Chapter 1: The Blade in the Ashes
The world was a wasteland.
Once, it had been a place of towering cities, glittering lights, and thriving nations. Now, it was nothing but ruins, deserts of ash, and the skeletons of what had been. The earth had been torn apart by endless wars, ravaged by plague, and drowned in the fires of a thousand catastrophes. The sun itself had been dimmed by the smoke of civilization's death.
In this new world, power was not given. It was taken. And the strong ruled with an iron fist.
Maks stood in the heart of the ruins of a once-great city, the echoes of forgotten voices reverberating in the wind. His boots crunched over the broken concrete, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. The blade he carried, a twisted and ancient weapon known as Eclipse Fang, gleamed ominously in the dim light. It was a relic of the old world, a weapon that had seen the rise and fall of empires.
But Maks was no emperor. He was a warrior—a shadow in the storm. And his only mission was vengeance.
The raiders had taken everything from him. His home, his family, his past. And now, they would pay.
A distant rumble shook the ground, and the air grew thick with the scent of smoke and blood. The raiders were near. Maks could feel it—their presence, like a weight on his chest. He gripped his blade tighter, the familiar weight of it comforting.
"Time to finish this," he muttered to himself, his voice rough, like gravel scraping against stone.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows. A woman, her face obscured by a blood-stained scarf, her eyes wide with fear. She staggered towards him, dragging a child behind her, one who looked no older than six.
The woman collapsed at his feet, gasping for air. "Please... they're coming for us. You have to help."
Maks looked down at her, his expression unreadable. He didn't care about her or the child—he cared about one thing only: the raiders who had ravaged his life. But there was something in the woman's eyes, something that stirred a distant memory of his own lost innocence.
"Who are they?" Maks asked, his voice cold but curious.
"They... they're after the child," she gasped, her hand clutching the child's arm protectively. "He's the key. They want to use him... to unlock something... something terrible."
Maks narrowed his eyes. The child was no ordinary survivor. There was something about him—something that felt different. A sense of power, hidden deep within him.
Before he could ask more, the ground trembled again. This time, the sound was unmistakable. The raiders were here.
The sky darkened, the rumble of engines growing louder. Massive, armored vehicles appeared on the horizon, their massive wheels kicking up clouds of dust and debris. A gang of ruthless raiders, known as The Scorching Legion, were approaching.
Maks didn't hesitate. He drew his blade—Eclipse Fang—and stepped forward. The woman grabbed his arm, her eyes pleading.
"Please... don't let them take him. He's our last hope."
Maks looked at the child again, then back at the woman. He said nothing, only nodded. He was a man of few words. His actions spoke louder than anything.
With a single, fluid motion, he swung his blade, cleaving through the first raider who dared to approach. The sound of metal against bone rang out, and the air was filled with the stench of blood.
The fight had begun.
End of Chapter 1.
Chapter 2: Into the Inferno
The roar of the raiders' engines filled the air, drowning out the sound of Maks's heartbeat. He moved like a shadow through the dust, his senses sharp, his instincts honed through years of war.
The Scorching Legion had arrived, a ruthless band of marauders who ruled the wastelands with terror and fire. Their vehicles were monstrous, armed to the teeth with weapons scavenged from the remains of the old world. They were unstoppable—except for one thing: Maks.
Maks didn't need words. He moved with purpose, cutting through the first wave of raiders like a tempest of steel. Eclipse Fang flashed through the air, its blade catching the last rays of the setting sun. Every strike was precise, every movement a deadly dance. The raiders were fast and fierce, but they were no match for a man driven by vengeance.
The child watched from the shadows, his wide eyes full of awe and fear. The woman—who still hadn't given Maks her name—was pressed against a nearby wall, clutching the boy tightly, whispering prayers under her breath.
Maks didn't look back. He didn't need to. He had no interest in saving anyone but himself and those he cared for. But there was something about this child that didn't sit right with him. There was an energy around him—something ancient, something primal.
