Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points!

It was The Root of the Tree of Eden.

Dagon tightened his grip on it, its divine aura pulsing.

Even holding it felt like grasping a fragment of creation itself—warm, potent, and brimming with overwhelming power.

He forced himself to ignore the weight of it and instead focused on the being before him.

"Fallen One."

"I offer you a choice. This root—this is your redemption. A way back to the heavens. Join us, and you will be free from the shackles of Arkanos."

Abaddon stared at him. His smirk had vanished, and he looked genuinely surprised. His black-and-white eyes flickered between the divine relic and Dagon himself.

For a moment, it seemed like he was considering it.

"Interesting," Abaddon said, rolling the thought in his mind. His clawed fingers twitched ever so slightly.

"A tempting offer… a chance to reclaim my lost grace. To stand among the angels once more, basking in that wretched golden light…"

He let out a slow, thoughtful hum.

Then—

A sharp, cold laugh escaped his lips.

"Are you fools truly so naive?"

His grin stretched wide, cruel and condescending.

"Do you take me for some hound that switches sides as long as you dangle the right price before me?"

The air around him trembled.

"Even if that were the case… Do you truly think Arkanos would just allow it? Do you think he would just let me go?"

Dagon's breath hitched.

Abaddon took a slow step forward, his presence suddenly suffocating, oppressive.

"You mortals—you amuse me," he continued. "Have you ever wondered how a fallen angel of my caliber, with all my might and pride, came to serve him? Do you truly believe it was something as simple as power? Coin? Empty promises?"

His expression shifted—something terrifying unease appeared in his face. For the first time, a hint of fear could be sensed in his voice.

"You mortals do not know what that man is."

Dagon felt a chill race down his spine.

"I shouldn't be the one you're afraid of," Abaddon said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. He clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palm.

"No… Arkanos should be."

Dagon's mind raced, 'We should fear Arkanos? What did he do to a creature of the abyss for him to wear such an expression?'

Dagon shivered at the thought.

This being—this monstrosity of an angel, corrupted and fallen, wielding a power that reduced men to ash—was afraid?

Silence stretched between them.

Dagon's lips parted, his mind racing. "Don't you want to redeem yourself?" he asked, almost desperately. "To return to the heavens? You would rather remain a dog in service to that tyrant than reclaim your rightful place?"

Abaddon's gaze darkened.

"Dog? No, no, no—you misunderstand. I am no mere servant. I have pledged myself—my pride, my existence, my very life." His voice was cold. "I cannot betray the Emperor, else all that would be forfeit."

Abaddon exhaled sharply.

"You idiots," he spat. "Instead of trying to recruit me, you should have come crawling to beg him for forgiveness."

The air around them thickened with his aura, the weight of his presence pressing down like an iron vice.

"But you didn't," Abaddon continued, stepping forward. "And now, all you've done is seal your fate. I will take that little relic from your corpse and present it to His Majesty myself." His grin widened, eyes gleaming. "A fitting offering, don't you think?"

Dagon barely had time to react before—

BOOM!

Abaddon shot forward like a streak of black lightning, his fist slamming into Dagon's gut with bone-crushing force.

"GHHHK—!" Dagon choked, blood spraying from his mouth as he was sent hurtling backward, crashing through several ruined siege weapons. BAM! BAM! BAM! Each impact left cracks in his bones, and when he finally hit the ground, it was with a sickening THUD.

Dagon gasped for air, but Abaddon was already upon him.

A black blade gleamed in the dim firelight.

Dagon barely managed to parry, but the sheer force sent sparks flying—his arms nearly snapping under the weight of the blow.

BANG! A boot to the chest sent him skidding across the scorched earth.

CRACK! A heavy elbow to the spine made his vision blur.

WHOOSH—SLASH!

Dagon barely managed to raise his greatsword in time to block Abaddon's next strike, but the force of the impact sent tremors up his arms. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, the sound ringing across the battlefield.

"Is that all?!" Abaddon taunted, pushing him back effortlessly. "Come on! Where's that warrior spirit?"

Blood splattered. The pain was instant, raw, unbearable.

Abaddon lifted him slightly, his claws still buried deep in Dagon's stomach.

"You should have used that dimensional cut to flee instead," Abaddon murmured.

Then—Abaddon sliced off his arm.

SCHLICK!

The severed limb fell to the ground with a wet thud.

Dagon screamed.

Dagon roared using his other hand, swinging his greatsword in a powerful arc—

CLANG!

Abaddon caught it with one hand.

"What?" Dagon's eyes widened.

Abaddon grinned. "Pathetic."

And then—SNAP!

With sheer brute force, Abaddon broke the greatsword to pieces.

Dagon stumbled back, stunned. Before he could react—

BOOM!

