WCJ, prologue

The essay for the prologue.

A crimson wasteland spreads endlessly, its surface soaked with the blood of countless fallen. The ground, once sacred, is now a graveyard for shattered swords and torn banners, where twisted bodies lie abandoned, victims of a conflict that has sullied the border between worlds. The mountain that once served as a sanctuary now reeks of decay, its solemn air replaced by the foreboding stench of death. For a moment, the desolation is silent, as if the world itself mourns the desecration. Then, from this eerie stillness, a wind arises, carrying with it the mournful cries of lost souls. Its howl pierces the quiet, sending chills through the air, as though the dead themselves lament their restless state. Amidst this field of carnage, movement stirs beneath a mound of lifeless forms. Suspicion mounts among the onlookers hovering above, their figures silhouetted against a bleak sky. Eyes narrow as they fixate on the disturbance, their readiness palpable, for they know that what lies below is no ordinary survivor. The silence among them speaks volumes, broken only by the intensity of their watchful gazes. From beneath the pile, a figure erupts, cloaked in swirling black mist, his presence immediately commanding. Blood stains his tattered form, concealing all but the sharp, malevolent glint of his eyes. They burn with unyielding hatred, piercing the gloom like daggers. In his hand, a jade talisman pulses with an ominous red glow. Its surface, etched with cryptic symbols in blood and cinnabar, radiates power, its light flickering in defiance of the surrounding darkness.

A voice from above breaks the tension, laden with condemnation.The figure is accused of transgressions so grave they have shaken the very foundation of the world.He stands accused of summoning spectral legions, invading forbidden realms, and defying the delicate balance that governs existence. The accusations are met with cold indifference. His response, though calm, is laced with bitter resolve. His demand is clear: the return of what was unjustly taken. Yet, the voice from above scoffs, offering instead empty promises of restoration - a mockery in the face of irreparable loss. The atmosphere grows heavier as words turn sharper. The confrontation is not merely a battle of wills but a clash of profound ideologies. The defiant figure below reveals his true intent, driven by a grief that has long festered into unrelenting fury. He seeks not merely justice but a reversal of fate, a reclamation of the one who was torn from him. His determination is met with disdain; he is branded as a fool, a mortal daring to challenge the immutable laws of life and death. Yet, his resolve does not waver. If the heavens have forsaken him, and the earth has cast him aside, then he shall bring both to their knees. His proclamation is a declaration of war against the cosmic order:he will destroy what has wronged him,regardless of the cost.

The talisman in his grasp burns brighter, its crimson light intensifying, casting an unholy glow over the battlefield. The ground trembles in response, splitting open to reveal the dark legions he commands. Spectral warriors rise in formation, their ranks stretching beyond sight, their presence a chilling testament to his unyielding will. The air grows thick with anticipation as the final confrontation looms. Each side prepares for a battle that will shake the very foundations of existence. No compromise, no surrender—only the relentless pursuit of vengeance and the desperate bid to rewrite the destiny that has forsaken him. The balance of power teeters on the edge, with the weight of countless souls hanging in the balance. It is a scene of tragedy and defiance, a testament to the lengths one will go for redemption, even when faced with insurmountable odds.