With a growl, one of the raiders lunged at him, swinging a spiked bat. Maks sidestepped, the motion fluid and effortless, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, he buried his blade in the man's chest. The raider let out a strangled scream, but it was silenced quickly as Maks pulled the blade free and moved on to the next.
"Focus, Maks!" he muttered to himself, eyes scanning for the next target.
A shout interrupted his thoughts. A massive figure emerged from the dust, a towering man clad in black armor, his face obscured by a helmet. He carried a long, jagged spear, the end crackling with electricity.
"Talon," Maks muttered under his breath. The leader of the Scorching Legion.
Talon was known for his brutality. No one had ever dared challenge him in single combat. But Maks was no ordinary warrior. His eyes locked onto Talon's, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.
Talon smirked, his helmet giving no hint of emotion. "You think you can stop us, Warlord of Ashes?" he sneered, his voice carrying over the chaos.
Maks didn't respond. He wasn't here to talk. He was here to end this.
With a roar, Talon charged. Sparks flew as his spear clashed against Maks's blade. The force of the blow sent shockwaves through the air, but Maks stood firm, his feet planted in the ash, his body unyielding.
The two warriors circled each other, their weapons singing as they met with thunderous force. Maks's movements were swift, precise, his blade a blur of deadly intent. Talon countered with power, each strike a testament to his strength, but it was clear that Maks's skill was unmatched.
"You're strong, Warlord," Talon growled, sweat dripping from his brow. "But even the strongest will fall to the fire."
"Not today," Maks replied, his voice cold, cutting through the din of battle.
With a sudden lunge, Maks darted in, his blade arcing in a deadly sweep. Talon blocked with his spear, but Maks was already gone, his body a blur of motion. He struck again, this time landing a blow that knocked Talon's spear from his hands.
The leader of the Scorching Legion stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. Maks didn't give him a moment to recover. He lunged forward, his blade catching the light one final time as he drove it into Talon's chest, the weapon sinking deep with a sickening crack.
Talon gasped, his armor buckling under the force of the blow. He dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You... you're a monster..."
"Call me whatever you like," Maks whispered, his voice low and filled with finality. "But your reign is over."
With a swift motion, Maks twisted the blade, ending Talon's life in an instant. The warlord collapsed, lifeless, into the ash.
The battle around them quieted. The remaining raiders hesitated, their morale shattered. Maks didn't waste time. He turned to face the woman and the child, who had been watching from the shadows.
"You're safe," he said, his voice rough. "For now."
The woman's eyes were filled with gratitude, but there was also a trace of something else—something she was afraid to say. She stepped forward, her voice trembling.
"Thank you," she whispered. "But there's more. They... they weren't just after him... They were after you too."
Maks frowned. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the child. "The boy... he's not just any survivor. He has something inside him. Something they want. But... you... You're the key. The one who can stop it."
Maks turned away, his mind racing. "I'm no hero. I don't care about whatever's inside him. I only care about the ones who destroyed my life."
The woman's hand grabbed his arm, stopping him. "You're more than that, Maks. The Eclipse Fang chose you for a reason. You can stop this—if you accept it."
Maks stood still for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He had no interest in playing the savior, but there was something inside him—a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. A purpose.
He looked at the boy, who stared back at him with those wide, knowing eyes.
"Let's get out of here," he said finally. "And find out what all this really means."
End of Chapter 2.
Chapter 3: The Road to Ruin
The wind howled through the ruins, carrying the scent of dust and death. Maks didn't speak as he led the woman and the child through the desolate wasteland. His mind raced, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air like a heavy fog. He wasn't a hero, and he sure as hell didn't want to be one. But there was something about the woman's words that gnawed at him. Something he couldn't ignore.
The child was quiet, his eyes never leaving Maks. It was as if he understood everything, as if he had seen the destruction of the world and felt it deep within his bones. Maks had been around long enough to recognize fear—but this child... there was something else.
