The reports came in fast.
Four battle groups.
Four successes.
Four armies—
Crippled.
Their mages were gone.
Dead.
Broken.
Useless.
Now—
The plan shifted.
This was the part only Jax could do.
"Jax," the Tele-Stone crackled, "they are approaching your position. Estimated arrival—forty-five minutes."
"Copy."
Jax touched his forehead.
Shadow swap.
In an instant, he stood at the border.
He walked forward.
Not rushed.
Not cautious.
Deliberate.
A mile out.
Seven minutes of silence.
Seven minutes of wind cutting across the open clearing.
Then—
They emerged.
The Empire army poured out of the forest and into the open.
Thousands strong.
Armor glinting.
Weapons ready.
And there—
Standing alone in the road—
Was Jax Darquebane.
Blonde hair shifting in the wind.
Black and red trench coat flowing behind him like a banner of war.
They recognized him.
The man from before.
A commander stepped forward.
"By order of the Empire, you are hereby found guilty of treason and sentenced to death. Surrender now, and we will make it less painful than it will be otherwise."
Jax smiled.
Then raised two fingers…
And beckoned them forward.
"Come get some."
His voice carried.
Not across the field—
But into them.
Like he was standing inches away from every soldier at once.
Hidden in the distance—
Nyxian and Llandra watched.
Llandra exhaled slowly.
"…He's so goddamn sexy when he does this."
Nyxian didn't even try to hide it.
"I may need to change out my panties after this."
The army began to advance.
"What do you expect to do?" the commander shouted. "You are one man. Alone—you will be crushed!"
Jax's smile widened.
He raised his arms.
The wind shifted.
The air tightened.
And his voice exploded across the battlefield—
"There's something you should understand about me—"
A pause.
"I am never…Alone"
The ground trembled.
"DANTE."
"ROOTZILLA."
The sky screamed.
A massive shadow tore through the air above them—
Dante.
The Flame Dragon.
And in front of the army—
The ground ruptured.
A colossal form rose from the earth.
Rootzilla.
Eighty—
No.
Closer to a hundred feet tall.
A towering fusion of beast and forest.
A living, roaring titan wrapped in vines and ancient power.
The army froze.
Then—
Chaos.
Dante unleashed hellfire.
Flames poured from the sky, melting armor, flesh, bone—
Men didn't burn.
They dissolved.
Rootzilla roared—
And moved.
Each step crushed dozens.
Each swing of its massive limbs sent soldiers flying like broken dolls.
The ground itself shattered beneath its weight.
Without mages—
There was no counter.
No barrier.
No dispel.
No hope.
No Escape
Soldiers turned.
Ran.
Back toward the forest—
Only to find—
It gone.
Trees bent inward.
Roots sealed the path.
The earth shifted like it was alive.
Flower.
Pixelle.
They had sealed the exit.
The army was trapped.
Hellfire rained.
Screams echoed.
Arrows flew from soldiers—
Only to bounce harmlessly from Dante's scales.
Like insects against a god.
Decimation was immediate.
Jax got a call in the middle of battle.
Jax lifted his Tele-Stone while firing from his pistol.
"We have movement. Twenty minutes until they reach the next kill zone."
He smiled.
Twenty minutes.
That meant—
Fifteen minutes of fun.
He stepped forward.
Behind him—
Nyxian leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Oh, he's going in."
Llandra frowned.
"…He's going in."
The Reaper Descends
Peacemaker appeared in Jax's hands.
He spun once—
And the air ignited.
Flaming tornadoes tore outward in multiple directions, ripping through ranks of soldiers and scattering formations instantly.
Hundreds died in seconds.
Then—
Jax stepped onto nothing.
And climbed.
Invisible steps carried him upward into the air.
Then—
He launched forward.
He crashed into the center of the army like a meteor.
The impact alone stunned thousands.
Before they could recover—
Infernal Requiem spoke.
Jax moved through them like a storm.
Shots.
Steel.
Movement.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Only death.
By the time the chaos stabilized—
Four thousand soldiers had become one thousand.
Wounded.
Panicked.
Leaderless.
To them—
Jax was no longer a man.
He was death.
A walking execution.
The Grim Reaper—
With a double-bladed dragon sword.
And just as they began to react—
To adapt—
To understand—
He vanished.
And so did the shadows
The battlefield fell silent.
What remained of the army stood frozen.
Their leaders were gone.
Burned.
Crushed.
Rotting from poison.
They had no orders.
No direction.
No escape.
Only the memory of what had just happened.
"He is so f—ing hot," Nyxian whispered.
Llandra didn't respond.
But she didn't disagree.
"…Attack."
The Cleanup
The United Kingdom forces surged forward.
Elves.
Beastkin.
Shadow beasts.
Grim.
Steed.
Flower.
They descended on what remained.
There was no resistance.
Only slaughter.
The same pattern—
Repeated across all remaining fronts.
Jax broke them.
The United Kingdom finished them.
War Room
Reports echoed through the chamber.
"Victory confirmed."
"Enemy forces eliminated."
"Mage division destroyed."
Again.
And again.
And again.
Vaelrith stood beside the King.
Listening.
Processing.
Then spoke quietly—
"Summoned Hero," Almost as a confirmation of a theory.
The King nodded.
"No other man could have done what was accomplished today."
A slow smile formed.
Not as a ruler.
But as a father.
That man married his daughter. And he could not ask for a better son.
End of Battle
The Battle of Five Fronts was over.
Jax continued the pattern with Dante and Rootzilla across the nation.
The United Kingdoms—
Victorious.
The Empire—
Broken.
But not defeated.
If they came again—
They would come with more.
More soldiers.
More mages.
More hatred.
And next time—
It would not be five battlefields.
It would be war.