It took 24 nights to reach the Zone, and when they arrived, the horizon of the Zone emerged as the first lights of dawn began to tint the sky, an orange hue that seemed to anticipate the imminent fire. Jack Rungo's march was methodical, cold, each step, the power he imposed on those who dared challenge him, and even on those who simply followed him.
The Fronkilas, strategically positioned, kept their weapons ready. On the flanks, the ships flew in deadly silence, like predators lying in wait. The rest of the population walked behind, many with faces downcast, while others clung to the hope that submission would spare them from destruction. But Jack knew that hope was the sweetest of weaknesses.
Upon reaching Zone C, Jack Rungo raised his right fist, a gesture that instantly paralyzed the crowd. The stillness was unsettling, interrupted only by the sound of the wind cutting through the ruins and the soft footsteps of Eseron, who was approaching to give the report.
"My king, the scouts have identified defensive barriers scattered across the main entrance and two forward posts on the eastern side. Zone C is armed, but they don’t expect us anytime soon. We can catch the defenders off guard."
Jack took a deep drag from his cigar before letting out a puff that slowly spread, as if the very air hesitated to touch the tyrant's lips.
"If they don't expect us, they’ll have less time to surrender. That's good. Eseron, attack the forward posts with your front line. I want fire and screams. Alphen, bring up the rear to prepare the artillery. Lessa and Trovan, coordinate the civilians. They’ll serve as our initial barrier."
Eseron smiled maliciously, banging his fist against his chest in a sign of obedience before disappearing into the shadows. Jack stood still, watching the terrain ahead like a cold, calculating strategist. The sky was getting brighter, but to him, the light was nothing more than another tool; the shine of victory was already more intense in his mind.
The Fronkilas advanced with ferocity. Explosions lit up the front line as Eseron led his men with brutal efficiency. The forward posts of Zone C collapsed quickly, a spectacle of smoke, flames, and debris sweeping across the landscape. The defenders' screams echoed, muffled by the sound of gunfire and the clinking of blades.
Jack, from far, watched the massacre with a smile. He felt that this was only the beginning.
"They'll fight more fiercely when they realize their survival is at stake," he murmured to himself before ordering, "Advance."
The civilians, used as shields, were pushed into the heart of the battle. Some tried to resist, but the Fronkilas didn’t hesitate to force them forward. The terror written on their faces fueled the machine that Jack had built.
In the heart of Zone C, a man appeared. Tall, with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes, he wore an ornate armor, covered in marks and tribal inscriptions. His name was Kraylan, the self-proclaimed king of Zone C, and he was no less feared by his followers than Jack was by his.
"Jack Rungo!" Kraylan shouted, his voice. "Finally, you bring your terror to my territory. Let’s see if the 'god' of Zone Z is as powerful as they say."
Jack advanced calmly, his eyes fixed on Kraylan. He removed the crossed swords from his back, spinning them with ease as though the weight meant nothing to him.
"You talk too much for someone who is about to lose everything," Jack replied, his voice laden with disdain.
The two stared at each other for a moment that seemed to freeze time. Then, as if an invisible force propelled them, both charged. Jack’s swords clashed with Kraylan’s spear in an explosion of sparks. The metallic sound of battle sounded throughout Zone C as the two fought, each strike fiercer than the last.
Kraylan was a skilled warrior, his movements precise and relentless, but Jack fought like someone who had already surpassed the limits of humanity. He didn’t just attack; he dominated, anticipated, crushed.
After what seemed like an endless battle, Jack finally found an opening. With a swift movement, he drove one of the swords into Kraylan’s chest, cutting through the armor as if it were paper. Kraylan fell to his knees, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth as he looked at Jack with a mixture of hatred and resignation.
"You... are not a god. You are just a man... broken..." Kraylan murmured before succumbing.
Jack looked at his opponent’s lifeless body, the blood still dripping from his sword. He raised his arms, turning to his crowd.
"Zone C is ours!" he shouted, his voice booming.
The Fronkilas celebrated, but the victory had a bitter taste for the population of Zone Z, who had lost many during the attack. Jack, however, did not care. He was already thinking of his next conquest.
To be continued...