Fifty of the most powerful warriors of the land of Maroden have finally pinned down the dragon king Baleroth, but at a terrible price. Bloodied and at their limits, the heroes started the campaign with over a thousand of the bravest and strongest warriors they could muster throughout the country, and it's still not enough to bring down the mighty dragon king.

Mages, Sword Masters, Paladins and Rogues from the different races of Humans, Elves, Dwarves and even Orcs have all joined together to stop the dragon king from destroying the world. It didn't matter anymore if they were allied with good or evil, because the fate of their very existence lies in the balance. It was the greatest alliance of heroes the world has ever seen… but only fifty are left that remained standing.

Arcas, the high Paladin and leader of the campaign clutches what's left of his right arm, his blood dripping down to the scorched earth like crimson raindrops. It was his brave sacrifice that gave the dragon king a mortal wound by plunging his holy sword, Fellsong deep into the dragon's throat, getting his arm ripped off in the process.

Arcas is an imposing man, standing at six foot two and weighing two hundred pounds of pure muscle, he commanded both the respect and awe of his fellow warriors. Gifted with a natural prowess for battle and holy magic. Bloodied and his magnificent armor shredded beyond repair, he rallied his allies to attack the wounded dragon.

"Now is the time! All of you, unleash everything! We end this now! DEATH TO THE DRAGON KING!" Arcas cried with conviction. His hard face grimacing through the pain, only his sheer will has kept him standing, refusing to succumb to his fatal wound.

"Death, DEATH, DEATH!" Shouted his remaining allies, their fiery spirits burning, emboldened by his courage and determination.

Like an angry tide, the heroes rushed the dragon. They don't care if they lived or died, they had already accepted the truth that they may not live to see another day. It doesn't matter anymore, as long as the world will survive long after their sacrifice has been made.

Baleroth knows he is done for, he knows he will die before the day ends. His malice and cruelty will all come to an end. A thousand years of existence and power accumulated throughout the centuries will forever be lost.

A scaly grin formed into his draconic snout… he won't go down alone.

Summoning all of his mana around his massive body, the dragon unleashed his final spell… a spell that would end his life. A spell so powerful that it rivals the sun itself.

A gigantic explosion followed. So powerful that the very heavens shook. The blast quickly spreads outward, turning everything on it's path to ash, all around a ten kilometer radius leaving nothing but a crater of black earth. Arcas, the heroes, their camp with their families and servants, the whores who tagged along to earn some coins, the farms around the area, the rivers, everything was gone from existence.

But the world was saved.

…………...

Suddenly, from the ashes, a naked girl unsteadily stands up. Her long straight black hair flowing with the hot wind, her lithe frame full of dirt and grime, her small breasts and slender hips, covered with ash.

The residual magic that still linger around the area, from the dragon and all the heroes who perished, suddenly rushed into the girl's slender frame, enveloping her whole body with mana so pure and concentrated that it lifted her from the ground and made her float in mid air. Her body glowed a bright white like a goddess being born. Slowly the light subsided and she gently floated down to the earth once more.

Slowly, she opens her eyes. Long eyelashes protected her dark brown eyes from the floating ash around her. A shocked expression crossed her beautiful face as she surveyed the devastation around her.

"This definitely doesn't look like Manila to me…" Jean muttered quietly.