Destruction of Archruin level 7

[SeregaB]

The sky is split by lightning, a magical storm rises above the horizon.

But long before that, there were signs.

No one knew when she appeared. Some said that Archiruina grew from the ashes of a dead titan. Others - that she was summoned by the remnants of a forgotten cult buried under the permafrost. But one day, sentries from the distant outposts of the Steppe brought news that made the elders' lips go dry.

Amid the shifting shadows beyond the horizon, darkness arose - not just darkness, but a pulsating distortion, as if space itself had rejected the laws of life. Mages, looking into prophetic mirrors, saw the outlines of a cyclopean fortress tearing through the veil of the world. Archiruina. The last bastion of ancient evil, long considered only a legend.

First - silence. Then - darkness, spreading like a disease. Entire villages disappeared without a trace. The earth faded. The wolves howled, not looking at the sky. The rain fell upward. And then the Council of Three Lands gathered for the last time.

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"She cannot be abandoned. She must be crushed. Before it is too late," said Polkan, rising heavily from his seat.

And so the campaign began. The last campaign.

--

Archiruina level 7 - the last stronghold of the enemy - rises on a hill of dead titans, surrounded by ditches, energy bastions and lava flows. Its stone walls radiate an ancient power, pulsating like the heart of darkness itself.
But this day does not belong to her.

Across the plain, clattering with hooves and boots, an army moves. At the head - he. Polkan.

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Clad in scars and steel, he towers over his army like a living legend. Behind him are warriors with horned helmets, battle mages with tattooed faces, mercenaries from the northern lands, and even summoned pegasi of nature, encased in armor.

He raises his hand.
The world freezes.

— "Forward! For the Steppe! For the Kingdom!" — his voice thunders, and the earth responds with trembling.

The attack begins.

The mages throw flaming boulders towards the Archiruina, causing the magic shields to tremble and crack. Archers launch enchanted arrows that imprint themselves on the runic patterns of the walls. The troops run forward, dodging flashes of energy pouring from the magic towers.

Polkan does not just command — he leads.

He rushes into battle first, like a storm. His sword cuts through the front walls, clearing the way. The towers explode under his blows. He repels magic, destroys the defensive fortifications, and breaks in, drawing the main wave of the army behind him.

Inside the fortress, there is a fight in every hall.

Warriors and fire elementals fight on the stairs. The last protective seals flare up around the core of the Archiruina, pulsating and almost awakening the ancient power. The power of its barrier makes the walls tremble. The mages from Polkan's squad join forces, creating an energy vortex that weakens the hero.

"Hold on!" Polkan shouts. "The hero is mine!"

He breaks forward through explosions and fragments of magic. His body is covered in burns and blood, but he does not stop. The force of his blow is now not just physical. It is the anger of the people. It is the memory of the dead. It is the will to destroy the impossible.

And here is the decisive blow.

With a cry that drowns out the roar of the storms, he plunges his sword into the very heart of the dark Hero.
Crack. Light. Explosion.

Archiruina burns, crumbles.

Its runes flare one last time, stones fly apart like coals, magic roars before disappearing. The barrier crumbles, the towers fall, and in their place there remains only dust and ash.

And among them is Polkan's army.

Wounded, tired, but standing. They look at their leader. He raises his weapon to the sky.

— "WE HAVE WON!"

Victory.
Archiruina is destroyed.
Polkan — has become a legend again.
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