passed down through generations of warriors. It was this move that once felled Shao Kahn, the Demon Lord. Yet, as Conan's swords descended, a cold truth gripped his heart. This time was different. He knew he faced not just a foe but death incarnate. Conan did not possess the power to triumph against death itself, for this was not the tale of the Chaos Fortress, where the mighty Nephalem rallied to vanquish the dark god.

He was Conan, the Barbarian—not a native warrior of this world, but a man who once lived an ordinary life. Before he became this legend, he was merely a Diablo III player, grinding through the new season, striving to overcome electricity-bill warriors on the ladder. But his endless sessions led to exhaustion. In the haze of overexertion, he blacked out at his computer. When he awoke, he was no longer himself. He was Conan, a warrior, though burdened by the name he used as an in-game ID: Shirtless and Tie—a name he loathed.

Though ties did not exist in this barbaric realm, the ridiculousness of the name clung to him. He sought to change it, but the barbarians held names as sacred, blessings of the ancestors. To shed the name, Conan ventured into battle wielding only a hand axe and a tattered wooden shield. Through valor and sheer determination, he claimed victory after victory. He stood alone in battles where his kin perished, spilling the blood of demons to honor his people. It was not until the Siege of Sescheron, where he emerged as the lone survivor, that his ancestors bestowed upon him the name Conan the Barbarian, the most revered of their lineage.

Now, standing on the ruins of his people's legacy, Conan prepared to rebuild Harrogath. But his plans were interrupted. Darkseid, empowered by the Dark Soul Stone, loomed before him. Conan's allies—Iron Fist, the warrior monk from the Sky Temple, and Xena, the young barbarian prodigy—were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the sorceress Zatanna, his frequent rival, stood by his side in New Tristram. Together, they hunted the last remnants of demonkind.

Barbarians despised magic, a hatred forged by betrayals in the past. Even now, Conan resisted the arcane, despite his people's elders possessing mystical prowess. His distrust extended to Doctor Strange, the bent-legged witch doctor, and even Scarlet Witch, whose chaotic power unnerved him. Yet magic and its wielders mattered little now, for death's shadow consumed all.

Darkseid, towering and godlike, raised a hand. Crimson Omega Beams tore across the battlefield, searing the earth and annihilating anything in their path. Conan, undeterred, tightened his grip on his ancestral swords. His gaze met the unyielding glow of Darkseid's eyes.

"You think you can destroy me?" Conan growled, stepping forward.

"You are already dead," Darkseid declared, his voice as absolute as the void.

With a defiant roar, Conan charged. His blades, guided by the spirits of his ancestors, clashed against Darkseid's impenetrable armor. Sparks rained down as Conan pressed his assault, each swing a testament to his unbreakable will.

Behind him, Zatanna's voice rose. "You're going to need more than brute force!" Her hands wove intricate symbols, casting spells to shield the barbarian.

"I didn't ask for your help, mage," Conan barked.

"And I didn't ask for your approval!" Zatanna retorted, summoning arcs of light to strike at Darkseid's summoned shadows.

As the two fought side by side—steel and sorcery united—the battlefield erupted into chaos. Demons surged forward, Omega Beams scorched the air, and Conan's battle cry thundered above it all.

"I am Conan the Barbarian! Even death will remember me!"