"You're different," Maks muttered under his breath, but the child didn't respond.
The woman, whose name Maks still didn't know, walked beside him. Her eyes were full of gratitude but also a deep sorrow. Every now and then, she glanced at the child, as if she were worried something would happen to him, something she couldn't prevent.
They stopped for a moment to catch their breath at the edge of an old industrial complex. Once, this had been a thriving manufacturing hub, a place where humanity had forged the weapons of war. Now, it was a hollowed-out shell, filled with rusting skeletons of machines and long-forgotten memories.
"We need to keep moving," Maks said, his voice hard. "The raiders won't stay down for long."
The woman nodded, but she hesitated before speaking again.
"You still don't understand, do you?" Her voice trembled. "The child—his name is Ezra—he's not just some random survivor. He's... connected to something much bigger. To something ancient."
Maks turned his head sharply, his expression cold but curious. "Ancient? What do you mean by that?"
She swallowed hard, eyes flicking nervously to Ezra. "There are stories... legends from the old world, of a weapon so powerful it could reshape the future. Some say it was hidden away, its power dormant for centuries. And others... others believe it's tied to the child."
Maks's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe some fairy tale?"
The woman shook her head, her voice softening. "I'm not saying it's a fairy tale. I'm saying that we're caught in something much bigger than we can understand. And if the Scorching Legion gets their hands on him... on Ezra... they'll unleash a power that could destroy what's left of this world."
Maks didn't respond immediately. His thoughts raced as he processed her words. He had no reason to trust her, no reason to believe in some ancient weapon or prophecy. But he had already seen enough destruction, enough chaos, to know that the world was teetering on the edge of annihilation.
"Why me?" Maks asked, his voice low. "Why do you think I'm the one who can stop this?"
She hesitated, then finally spoke. "Because of Eclipse Fang. The blade you carry... it's not just a weapon. It's a key. A key to something buried beneath the earth, something powerful. And the child... he's connected to it. He can unlock it."
Maks looked down at the blade in his hand. It had been his only companion for as long as he could remember. It had killed countless enemies, but he had never stopped to wonder about its origins. It had always felt... different. But a key to power? That sounded like madness.
"I don't need a key," he said gruffly. "I just need to keep moving, keep surviving."
But deep inside, something stirred. A part of him, a part he'd buried long ago, wondered if there was more to his journey than just vengeance. Could this child, this Ezra, really hold the answers to the chaos of the world?
Before he could dwell on the thought, a loud explosion echoed in the distance. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the air was filled with the deafening roar of engines.
"More of them," Maks growled, his hand instinctively reaching for Eclipse Fang.
The woman grabbed his arm, fear in her eyes. "We don't have much time! They're here!"
Maks's eyes flicked around, searching for a way out. He didn't want to fight again—not now, not when there were bigger things at stake. But he knew the rules of the wasteland. The strong prey on the weak. And right now, they were the weak.
The sound of the approaching vehicles grew louder. Maks gritted his teeth. He could feel the heat of the battle coming, and this time, there would be no holding back.
"Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice firm. The woman and Ezra didn't argue.
In a matter of moments, the raiders appeared. Their vehicles, huge and armored, rolled into view, their guns mounted and ready to fire. But this time, they weren't just the Scorching Legion. There was something else—something more sinister—about the group that had gathered.
A man in a long, tattered coat stepped out from the lead vehicle, his face obscured by a mask of dark metal. He held a rifle that seemed too advanced for the wasteland.
"You're Maks, the Warlord of Ashes, aren't you?" the man's voice was gravelly, but there was an unsettling calm to it.
Maks didn't flinch. He was done with games. "What do you want?"
The man smiled, his voice cold. "We've been looking for you, Maks. We've been looking for Ezra."
Maks's grip tightened on Eclipse Fang. "You'll have to go through me."
The masked man chuckled.
End of Chapter 3.
