"The Fallen Hero's Return: Saaransh's Legacy"

500 years ago, when legends roamed among us, a hero was born named Saaransh—a man who lit the flame of hope in times of deepest despair.

His name was uttered in awe, breathed as a prayer by the desperate, a beacon of unrelenting bravery in a world submerged in terror.

The world had been thrown into darkness a long time ago. The endless blue sky had become a lackluster, gray death in itself, a symbol of the countless dead who were killed at the hands of Vorkhael.

Wind ripped through desolate fields where villages had long been destroyed, with the smell of death and ash filling the air. Even the stars appeared faded, consumed by a constant haze.

Saaransh had seen it all. The devastation of cities, their streets smeared with dried blood.

The shattered weapons lying on fields of battle, abandoned like the bodies of those who had held them.

The wails of the abandoned, too weak to fight, too desperate to resist. He had watched men great warriors become nothing more than empty shells, their hearts broken before they even got the opportunity to unsheathe their swords.

And here he was, now. At the end of the road.

A team had assembled one final chance against the darkness. They were not mere warriors; they were legends themselves.

Ryu Jin-ha, wind and lightning master, able to call tempests at the mere motion of his wrist.

Baek Do-hyeon, the ghostly assassin, who killed before his foes even realized they were dead.

Kang Ha-jun, the hot-headed berserker whose sword burned with as much fire as his heart.

And Yun Seo-rin, the calm mistress of winter, as lovely as she was lethal, her cold touch freezing men in their tracks.

And at their lead stood Saaransh.

His fingers tightened on his twin swords, the comforting weight of Frostfang and Emberclaw grounding him. He took a slow breath.

This was it. The moment they had trained for years.

But why, then, did his heart weigh so heavily?

They had lost too much. Too many comrades had died on this journey, their blood shed so that he and the others might stand here today.

The unyielding knight who had protected them from an ambush. The mage whose flames had burned out too early.

The strategist whose strategies had brought them this far but who had not lived to see the final game.

Saaransh still heard their voices in his head, still saw the sparkle in their eyes before it was snuffed out.

He had promised them that they would not die for nothing. He had vowed it.

And yet, as he looked at the imposing palace ahead of them, he found himself wondering—What if we fail?

No. We cannot fail.

"Not yet."

They had to win.

The palace of the demon king towered over them, a monolith of obsidian that appeared to rise into the heavens, its sharp spires stabbing at the storm-filled sky.

Thunder boomed, yet no rain fell only the thick, crushing weight of something unhuman bearing down upon them.

Each step they took was greeted by a voiceless whisper, voices that did not belong to the living.

The burden of centuries of pain, of death, weighed upon them.

And then, he stood before them.

Vorkhael.

The Demon King reclined on his throne, surveying them with an air of bemused unconcern.

His ruby-red eyes shone bright, his mouth curled into a smile that was not quite.

His mere presence made the air seem dense, heavy with something intangible but palpable. It suffocated.

They had never witnessed something so unnerving, so strange.

Vorkhael His dominant aura caused a shiver to run through the heroes, temporarily immobilizing them.

Saaransh had practiced this moment time and again in his mind, had pictured the fight a thousand times over, but here, standing before the creature that had made the world a living hell, he felt something he was not expecting.

Not fear. Not uncertainty.

Rage.

This was the creature that had ripped families asunder? The entity who had incinerated cities, who had cackled as kingdoms fell? This was the horror that had terrorized generations?

"No more. We will put an end to this agony"

"Is this the fear that has held the world in its grasp?" he thundered, his voice slicing through the crushing silence.

"The power that has destroyed countless warriors? We are not like those who preceded us.".

We have gazed into the face of death and come out stronger. Now, we put an end to your reign and shatter the shackles of terror you have entwined around the innocent!"

His voice boomed, defiant and unyielding.

Ryu Jin-ha took a sharp breath, a tempest building up around him, electricity charging across his fingertips.

"You foolish king, we will vanquish you and place your head on the wall as proof of our victory!"

Kang Ha-jun's hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, fire dancing in the air about him.

"Your pride ends today by our hands!"

Baek Do-hyeon sneered, his dagger whirling smoothly between his fingers. "I'm looking forward to cutting into you."

And Yun Seo-rin, her voice gentle but unshakeable, whispered,

"Let's get this over with. I'm sick of waiting."

For an instant, Vorkhael just gazed at them.

And then.he laughed.

The noise was not human. It was hoarse, guttural, echoing through the walls themselves, as though the palace itself laughed with him.

A noise of complete and absolute certainty, of a demon. The most powerful demon to have ever existed.

"You think you can even scratch me?" he thought, leaning his chin on his knuckles. "How quaint. Keep dreaming, fools."

Not skipping a beat, Saaransh charged ahead, unsheathing his twin blades Frostfang and Emberclaw, the personifications of ice and flame.

Their battle of energies illuminated the hall as he charged full-tilt into combat, his allies hard on his heels.

"Shut your trap and fight!" he bellowed, his war cry cutting through the air.

Lightning cracked the air as Ryu Jin-ha disappeared into a whirlwind of motion, his sword crackling with energy.

Kang Ha-jun's flames erupted to life, lighting the darkness ablaze in golden glory.

Baek Do-hyeon vanished, his shadow dancing as he disappeared into the nothingness between moments.

And Yun Seo-rin her ice spread like crawling death, the cold dropping as the battlefield froze solid.

Steel crossed swords with sorcery. Fire fought against darkness.

The world's fate hung hang by a thread.

To be continued…