VOIDBLADE: THE LAST SWORD OF THE END

The night settled heavily over Briarstead County — but there was no peace in the darkness. Not anymore.

The whispers had spread. Lords who once ruled with iron fists now slept with one eye open. Their walls rose higher, their guards doubled — but it didn't matter. Fortifications and soldiers couldn't protect them from a fear they couldn't see. A fear given form by one name.

Void God.

And tonight, that fear became reality.

---

Lord Verrik of Ironholt had been the loudest of the remaining lords. After Farin's fall, he'd called for unity — rallying his fellow nobles to strike first, to crush the shadow before it could grow.

But that unity never came.

Because they were too afraid.

And soon, Verrik would learn why.

Ironholt Keep stood as a fortress of stone and steel — perched on a crag overlooking the Blackthorn Woods. The keep's defenses were legendary. Spiked walls, enchanted ballistae, and an elite force of heavily armored knights. More than enough to withstand an army.

But not the Void.

---

The first death came with the changing of the guard. A knight slumped against the battlements, his throat opened so cleanly the blood hadn't even started to flow before his body hit the ground.

The second never even saw the blade. A flicker of motion — and then silence.

By the time the third body dropped, panic spread through the ranks.

"Sound the alarm!" one of the captains bellowed — but the bell never rang. The man who reached for it fell in two pieces, the shadow behind him already gone.

Kaela Nightshade moved through Ironholt like a ghost — her twin daggers whispering death with every strike. By the time the keep's soldiers realized they were under attack, the walls were already lost.

And then the gate opened.

They never saw who had opened it.

But they saw what came through.

Void God entered Ironholt without fanfare, without announcement. The first knight who rushed him died without understanding how. One moment he charged — the next, his body split apart in a spray of blackened ash.

The second fared no better.

Voidfang sang in his hands — a blade of perfect darkness, carving through armor and flesh alike. Sword Entropy spread with every strike — and the keep itself began to rot. Walls cracked. Metal rusted. The air grew thick with the weight of decay.

And then the real slaughter began.

---

Lord Verrik stood in his great hall, his face pale as his men fell by the dozens. The reports were frantic — nonsense of shadows and void, of soldiers vanishing mid-scream. And then the main doors burst open.

Void God entered slowly, his steps unhurried. Blood dripped from his blade, hissing as it touched the stone floor. Behind him, Kaela stepped from the shadows — her daggers clean, but her eyes alight with violence.

"Lord Verrik." Void God's voice was soft — but it filled the room. "You called for war."

Verrik reached for his sword. "Stay back!" he barked, his voice trembling. "I am a lord of Briarstead! You think you can just—"

Void Step.

He never saw the movement. One second Void God stood across the room — the next, he was in front of him. Verrik's sword arm rose — and Voidfang took it at the elbow.

The lord's scream was short-lived.

"War requires strength," Void God said quietly. "You have none."

The blade fell.

---

When the sun rose over Ironholt, it rose on silence. The keep stood intact — but empty. Its walls bore the scars of something far worse than battle. Decay spread through the stone, creeping like a sickness.

And the bodies were gone.

All that remained was a single banner — driven into the bloodstained courtyard. A banner of perfect black.

And the county knew.

The culling had begun.