Earth.
In a place high above the clouds a man was sitting on the ground, calmly meditating in a lotus position.
He had short black hair, and pale skin, his aura was calm, silent and alluring. A powerful oppressing pressure was around him, but the most catching thing about this man was the thing sleeping calmly above his shoulders.
A giant lion a massive beast of golden-white fur, draped across the man's shoulders like a living mantle, its limbs relaxed, its breaths slow and deep like thunder in repose. Its size was colossal, yet it curled along his upper back like a docile pet, its heavy tail draped across one of his knees, the faint shimmer of golden energy pulsing beneath its skin like starlight through clouds.
The lion's mane was more than fur—it was a living corona, strands of radiant light interwoven with hair, flowing in a nonexistent wind, trailing sparks and motes of golden ether that vanished the moment they touched the stone beneath. Its paws, as large as shields, twitched faintly in sleep, claws slightly unsheathed with each breath. Every inhalation shook the air, made the mist swirl, and made the birds that hovered too close veer away in instinctive fear.
And yet—despite the crushing weight of the lion's divine aura, the man beneath it was motionless, unmoved. In fact, the lion himself was something close to a spirit, an ethereal being that bound itself to the man.
He was topless, his chest, muscles and shoulders bare save for the scar that marred the center, a blemish in the perfect lines of his pale skin. His hands rested lightly atop his knees, fingers curled in ancient mudras, eyes closed and not a bead of sweat marred his brow despite the pressure surrounding him—his pressure. He was the epicenter, the still heart of a storm that could shake nations.
He was young. No more than his early thirties by human appearance, though the aura he gave off was ancient, not just in years but in depth. A heavy, unspoken knowledge hummed in the air around him. His breathing was shallow, but each breath felt like it contained the inhale and exhale of the world itself.
Beneath him, the flat stone he sat on had cracked ages ago—not from use or erosion, but from the sheer weight of his presence, anchored there like a divine stake driven into the crust of the Earth.
From the clouds above, sunlight broke through for the first time in hours, casting a single shaft of gold down upon the man and his spirit-lion, as if the sky itself recognized him.
A hawk screamed high overhead—and then fell silent. It did not dare approach.
The man exhaled, slowly, opening his eyes, revealing a pair of red pupils, a shade of bloody scarlet so dark and rich that not a speck of white remained. Yet they glowed with something more than just crimson—something else burned behind them, a golden flame suddenly came alive in his eyes as if threatening to break loose before he swiftly closed his eyes regaining control.
"Sigh... I still have a long way to go."
The man breathed, calming his mind and extinguishing the flame inside his core. It wasn't the first time it had awoken and surely not the last.
Grrr.
Suddenly the spirit-lion lifted its head, glancing behind with hostility and when he sniffed the mana in the air, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
WHOOOSH!
Immediately after that, the spot where the lion was looking was invaded with a lightly red smoke before a figure cloaked in black appeared. The man bowed, slamming his right fist to the chest, and spoke.
"Lord Maximus, the tide is here."
"Good, I'm tired of waiting," Maximus said, standing up, his massive weight barely influencing his motion. He was tall, a giant of 8 feet (243cm) yet he wasn't a muscle freak or anything. No, his body was perfect, a peak of evolution and sculptured like a Greek god. His muscles moved gracefully and gently showing the power they held.
"I'll take care of this one alone."
"Yes sir."
After he bowed his head, the cloaked figure disappeared in the same red smoke he appeared. As for Maximus, he took a few steps forward walking to the edge of the cliff, and gazed down.
"I hate heights."
Grrr
The lion growled slightly, slapping his giant paws on the man's head as if saying 'Jump and finish it so I could go back to sleep.'
"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Maximus rolled his eyes, his crimson gaze flicking up to the lion with dry amusement. "Don't have to be rude about it."
He stood at the cliff's edge, wind buffeting his body, the sky stretching endless and pale around him, clouds spilling over the stone like foam on a god's chalice. His bare chest gleamed under the fractured light, veins pulsing faintly beneath the surface as mana stirred within him, roused from its deep slumber by anticipation. Down below, somewhere beyond the veil of mist and distance, the tide approached—a storm not of weather, but of will. And Maximus' job was to end it.
Crack!
He cracked his neck once to the left, then the right, each motion echoing like stone grinding under pressure.
Then he stepped off the cliff.
And fell.
The wind howled, tearing at his hair and loose gray pants, but Maximus dropped like a spear, perfectly vertical, arms loose at his sides, face calm, expression unreadable. The lion didn't move—he simply dissolved into golden light as Maximus plunged, merging once more with his master's body, like a cloak folding into flesh.
The fall stretched impossibly long, the cliff face blurring past him in streaks of moss and stone, and then the clouds broke—and he landed.
BOOOOOOM!
The earth cracked beneath his feet, a crater forming instantly as shockwaves ripped outward from the impact. Trees bent. Rocks shattered. Dust spiraled into a cyclone before being devoured by the sheer gravitational pull of his energy. The sky itself seemed to flinch.
