Character: Ronnie. Level 127. Amount of experience: 77%

Profession: Sniper, Runic Blacksmith.

Stats:

Strength 26.4 (+0.1 increase at the next level) – 4th modification

Dexterity 43.3 (+0.4 increase at the next level) – 8th modification

Magic 2 (+0 increase at the next level) - no modification

Reaction 32.75 (+0.15 increase at the next level) – 6th modification

Runes 25.55 (+0.35 increase at the next level) – 5th modification

Endurance: 288 out of 300.

Physical condition: healthy.

Contribution points (CP): 5.987.555.243

He was standing in front of the graves in the Nantund valley, near the destroyed Vaendalhar village. A runic rifle, Blake Eledhron A3M9 model that bears some resemblance to Barrett, with 12.7x99 mm reinforced magic cartridges, hung on the back. The barrel of the rifle shimmered with purple and black colors and was covered with blue ancient symbols that resembled a mixture of Latin letters and Chinese hieroglyphs. There are pistols of the same color holstered on his hips. Shaped like old Colt Dragoon pistols, with a modified drum.

Ronnie himself was dressed in a dark purple long cape with a hood, instead of one eye - a built-in sight. Around it, there was a tattoo: at the top, the sword that breaks through a crescent moon, under it a mystical circle, on its edge at equal distance from each other were four smaller circles, their rays joined together in the middle and flowed down from the letters of the ancient dialect to the lips. Additional large-caliber cartridges hung from two belts on his chest. Moreover, a set of beautifully crafted leather armor protected his body and limbs.

Ronnie walked along with the stone tombstones and stopped on a small hill in front of the tombstone engraved with the name Alcamor. His thoughts were spinning and scattered in his head, like ashes in the wind. A feeling of anger and longing squeezed inside. He looked ahead from under his brows, to where the black soot was carried away along the road to the Gallows Tree, huge and majestic. Someone had built a fire at the foot of its trunk. The corpses hanging from the branches did not bother them at all. Matafaire – lead-colored crows with sharply spiked plumage and glassy eyes, capable of digesting not only flesh with bones but also steel armor with swords, - circled and cawed in the gray sky. Then Ronnie looked to the east, where an undertaker was digging a new burial pit ten yards away. Clouds parted in the west and a white crescent at its zenith illuminated these dead, cursed lands.

They'll all pay for it. This world will fall into chaos, where it belongs.

Inhuman footsteps sounded behind him. Ronnie did not turn around, even though he sensed the approaching danger. At this moment, he did not care about others. This hour was his hour. An hour of stillness, an hour of calm. The hour when soldiers in the war remembered what they achieved in their lives and what mistakes they made. This was the hour where seconds were counted with a wave of the gravedigger's shovel. The Horde would not understand, demons did not care. No one except the people close to him would understand. They were all comrades and aliens at the same time.

"Is it some kind of human tradition to bury the bodies?" A woman's pleasant voice asked. "The residents of Vaendalhar would hardly understand it."

Ronnie ignored her. He knew that behind the gentle voice was treachery, mockery. She was approaching him. The air temperature has raised. He felt her hand on his shoulder and reached for the gun. She said he should not, she was just curious, but he did not believe her. No one believes people like her.

"I'll kill you if you won't leave," he said.

Ronnie could feel her getting scared and retreating. The right decision.

"You're burning hotter than the devil," she replied. "No wonder you were chosen Horde leader."

He turned around and saw a succubus in front of him - a half-naked woman in high heels, transparent stockings, thin bikinis, long hair covering her bare breasts, her lava-like skin, blood-red eyes, horns on her head, and bat-like wings. She smiled, she reveled in his excitement and felt his confusion, but did not understand why he had such a voluminous feast of emotions. She gently, like a loving wife, took a bold step forward and ran her finger over his lips and chin, laughed, and left. She got what she wanted. There was nothing more for her in here.

Am I fighting for the likes of her? No. Maybe for the sake of people? These ignoramuses who kill all living things, deceive and refuse to accept the truth? The hell with them! Be honest with yourself Ronnie, it's all for yourself and your friends. If we won't win, we won't survive.

On the hills, the green stems of the luminous Sarcalohte plants rose from the ground for the first time in centuries. As soon as the flowers opened, everyone saw how the corollas lit up with pale yellow lantern fire. A flock of red moths flew to their radiance. They circled this little miracle in circles, basked in its fluffy petals. When the wind blew, the Sarcalohte swayed and their long stamens rang with the music of small bells. Today is a really special day, he thought.

Doppelgangers appeared from somewhere. They moved like convicts, like ghosts. Behind them, people appeared with torches in their hands. There are quite a few of them, seven, but Ronnie knew each of them: Jack, Dora, Ramzai, Bellona, Doffersnoah, Illyseh, Lettarongan. The human squad, side by side with the dark creatures, looked at Sarcalohte. The heavy silence was broken when someone said in the ancient dialect (a complex and difficult to pronounce language of the underground kingdoms, part of the Horde, whose words consisted of 90% consonants alone, and a few vowels were pronounced in different intonations, either quiet or loud) that he had already seen these plants before, and clarified “Hzdrav ef trgolala”. Everyone who knew or heard the story of the flower looked at him with worry, others wondered: "Why did they appear here and now?" Ronnie kneeled on one knee in front of the grave and whispered something.

The first explosion thundered from the eastern gorge. The threatening clouds lit up with red fire. In the light of the war, Ronnie saw the first mushroom clouds rising above the mountains. He said goodbye for the last time, turned around, and left, he did not spare another glance to the grave, the past should remain where it belongs.

***

An hour later, Ronnie found himself in the camp of the first strike force. He went to the tent of the supreme commanders of the Horde association. At the door, he heard a heated discussion going on inside, the conversation was in the ancient dialect. When he came in, they got up and greeted him with a bow, but Ronnie motioned for them to continue. When the dark lords began to speak in human language, their leader made it clear that he knew the language of the locals perfectly.

When it was over, it was time to attack, he hopped on a Valuklavan - a mount with black and purple skin, white moss on the chest and tail, a head shaped like a Greyhound dog and deer horns, long and ornate, overgrown with bone tissue - and galloped ahead of the others, followed by five supreme commanders: Doppelganger in a dragon bone helmet and a one-handed sword made of black steel; Orc in black studded armor, two and a half meters tall and a flute in his hands; a dark chthonic creature of the Har'droquortek race without eyes and nose, whose body was covered with scales made of magical stones; the main leader and descendant of the Ssivahchel nation, his ugly face and body were hidden by dark and gothic armor; behind the first four, a huge Demon was moving on foot, burning with flames with a broken sword in his hands and singed wings. From the Barameglin mountain range, the voices of three dragons with white, black, and red scales echoed with heart-rending reverberations. A flock of wyverns flew around them in the ghostly light of the moon.

If I die today, Thalack will never find peace, they'll kill everyone, - the thought flashed through Ronnie's head again.

Ronnie screamed and raised his rifle over his head. Behind him, an army of thirty thousand creatures. They yelled and hooted. The last battle has begun.