Chapter 4: The Face Behind Maks
The tension filled the air, as if time had stopped for a moment while the masked man stared at Maks. The sounds of heavily armed vehicles and the roar of engines filled the atmosphere, but at that instant, everything else seemed frozen.
Maks gripped his sword, Eclipse Fang, tightly, while the wind carried the smell of fuel and sweat. He wasn't one to waste time on empty words, and he wasn't fond of games. But the presence of this new foe, who seemed to know so much about Ezra, unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain.
The masked man began to move slowly, still holding his rifle, but not pointing it directly at Maks. "You don't understand what you're dealing with, burning king," he said in a calm voice, sending a shiver down Maks' spine. "We've come for the child. And we will take him, whether you want that or not."
Maks didn't respond right away. He knew exactly what these forces wanted. They wanted Ezra, but as long as he was alive, he would never let them take the child.
"Who are you?" Maks asked, his voice full of anger, never breaking eye contact with the masked man.
The masked man slowly removed his mask, revealing a face that was partially scarred, deep gouges running down his cheek. But his eyes were sharp, predator-like—cold and ruthless. "My name is Valen, burning king," he said, his smile empty of any humor. "And I control what remains of this world. Perhaps you wield a sword, but you do not have the power to stop me."
Maks' eyes narrowed. Valen. The name was familiar, though he couldn't place it at first. He had heard of someone who controlled the remnants of the old world's weapons, a person with more influence than the Scorching Legion. This was him.
"Power doesn't scare me," Maks said, his voice hardening. "I'll kill anyone who stands in my way."
Valen smiled sarcastically, yet there was no amusement in his expression. "You think this is about power?" his voice remained calm, as it had before. "You are wrong. We are here for survival. This world that you try to protect—this broken land—is nothing but the ashes of a weak civilization that couldn't survive. And Ezra… Ezra is the key to what comes next."
Maks didn't respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on Ezra, who stood behind the woman, gripping her hand tightly. But for the first time, Maks felt something strange in the child's gaze. It was as if the child understood more than he could fathom.
"You'll never understand," Valen continued, watching Maks closely. "But soon you'll see. You'll all understand. Ezra isn't just a child. He's the conduit. The one who can activate the Genesis Protocol."
The words from Valen hit Maks like a crushing blow. Genesis Protocol? He had heard that name before, in whispers and cryptic tales, but he didn't know the details. It was said to be a project from the old world, something so powerful it could either save or destroy humanity. And now, Valen was hinting that Ezra was the center of it all.
"You're lying," Maks said, stepping forward, his sword raised and ready. "No one controls that power."
Valen smiled widely, but there was no trace of humor. "I don't control it, burning king. I unleashed it. And Ezra is the key to activating it. That's why you're here. You're not just some random survivor. You've been chosen. You, and your sword, are linked to the Genesis Protocol just as much as Ezra is."
Maks' gaze shifted to Eclipse Fang, his ever-present companion. He had used this sword for so long, in so many battles. But the thought that it might be part of something so massive, so deep, was unsettling.
Maks's hand tightened around the hilt of Eclipse Fang, his mind racing. If what Valen said was true, then everything he had believed in—the battles he fought, the wars he won, even his very existence—might be part of something much bigger than he could have ever imagined. His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of the situation crashed down on him.
"So, you want to use Ezra to activate this... protocol?" Maks asked, his voice steady despite the chaos building inside him. "And you think I'm just going to let you take him?"
Valen's smile faded into a cold, calculated expression. "It's not a matter of whether you let us or not, burning king. The protocol was designed to reset the world. To bring about a new beginning. And Ezra... Ezra is the catalyst."
For a moment, Maks felt his knees weaken, the realization of the stakes sinking in. Ezra was no longer just the innocent child they had been protecting. The child was a key to the destruction or salvation of everything they knew.
Maks's eyes flicked to the child again. Ezra's gaze met his with an intensity that was far beyond his years. It was as though the child knew what was happening, as though he understood the power within him.
"I won't let you use him," Maks said firmly, his grip tightening on Eclipse Fang. "Even if it means tearing this world apart."
