A vast blue ocean stretched endlessly, the horizon swallowed in a shimmer of light. The sky was clear, and the sun cast a warm, golden gaze upon the heaving surface below. Occasionally, fierce gusts of wind danced across the waves, bending the sails of the fleet that glided over the water.
Far out on the sea, a formation of wooden warships sailed together. Soldiers clad in armor stood aboard, gripping swords and shields with solemn vigilance. The ships groaned under their weight, the wind barely strong enough to fill their sails—yet the current bore them onward with steady resolve.
Ahead, a storm gathered.
A thick mist rolled in, devouring the fleet in its embrace. Ship by ship, they vanished from sight, swallowed by the curtain of grey. Shouts from sailors echoed faintly. The creaking of timbers and the crashing of waves replaced vision with sound.
Yet, the men did not fear. They moved with eagerness—welcoming the coming tempest.
The last ship entered the fog.
The storm's wrath rose. Thunder growled in the distance like a beast stirring in slumber. Lightning arced silently across the sky. The sailors toiled with focus, maneuvering the vessels through angry tides, their muscles tensed and seasoned from hardship.
CRACK-BOOM!
The thunder rolled overhead, deafening and immense, as if the heavens had slammed a war drum. But still the fleet pressed on, navigating the chaos of the sea.
"Land ho!"
A cry rang from the front, cutting through the cacophony. As if summoned by that voice, light broke through the clouds. The fog began to peel back, retreating as sunlight speared through the gloom.
Anticipation bloomed in the hearts of the soldiers. Fingers tightened around sword hilts. Shields were lifted. Breath was held.
The first ship breached the veil, emerging into a world reborn in light. Behind it followed a dozen warships, their dark hulls glistening with salt spray.
Before them stood an island—a jewel upon the sea.
It shone beneath the sun, vibrant with color. Verdant forests danced in the breeze, the foliage rich and overgrown. Golden sands stretched from treeline to shore, kissed by lazy waves that shimmered like glass.
On the flagship, heavy footsteps echoed against the wood. A man of monstrous stature emerged from within, and sailors gave way as he passed.
He stood nearly seven and a half feet tall. His skin was darkened and rough, like aged leather, marked by scars and the memory of war. Across one shoulder draped the pelt of a lion, its head resting over his shoulder, its mane wild even in death. It blanketed his back like a banner of conquest.
Behind him, he dragged a massive wooden club—more a tree trunk than a weapon—etched with bronze studs and blackened from fire and blood. Though it weighed more than a dozen shields, he carried it with ease, as if it were a child's toy.
He stood at the prow and raised a call:
"Prepare for battle! Victory lies ahead!"
His voice thundered over the waves, shaking the hearts of his men. On the ships behind, soldiers scrambled into formation. Cannons were unfastened and aligned. Sailors took their posts, shouting orders over the chaos. Below deck, rows of chained slaves rowed with mechanical suffering. Whips cracked through the damp air, and moans of exertion rose from their bruised, sunburnt backs.
The ships surged forward, riding the tide toward the shore.
"Onward!" bellowed a soldier at the helm.
Soldiers poured from the vessels. They leapt into the shallows, water rushing around their greaves, and stormed the beach with primal fury.
"RAAAHHH!" they cried as one.
Behind them came the siege weapons, dragged ashore by the enslaved—iron-banded men, wheeled machines meant to tear down kingdoms. Shackled men strained against chains, pushing the groaning contraptions through the salt and sand.
Suddenly—
"ARGCH—!"
A scream was swallowed by the sound of whistling air.
The sky darkened as arrows rained down in a sudden swarm, blotting out the sun like a swarm of locusts.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
The vanguard collapsed. Dozens were impaled before they reached the trees. Those behind instinctively dropped to their knees, shields raised, the missiles striking like hail upon iron.
The volley passed. The beach fell silent save for the lapping of the tide and the moans of the dying.
Then, the soldiers rose.
They pressed forward.
Behind them, the slaves dragged the siege weapons up the shore, their chains rattling like the breath of ghosts.
Upon the flagship, the massive warrior stood calm as stone. His eyes locked on the treeline.
"GATHER!" he roared.
The troops obeyed. Shield walls formed in circular formations, iron scraping iron. More soldiers poured from the ships, their numbers swelling like a tide of steel.
Then—
THUMP!
He leapt from the flagship.
His feet struck the beach with titanic force, sand bursting outward in a crater. The earth trembled beneath the impact. A deep silence followed.
He began to walk, alone, toward the treeline.
He did not raise his guard. He did not slow his pace. He walked with the confidence of a man who had never once known defeat.
As he reached the edge of the vegetation, he paused.
"Hmph."
His expression hardened. His eyes scanned the trees. There was no movement. No sound.
But he was not fooled.
He took a step back, raising his colossal club over his head.
And with a guttural roar, he slammed it down.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
The world shook. Sand erupted. The very beach cracked open, revealing glinting crystal beneath the soil. Wind screamed across the beach. The sea recoiled, waves retreating as if afraid.
Soldiers stumbled. Some fell.
In the forest, hidden beneath woven camouflage and layers of mud, figures crouched, watching. They were silent. Patient. Covered in vines and bark, they blended with the wild like phantoms.
They did not move. Not yet.
As the echo of the strike faded, they began to rise. Not to attack—but to vanish.
With silent steps, they retreated deeper into the forest, shadows among shadows.
Waiting.