The Rift War wasn’t just a battle. It was an apocalypse.

  Two entire worlds — every nation, every race, every machine and spellcaster — committed themselves to full annihilation of the other. There were no civilians, no safe zones. Every city, forest, mountain, and ocean became a battlefield. From Earth’s deepest data vaults to the Arcane’s most ancient mana cores, everything burned.

  The death toll passed a billion in the first five years. And it never slowed down.

  When faced with a world of monsters and myth, Earth did what it always did best — it calculated, adapted, and retaliated. Ruthlessly.

  Earth owned the skies. Fighter jets cut through the upper atmosphere, travelling faster than sound — invisible to the naked eye, faster than any winged creature could react. Hypersonic missiles screamed across continents, obliterating enemy formations before they knew they'd been targeted.

  Drones, swarming like hornets, blanketed battlefields. Microdrones surveilled, hacked, and assassinated. No dragon, no matter how ancient or flame-wreathed, could outrun radar-lock. Sky serpents fell in clouds of fire. Griffins were torn apart mid-flight by railgun bursts travelling at Mach 6.

  The skies were Earth’s domain.

  Magic had fireballs. Earth had ICBMs.

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  Orbital bombardments rained tungsten rods at terminal velocity, each one striking with the force of a tactical nuke. Mountains were split down the middle. Floating fortresses fell like meteorites. The sky turned red with debris.

  Thermobaric warheads flattened ancient forests in a single breath of fire. Kinetic weapons erased entire regiments — not just killed, but unmade, bodies vaporized so quickly they left only shadows burned into the ground. Nuclear weapons were used sparingly, but when they were, the Arcane World wept. Entire provinces vanished in white fire.

  Where magic summoned chaos, Earth deployed precision devastation. Entire cities reduced to cratered scars. Rivers boiled. Skies choked with ash. Earth’s power wasn’t born of rage — it was cold, clinical, and absolute.

  Earth saw everything.

  Satellites mapped magical troop movements in real-time. AI processed trillions of data points per second, identifying anomalies, predicting spellcasting patterns, forecasting supply needs down to the bullet.

  Magic had oracles and seers. Earth had machine vision and predictive modelling. Oracles whispered riddles. AI predicted outcomes. Spellcasters dreamed of glory. Earth’s machines calculated victory probabilities down to the second.

  Battlefield AI didn’t sleep. It didn’t feel fear. It adapted. If a spell disrupted radar, it rerouted. If teleportation became a threat, it installed spatial interference towers. Each failure was logged. Each death fed the next evolution.

  Perhaps Earth’s greatest asset wasn’t its weapons, but its scale.

  Global factories ran day and night, churning out tanks, ammunition, drones, and aircraft. Robotics handled assembly, logistics, and repair. Naval fleets shipped entire bases across oceans. A single cargo drone could deliver precision parts to a mountaintop battlefield. 3D printers printed weapons on-site.

  Where the Arcane World conjured one golem, Earth manufactured a hundred tanks.

  Magic might win duels. Earth won wars.