And in front of him—the tide.
A sea of enemies.
ROAR!
Hundreds. No—thousands. Armor-clad, spirit-bound, mutated, and monstrous, marching in perfect formation. Arcane machines on legs of iron. Beasts fused with sorcery. Demons born from living darkness. Warriors. Spellcasters. A vast army born from nightmares and ambition, surging across the scorched plains with one single, unrelenting purpose: Destruction.
"Haah~" Maximus took a slow step forward. The crater crumbled further beneath his foot, but he didn't notice. "This will be a good warm-up."
"!!!" In an instant Maximus' whole aura changed, his calm face slowly distorted into a bloodthirsty smile, revealing long sharp fangs. The force around his body shifted from light, pressure, and gravitational, into rage, chaos, and fury.
The army before him was a nightmare made real—a sea of mutated beasts, arcane machines, and demonic entities, all marching in perfect, unyielding formation. The ground trembled under their collective weight, and the air was thick with the stench of sulfur, oil, and dark magic. Banners made from flesh flew, bearing symbols of dark destruction and conquest, and the war drums beat a relentless rhythm, a drumbeat of doom that echoed through the valley.
However...
"AHHHH!"
"KYAAAHHH!"
It was nothing compared to a pale man with a giant golden axe.
"HAHAHAHA!!"
CRASH! CRACK! THUD!
The man slaughtered hundreds and thousands of enemies in a single attack, his axes going through armor, flesh, and bone. His aura alone killed the ones that were weakest and his rampage scared the bravest warrior that lost a part of his sanity.
Like a bloodthirsty berserker, Maximus brutally butchered the demons and abominations, not caring about their size, toughness, or amount. Strangely he used only physical strength, hell even his golden axe wasn't a real weapon, but a ceremonial gift made to look good, not to function as a real weapon. But Maximus used it with the effectiveness and experience of a seasoned veteran using a true masterpiece of an axe, slaughtering and carving his way through the enemies with single attacks, and his goal was beyond just killing. No.
"Monsters fear other monsters"—and Maximus was the monster they didn't know existed before, a new one, the son of THE monster.
"HAHAHAHA!!....DIE!"
He did not cut. He unmade.
Each swing of the golden axe, despite its ornamental design, cleaved through rank upon rank like the hand of a wrathful god. Metal screeched and shattered, bone split like dry wood, and flesh tore with such ease it was as if the world itself bent to accommodate his violence. His movements were not graceful—there was no elegance here. They were primal, predatory, and horrifying in their efficiency.
He stepped into the swarm, and bodies flew.
A monstrous war beast—a fusion of six-legged boar and molten stone—charged him, tusks glowing with infernal heat. Maximus didn't dodge. He grabbed one tusk with a single hand, ripped the beast off the ground, and slammed it into the ground so hard its spine ruptured and magma exploded from its cracked shell. He didn't stop.
He leaped over its dying body and drove the blunt edge of the axe into the skull of a spellcaster mid-incantation, shattering his mask and the arcane circle glowing behind him.
Blood painted the air in crimson arcs. Screams turned from rage to panic.
"BACK! BACK—!" a war marshal screamed, but the command was swallowed by the chaos Maximus wrought. He was everywhere—charging through squads, appearing behind generals, dismembering beasts mid-pounce. Even the larger machines, wrought from soul steel and dark crystal, could not stand for long. He broke them down by hand, fingers ripping gears from sockets, tendrils of cursed mana shattering on impact with his bare skin.
He didn't chant. He didn't rely on flashy spells.
This was pure physical. Brutal. Personal. Carnage.
The red glow in his eyes had spread, crawling across his chest in lines of burning light. The scar in his sternum pulsed like a third heart, radiating heat. His fangs gleamed wet with blood, both his enemies and his own, and that savage smile never left his face.
He didn't stop to defend.
He didn't need to.
CRACK! BOOM!
Arrows snapped against his skin like toothpicks. Spells fizzled before reaching him. Even the curses—those that sank into his flesh—were burned out by the fire roaring within his core.
And above it all, echoing like a divine echo, the lion's voice rumbled from within his being:
"FEED. PROVE. RULE. CONQUER."
And Maximus obeyed.
He leaped into the air—hundreds of meters straight up—axe raised over his head, glowing with blood. The sky seemed to freeze.
"RrrrAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
He descended like a meteor. A sun of wrath. A wrath the army never understood they'd earned.
BOOOOOMMMMMM!!!
The impact flattened everything. A wave of destruction exploded outward, ripping up the earth, flame, wind, and enemy alike. The ground buckled. Caverns collapsed. War machines feel like straw huts.
Silence followed.
Not a single soldier stood within five hundred meters. Only ash. Molten craters. Splintered bone. His body, steaming, radiated heat waves. His breath was slow, measured.
"I'm still not as good as Mother."