A cold laugh escaped Valen's lips. "You talk like you have a choice in the matter. You think you can stop me? You think your blade is enough to prevent what's already in motion?"
Without warning, Valen gestured sharply, and the ground trembled beneath them. A large machine, half-buried beneath the ash and wreckage, hummed to life. Its enormous weaponry began to shift, rotating to face Maks. The air thickened with a buzzing sound, signaling the activation of some ancient weapon long-forgotten.
"Do you see?" Valen said, his tone almost gentle, as though explaining something simple to a child. "This is just the beginning. And you, Maks, are playing right into my hands."
Maks's eyes flicked between Valen and the newly activated weapon. He knew time was running out. He couldn't just wait and hope for help. This was his fight, and it was clear now that the stakes were higher than he had ever imagined.
"Ezra doesn't belong to you," Maks growled. "I will protect him at all costs."
The roar of the machine grew louder, and Valen turned, his eyes filled with dark amusement. "Then come, burning king. Show me what you can do."
With a swift movement, Maks charged forward, his sword raised high. The blade hummed with power, and the air around him seemed to crackle with energy. As he closed the distance between himself and Valen, he could feel the heat rising from the ancient weapon, ready to fire at any moment.
But before he could strike, Valen raised a hand, and the ground beneath him cracked open. Dark energy surged from the rift, swirling around him, and Maks barely managed to leap backward in time to avoid being engulfed.
"You cannot stop this," Valen said, his voice now dripping with malice. "The protocol has already begun. And soon, you'll understand just how insignificant you really are."
Maks stood tall, his heart racing, but his resolve unwavering. "As long as I breathe, I'll fight. For Ezra, for this world, and for the future."
The two locked eyes—Maks, filled with the fury of someone who had lost everything, and Valen, a cold figure determined to reshape the world in his image. Neither was willing to back down.
The final battle was about to begin.
End of Chapter 4
Chapter 5: Shadows Over Steelbridge
The rain fell hard over Steelbridge City, its rhythmic tapping on rooftops drowned by the sirens that echoed in the distance. Maks crouched behind the rusted frame of an abandoned police cruiser, his breath visible in the cold night air. Blood dripped from a shallow cut above his brow, mixing with the rain as it slid down his cheek.
He wasn't supposed to be here. Not yet.
But the message from the masked informant changed everything:
"They're transferring Subject Z tonight. If you want answers, intercept them at Dock 47."
Maks glanced at his watch. 02:13. The convoy was late, or worse—already inside.
His earpiece crackled to life.
"Movement on the east side. Two trucks. Unmarked." It was Lira, his hacker and only ally left. "Thermal scans show five inside the lead vehicle. Weapons hot."
"Understood," Maks whispered. He drew his twin daggers, their black steel absorbing the faint glow of nearby floodlights.
The convoy turned the corner. Maks counted the wheels, then the guards. Five in the front. Two more on the roof of the second truck, both with scoped rifles.
He took a deep breath, remembering his training from Sector 9—silent, precise, deadly. The moment the first truck passed, he leapt forward, catching the rear bumper with one hand and swinging up silently.
"Truck one is clear. I'm in."
Inside, Subject Z—whatever, or whoever it was—might finally explain why his parents were murdered. Why he was branded with the sun-shaped scar on his back. Why the government wanted him erased.
As the truck slowed near the dock, Maks moved. The rear door wasn't locked. He slipped inside.
The figure inside was restrained, head down, limbs bound in glowing chains. A woman. Her eyes opened as he stepped in—burning silver, not human. She stared at him, calm and unblinking.
"You're Maks," she said. Her voice echoed strangely. "I've been waiting."
Before he could respond, the truck rocked violently. Explosions roared outside.
"Lira!" Maks shouted into his earpiece.
"They knew you'd come! Maks, get out now! It's a trap!"
Too late.