A fist to the face.

CRACK!

A knee to the ribs.

SLASH!

Abaddon's claws raked across Dagon's chest, tearing through flesh and armor alike. Blood splattered across the charred ground.

Dagon coughed violently, staggering. His vision swam. His body screamed in agony.

But he refused to fall.

He couldn't fall.

He reached for the root of the Tree of Eden—

Abaddon clicked his tongue. "Tch. Enough of that."

SWISH!

He sliced off his other arm.

Dagon's eyes widened. "N—No!"

"Yes." Abaddon said with a grin.

He raised his blade.

Dagon, barely able to breathe, locked eyes with him one last time.

"Goodbye, mortal."

Then—

SHING!

The his sword cleaved him in half.

For a moment, the world was silent.

Then—

A geyser of blood erupted.

Dagon's body collapsed, lifeless.

Abaddon exhaled, letting his blade rest on his shoulder. He glanced down at the severed arm, at the divine root still clenched in its fingers.

With a smirk, he plucked it from the dead warrior's grasp.

"Now," he murmured, twirling it between his fingers.

"Let's see what his majesty thinks of this."

....

....

Jareth's fingers trembled as he reached for the bloodstained sword lying before him.

His breath was ragged, his vision blurred by sweat and blood, but his resolve did not waver.

He tightened his grip on the hilt, using the blade to push himself up from the battlefield littered with the corpses of his fallen man.

His armor was cracked, his body battered, but still, he stood.

Arkanos loomed before him like a golden titan, his aura burning brighter than ever.

The Emperor's green eyes pulsed with divine power, an overwhelming presence that made the air itself feel suffocating.

The battlefield had fallen silent except for the faint moans of the dying and the wet squelch of blood pooling in the dirt.

Jareth's chest heaved as he steadied himself. "I will not fall so easily," he growled, his voice hoarse from pain. "Even if I stand alone… I will fight to my last breath!"

Arkanos sighed, almost disappointed. "Your courage is admirable, but futile. You do not stand alone, Jareth. You stand surrounded by the corpses of your men, their blood spilled in a war they never had a chance of winning." He took a slow step forward, his boots crushing broken weapons beneath them. "Even now, you cannot see the truth? There was never hope for you."

Jareth let out a desperate battle cry, lunging forward with everything he had left. His blade slashed through the air, a last, defiant strike aimed for the Emperor's throat.

CLANG!

Arkanos barely moved. His holy sword rose in a flash, effortlessly parrying Jareth's strike with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. The sheer force of the impact sent Jareth staggering backward.

Before he could recover—

BAM!

Arkanos's armored fist crashed into Jareth's gut, sending him skidding across the battlefield like a broken doll. He coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips as he struggled to lift himself once more.

"Still standing?" Arkanos mused, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. I'll grant you a warrior's death."

He raised his sword, golden flames erupting along its pristine white blade. With a flicker of motion, he closed the distance between them.

BOOM!

The ground cracked as Arkanos brought his sword down. Jareth barely managed to raise his own blade in time—

SHHHHRK!

A sharp pain shot through his arms as his sword was cleaved in two. The force sent him crashing to his knees, his hands shaking as he stared at the broken remains of his weapon.

Arkanos towered over him, his blade raised high, glowing like a second sun.

"It's over," the Emperor declared.

Jareth clenched his teeth, gripping the shattered hilt of his sword. "No… not yet…"

With the last of his strength, he lunged, aiming to drive the jagged remains of his weapon into Arkanos's chest—

FWOOOSH!

A golden arc of divine power slashed through the air.

For a moment, silence.

Then—

SPURT!

Blood sprayed into the air as Jareth's vision swam. A searing pain tore through his body.

He looked down.

A gaping wound ran across his torso, blood staining his once-pristine armor. His knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, his fingers twitching as he tried to hold onto something—anything.

Arkanos exhaled, lowering his blade as he watched his enemy fall.

"You fought well," he said. "But this is your end."

Jareth's breath was shallow, his consciousness fading. His eyes darted toward the sky.

"Maria…" he whispered. His wife's name. The thought of her, of the child they would never meet, brought the faintest of smiles to his lips.

Then, his body went still.

The battlefield was silent once more.

Arkanos let out a slow breath, shaking the blood from his sword before sheathing it. His glowing green eyes swept over the ruined battlefield, taking in the lifeless forms that littered the ground.

"Burn the bodies," he commanded, his voice carrying across the field. "Let this be a message to those who still dare oppose me."

His knights saluted, moving quickly to obey. Fires were lit, and soon the scent of burning flesh filled the air, smoke rising toward the heavens.

Arkanos turned away, his golden aura dimming as he began walking toward the horizon.

The battle was over.