The world around him was silent, the kind of silence that threatened to swallow him whole. Leonhart stood alone in an unfamiliar land, surrounded by towering spires of metal and stone, each one more foreboding than the last. This was no place he recognized. The air was thick with an acrid, mechanical scent—a far cry from the lush greenery and the warmth of his homeland.
"Where... am I?"
His voice echoed in the empty, fog-filled streets, swallowed by the stillness. His hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword—his constant companion in both life and death. It was strange, this world. The ruins before him were unlike any battlefields he had fought on—an industrial wasteland, the very essence of technology and war.
"Is this my punishment?" Leonhart muttered under his breath. "Is this the afterlife?"
He had died once. The Demon Invasion had been the end of him—his people, his kingdom, all gone in the blink of an eye. And now, he stood in this strange place. If this was the afterlife, it was nothing like he had imagined. There were no peaceful fields, no gods to guide him. Instead, there was nothing but the promise of endless war.
As his eyes scanned the horizon, a deep anger began to build within him. This world, full of machines and technology, fueled by chaos, was the antithesis of everything he had stood for. But then again, wasn't that always the way? He had never been content to just accept fate. He had always fought, and this world—however bleak—would be no different.
Leonhart's fingers brushed against the stone of a nearby ruined wall, and suddenly, the Dungeon Core within him pulsed, sending a surge of energy through his veins. The Dungeon—the very thing that had kept him tethered to life, that had allowed him to summon his demons, his undead, his army of shadows—was alive once again.
The Core hummed, a soft whisper in his mind, a reminder of the power that still lay at his fingertips. He had lost everything, but not this. His army was still here—ready to follow his command.
---
The ground beneath his feet began to rumble as the power of the Dungeon Core awakened. Leonhart raised his hand, and with a single motion, the air was filled with the sound of footsteps—not human, but something else. Creatures began to emerge from the ground—undead soldiers, specters, and demons. They crawled from the earth as though they had always been there, bound to him by the ancient magic of the Dungeon.
Leonhart's eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction as he surveyed his summoned army. He was not truly alone. His army would be his salvation—his only companions in this strange new world.
"Rise, my soldiers." His voice was commanding, and the creatures responded with eerie obedience, their eyes glowing with the unmistakable light of dark magic.
But still, there was something unsettling about the new world. The air was thick with the scent of oil, blood, and chaos. The very ground seemed to shake under the weight of the massive machines that trundled by, their weapons ready for war. It was then that Leonhart's instincts kicked in—this was no normal world. There was war here. Endless war.
---
As Leonhart tried to orient himself in the unfamiliar terrain, a distant rumble echoed through the air. A shadow loomed large against the sky—a massive vehicle, a machine of destruction. It was nothing like the war machines he had once commanded, but it was still a machine of war, and that was something Leonhart understood.
The vehicle approached, and Leonhart stood at the ready, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. If this world was to be anything like his own, there was no peace to be found here. Only conflict.
As the vehicle came into view, it halted. From within, a figure emerged—clad in armor that was as dark as the night, with the insignia of a Chaos Marine etched on his chest. His eyes glowed a bright, malevolent red beneath his helmet.
"Who are you, stranger?" the Chaos Marine's voice boomed, muffled through his helmet.
Leonhart stood tall, his posture proud. The arrogance of a king, even in this strange, unfamiliar world, was impossible to hide.
"I am Leonhart, King of the Fallen Kingdom." He sneered, the weight of his past losses still evident in his voice. "And you?"
The Chaos Marine didn't answer right away, his glowing red eyes studying Leonhart carefully. "A king, eh? That's interesting." He seemed almost amused by Leonhart's bold declaration. "You're in the 42nd millennium now, king. This is no place for men with titles. Only those who can claim power survive here."
Leonhart's gaze hardened. He had never been one to bow to anyone, and he certainly wouldn't start now.
"I didn't come here to follow anyone's orders." Leonhart's voice was low and dangerous. "I'll carve my own path through this chaos."
---
The Chaos Marine chuckled darkly, clearly intrigued by Leonhart's defiance.
"We'll see about that." He grinned beneath his helmet. "You'll need more than just your sword and shadows to survive here."
Leonhart's expression didn't change. He had fought alone for centuries—what was another battle in another world?
"I've been alone long enough." His eyes flickered toward the creatures rising from the earth. "I don't need anyone to survive."
With that, the Chaos Marine turned and climbed back into his vehicle, leaving Leonhart to his thoughts.
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