The roof of the truck tore open. A black-clad soldier dropped down, wielding an energy blade. Maks pushed the woman behind him and raised his daggers.
"Let's finish what we started," the soldier growled.
And the night exploded into fire.
End of Chapter 5.
Chapter 6: Blood Debt
Maks didn't flinch as the blade grazed his cheek.
The assassin gasped, realizing too late his mistake.
"You missed," Maks whispered.
A flash of steel. A scream. Silence.
The body hit the ground, and Maks stood over it, barely breathing hard. Blood seeped into the cracked concrete beneath him, steaming in the cold night air. He cleaned his knife on the dead man's cloak, then looked up toward the city lights flickering above the alley.
Three sent tonight. All dead.
Someone's getting desperate.
A soft rustle behind him.
"I wouldn't," Maks said, without turning.
The second assassin froze. Maks could feel his fear like a scent in the air.
"You think you're the first to try?" Maks continued, his voice cold and flat. "You're not even in the top ten."
The man dropped his weapon and raised his hands.
Maks finally turned, stepping into the half-light. His eyes were like twin embers—glowing with something far more dangerous than fire.
"Who sent you?"
"I—I don't know his name," the man stammered. "But he wears a red ring… and he wants you dead before sunrise."
Maks's jaw tightened.
Red Ring.
A name from the past. A ghost he'd buried years ago.
"Tell him," Maks said, stepping forward, knife in hand, "he should have stayed dead."
Fifteen minutes later, Maks was gone, the alley empty again. But the message was already spreading through the city's underworld:
Maks is hunting. And this time, it's personal.
End of Chapter 6.
Chapter 7: Ashes Speak
The battlefield still smoked.
Maks stood alone amid a sea of scorched bodies and shattered steel. The ash clung to his skin like a second layer, black and hot, whispering the names of the fallen as the wind swept it past his boots.
He didn't blink. Didn't flinch. The blood on his blade had dried, but his grip remained tight—as if letting go would mean surrendering the only piece of himself he still understood.
"Warlord," came a voice from behind.
He turned.
It was Kael, his scout—young, trembling, one arm wrapped in bloodied bandages. His eyes held something worse than fear.
"They're coming. The Pale Riders. All of them."
Maks didn't speak for a moment. He looked up at the sky. The clouds above were no longer gray; they were crimson, pulsing with unnatural lightning.
So, the prophecy was moving faster than expected.
"How many days until they reach the Iron Valley?" Maks asked.
Kael swallowed hard. "Less than two."
Maks sheathed his sword slowly. The sound of steel sliding into its scabbard was louder than thunder in the silence of death.
"Then we burn the valley," he said coldly. "And we make them choke on the smoke."
Kael stared at him in disbelief. "But… our people are still there."
"I know."
The scout took a step back, horror flooding his expression.
"You think this crown of ash was given to me by mercy, Kael?" Maks' voice was low, dangerous. "No. It was taken—one fire at a time."
He turned away, heading toward the edge of the cliffs, where the great pyres of the Ash Legion awaited their command.
The wind howled louder now. But it wasn't wind.
It was voices.
Ancient ones.
Calling him by a name he hadn't heard in years.
Maksarion…
He stopped. The name chilled him. Buried memories stirred—of the boy he once was, of the fire that ruined him, and the god he had vowed to destroy.
Not yet.
But soon.
He opened his hand, and the ember-stone inside his palm glowed bright red, pulsing with rage and power.
The war was not over.
It had just begun
End for chapter 7.
رائع، عبدالعالي! إليك Chapter 8 من روايتك "Maks: Warlord of Ashes". سأواصل بنفس الأسلوب الملحمي، الغامض، والمليء بالتوتر الذي يعكس تصاعد الأحداث.
Chapter 8: The God Beneath the Cinders
The Ash Legion marched.
A thousand soldiers cloaked in soot and silence, their armor dull, their eyes darker. They followed Maks not with loyalty—but with fear. The kind of fear that made men sharper, deadlier, more obedient.
