Milkway Retribution 16″ Beaker Bong
In the shadow of the newly erected Temple of the Dragon, where the bones of Darthor the Dragon amplified the eerie power of the Bio-Tech sword Kamitoh, Emperor Horan prepared his army for the final march against Lord Teron of the Soryan clan. The air was thick with the promise of vengeance as the spectral light from the temple cast long shadows over the assembled ranks of undead warriors and battle-hardened soldiers.
Horan stood at the forefront, his skeletal frame draped in a tattered cloak that fluttered against the chilling winds. Kamitoh hummed with a life of its own, resonating with the dark energies it had absorbed. The march to Lord Teron’s castle was silent, save for the muffled footsteps of an army fueled by a single purpose: retribution.
Lord Teron’s castle loomed on the horizon like a stark reminder of the old power the Soryan clan once wielded. It was a massive structure, decrepit yet proud, with towers that pierced the sky and walls that had withstood numerous sieges. But the sight of the advancing army, led by a figure as ghastly as death itself, sent shivers down the spine of every defender on the battlements.
Inside his war room, Lord Teron clutched an ancient relic—a scepter known as the Aegis of Rythan, said to shield its bearer from any harm. It was his last hope against the invincible tide led by Horan. The relic pulsed with a soft glow, its power a stark contrast to the dark weapon wielded by his nemesis.
As Horan’s army surrounded the castle, the ground trembled under the relentless march. Siege engines, constructed from the dark timbers of the haunted forests that bordered Horan’s empire, hurled boulders that shattered against the ancient walls. Yet, the Aegis of Rythan held strong, its power deflecting the projectiles, protecting the castle with an invisible barrier.
But Horan was undeterred. He dismounted from his spectral steed, raising Kamitoh above his head. The sword’s eerie hum turned into a resonant cry that seemed to call to the very stones of the castle. With a commanding shout, Horan led the charge, his undead soldiers pouring forth with unnatural speed.
The battle was fierce. The Soryan defenders fought with the desperation of men cornered by their fates, yet they fell, one by one, to the relentless advance of the undead. Arrows and spears flew, finding marks on bodies that felt no pain and knew no surrender.
Finally, Horan breached the main gate, his figure a specter of vengeance as he stepped through the rubble. Lord Teron, clad in his ceremonial armor, met him in the great hall, the Aegis of Rythan raised high. The relic’s glow intensified, forming a shield around him. “You may break my walls, Horan, but you cannot break me!” Teron bellowed, defiance in his voice.
With a calm that belied the raging storm within him, Horan approached. The two relics of power met with a clash that echoed through the devastated halls, light against darkness.