At the front of the line, Maks rode alone.
His horse, a black beast named Varric, was as quiet as its master. Beneath its hooves, the ground trembled—not from weight, but from what lay below.
The Iron Valley was burning ahead, smoke spiraling into the sky like a beacon of death.
"Good," Maks muttered.
He wanted them to see it—the Pale Riders, the false kings, the gods who watched from ruined heavens. He wanted them to know he would not kneel.
Not again.
Suddenly, the earth cracked beneath him.
Varric reared, nearly throwing Maks off. The troops halted, blades drawn.
Then… silence.
And from the heart of the valley, a voice rose—not from a throat, but from the ashes themselves.
"You wear fire like a crown… but you forget who lit the first flame."
Maks jumped off the horse and stepped forward, his ember-stone pulsing in his hand.
"I didn't forget," he said to the empty air. "I buried you."
The ground split.
Ash erupted like geysers.
And then, it emerged.
A figure made entirely of smoke and glowing cinders. No face, no form—just flame that pulsed with divine malice. The god Maks once knew as Auronox—the Fire Father, the one who cursed him with eternal flame and took everything from him.
"Maksarion…" the god whispered, voice like wind over bone. "My son."
Maks did not flinch.
"I was never your son," he spat. "You made me your weapon. And now—I'm the executioner."
Auronox laughed, and the valley screamed with him.
Then the ash around Maks began to swirl. Forming blades. Faces. Screams. The Ashborn—spirits of the damned, rising to drag him into the fire that birthed him.
But Maks raised his hand.
The ember-stone in his palm exploded in light.
Not gold. Not red.
But white fire—pure, unbound, divine.
It wasn't Auronox's flame anymore.
It was his.
The god recoiled, howling.
The Ashborn scattered.
And Maks stepped into the crater, now glowing white-hot.
"You wanted to see what your weapon became?" he said. "Then watch."
He plunged his hand into the earth—and summoned a pillar of flame that shattered the sky.
The fire obeyed him now.
And war had a new god.
End of Chapter 8.
فهمت الآن، عبدالعالي! تريد أن يكون Chapter 9 هو الفصل قبل الأخير من روايتك "Maks: Warlord of Ashes". إذًا سأجعله فصلًا ملحميًا ومكثفًا يُصعّد القصة إلى أقصى توترها قبل الفصل الأخير، ويُمهّد للمواجهة النهائية في Chapter 10.
Chapter 9: The War God's Shadow
The world no longer felt real.
Maks stood on the scorched mountain of Blackfang, overlooking a valley drowned in blood and flame. Behind him, the Ash Legion gathered for what would be their final march.
The stars above flickered—some falling, some vanishing—like the heavens themselves were crumbling.
Auronox had fled, but not for long. Maks could feel the god's essence slithering through the ash-choked winds. Watching. Preparing.
The final battle was close.
"General," came a voice.
It was Kael again—no longer trembling, but changed. His face was half-burned, his eyes like molten iron.
"The Pale Riders are forming ranks beyond the Broken Spine. They've summoned the Hollow Titans."
Maks didn't blink. "Let them come."
Kael hesitated. "Even you can't fight a Titan."
"I don't need to," Maks replied. "I'll become something worse."
He turned away and entered the war chamber—no longer a tent, but a sanctum of cinder and spell. The Ember Priests were waiting inside, chanting the old rites. In the center, a circle of bones burned with white fire.
This was not a spell of power.
It was a binding.
Maks stepped into the circle. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what he was about to do.
"I offer my soul to the flame… not as a servant, but as its master."
The priests gasped.
The fire screamed.
Chains of light burst from the circle, wrapping around Maks' body. His skin cracked, glowing from within. The ember-stone in his chest shattered—releasing the full fury of the power he'd kept hidden.
He saw visions—
Auronox kneeling before a throne of crows. The Ash Legion consumed by divine flame. And himself—Maks—standing alone in a world of ruin, wearing a crown of smoke.
Then the light vanished.
Maks stood in silence, his armor now fused with flame, his eyes glowing like twin stars.
He was no longer a man.
Not quite a god.
But something in between.
A force meant to end all others.
Outside, the horns of war began to sound.
Kael looked at him, stunned. "What are you now?"
Maks stepped forward, his voice deep and ancient.
"I am the war they prayed would never come."
And as dawn broke, the last battle began.
End of Chapter 9.
Chapter 10: Crown of Ashes
The sky was black at midday.
No sun. No stars. Just stormclouds boiling over the battlefield, heavy with lightning and fire. The earth shook with the weight of gods, titans, and vengeance.
Maks stood at the center of it all—his body ablaze, his armor fused with molten steel, his eyes white-hot with divine fury. Around him, the Ash Legion roared his name, their blades raised high.
Across the valley, the Pale Riders approached.
Their horses were skeletal beasts, eyes glowing blue with death magic. Behind them, the Hollow Titans marched—towers of bone and shadow, each step tearing the earth apart.
And above them all, floating in a sphere of flame and darkness, was Auronox—restored, wrathful, monstrous.
"YOU DARE DEFY YOUR CREATOR?"
The god's voice cracked the sky.
Maks didn't answer. He simply lifted his sword, now burning with white fire—a flame purer than the gods had ever known. A flame born of rage… and freedom.
"I was never yours."
Lightning fell.
The war began.
The first wave hit like a hurricane. Titans crushed dozens of soldiers with a single stomp, while the Pale Riders summoned black chains from the air to drag warriors into the void.
But Maks moved like a storm himself—cutting through spells and steel alike. His fire was unstoppable. It devoured shadows, burned through magic, melted stone.
One Titan raised its fist to smash him.
Maks leapt—straight into the air, higher than any man should.
He plunged his sword into the Titan's skull, and it exploded in a shockwave of ash and bone.
One down.
But the battle was far from over.
Behind him, Kael led the charge of the Legion. Ember-priests called meteors from the sky. The earth bled fire. The sky rained death.
And still… Auronox watched.
Waiting.
Hours passed. Bodies burned. The valley was nothing but blood and cinders.
Only two remained.
Maks.
Auronox.
The god descended slowly, his form now monstrous—wreathed in ten wings of fire and a crown of falling stars.
"You could have ruled beside me," Auronox hissed. "A son of flame. A god of war."
Maks wiped the blood from his face.
"I didn't want to be a god," he said. "I wanted to be free."
He lifted his sword.
And charged.
The final duel was beyond mortal understanding.
Each clash tore the air apart. Each strike shattered the ground. Auronox screamed spells in the language of creation. Maks countered with the fire of rebellion.
Then—a stab.
Auronox pierced Maks through the chest with a spear of pure flame.
Blood poured. Maks fell to his knees.
But he smiled.
"Too late," he whispered.
The ember-stone shards in his heart ignited.
A pulse of white fire surged from within him—consuming everything.
Auronox screamed in agony as his body burned from the inside out. Light poured from his eyes, his mouth, his soul.
And then… silence.
The god of fire was no more.
Maks stood, barely breathing.
His body broken.
His fire fading.
The battlefield was silent now. Only ash remained.
Kael ran to him, eyes wide with horror and awe. "You did it… you killed him."
Maks looked at the horizon, where the first rays of sunlight broke through the darkness.
"I didn't kill him," Maks said quietly. "I ended him."
He fell to his knees.
And smiled one last time.
As his body turned to ash—willingly, peacefully—returning to the flame that once cursed him.
Epilogue: The Ash King
Years later, they still tell stories.
Of a man who defied the gods. Who wore fire like a crown. Who burned not for power, but for freedom.
They call him the Warlord of Ashes.
But some say he's not dead.
Some say, when tyrants rise again… the ashes will whisper his name.
Maks.
The Flame That Chose Itself.
The End.
L'auteur:
Abdelali Aitali