The Darklight Project — Roleplayer Guild

H'kela - Field of Battle

It was with no small amount of pain that Christopher brought himself up to his knees. Though his body was struggling as rapidly as it could to heal the severed flesh at his elbows, they still dangled uselessly at either side as he slowly straightened up, head rolling back some as he looked towards the sky. He was getting tired and drained, the constant strain of fighting and healing finally starting to become unbearable. His entire body was aching, and breathing was no longer coming as naturally as it once was.

And he knew it wasn't even over yet, him looking back forwards just in time for a kick to hit his jaw. With a grunt he fell back heavily, ears throbbing as he landed against the ground with a rough grunt. Even as he attempted to sit back up the same foot came down, pinning him down by the left arm, the heel driving into the down into the gaping wound in the elbow and forcing him to cry out. Down the Advisor leaned over him, hideously disfigured with her wounds, and in the cracks of her mask he could see her teeth grit tightly, some of them broken.

"You have been a thorn in my side all day. I'm going to enjoy this."

"Go fuck yourself."

She turned, and her other foot pinned him down by his throat. She crouched down, one hand reaching down to grab his left arm by the wrist. The simple movement of it being lifted was enough to make him grunt, but when she began to pull he cried out, choked at first, but soon enough he began to more actively scream as she began to pull with more and more force. Soon, the sound of bone cracking and tendons snapping became mixed with the cries, and useless he tried swinging his other arm over, weakly trying to bat her away.

And then, with one last scream, his arm suddenly came away at the elbow, the Advisor staggering back with the force of the pull. As blood once again flowed freely, pooling beneath him, he screeched again as he held the stump up, eyes widened as he looked upon it. Even as the Advisor straightened, black flowed over the severed limb, and in front of his eyes the cloth and flesh alike began to crumble away.

Calmly, the Advisor threw the body part away, before reaching down for the other arm as Christopher struggled to sit up once again.

Cyril Versus Gartian: Heavy is the Head - Zac Brown Band

The Prince and King had clashed in the very beginning of the battle, and their fight remained in the center of it all. As soon as the first attempted blows landed were quickly followed by disengagement, the two went at each other’s' throats without reprieve. With both hands the Prince used the Gift, slashing and hacking at the King with a hateful sort of force, and with glee Gartian blocked with either the sword or the pike, countering with the other.

To begin with, others tried to interrupt their battle, but the lesson was learned quickly. The first to try and end the fight prematurely were the H'kelans, who rushed to the aid of their King; with his left arm the Prince had knocked the pike to the side, barreling closer to the other man and knocking him back. One man went directly to the King, while the other two went towards the Prince with their weapons raised. They never stood a chance, two slashes well aimed slashes cutting at the places the armor didn't quite cover under their arms and at their sides. The Gift was truly fearsome as a weapon.

Gartian's hand came up, grabbing the soldier who was supporting him by the soldier, and with a wild cry suddenly thrust the man forwards, sending him staggering at the Prince. Neither the Prince nor the poor soldier were ready for it, especially as Gartian leapt forwards, practically standing on the man as he fell, slashing at both him and the Prince in the same moment. The man was killed, but the Prince was only slashed in the shoulder as he jumped back and away. 

Barceans attempted to interfere next, considering the sort of unspoken truce of single combat between the rulers to be broken, but the Prince's warning of, "No!" didn't come fast enough before they were upon the King. It shouldn't have been necessary, but when faced with four men at once Gartian suddenly flew into a mad rage, cackling and screaming away as he flew back and forth. Blood flew, followed by the tips of ears and fingers, and then weapons fell as he brutally slaughtered them all, beating one down with the pike before sticking his sword in the other, leaving both weapons as he leapt forwards to the third and put out the woman's eyes with thumbs, before throwing her own axe at the fourth.

The King reached his weapons in time to stab the main who had first been hit with the pike, and then turn to face the Prince as he struck out with a yell. The pike was brought up, held horizontally to block the blow, but before Gartian could react Cyril swung once more. A sharp crack rang out as the pike broke along the middle, the upper half falling; out Cyril's hand snapped, catching it before suddenly swinging the handle across Gartian's face, who yelped like a dog as he staggered back and Cyril stepped away.

Throwing the lower half to the side, he whirled back to face Cyril, but suddenly stopped as he watched the Prince. Cyril carefully pulled the head of his sister from the pike, dropping the half of the broken weapon he had in the process. The King of H'kela laughed.

"Souvenir, BOY?!"

He was completely ignored as the Prince reached up to carefully remove the cape from his side, using it to wrap around the head completely. In a sort of shock Gartian watched as the Prince turned his back on the King entirely, simply taking a few steps away. Ever since the slaughter on both sides, a bubble of space had appeared around him, as both sides of the battle seemed intent on staying away from the two members of royalty; the Prince was able to carefully set down the bundle, turning back towards Gartian.

"Turning you back on ME?! ME?! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU IF I WANTED TO BE BORED!"

"No, you couldn't have."

The blood was pounding so thickly in his ears that Christopher nearly missed the yelling, and it was the Advisor's sudden turn that cued him in on it. Suddenly, she was shoved from him as Sampson slammed into her with his shield, sending her from Christopher. In that next moment he felt himself being lifted up and forwards, back onto his knees; a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, followed by a gruff voice that said: "Relax, my friend, take it easy. You've done more than enough."

Gortul threw himself forwards into the fray then, even as Sampson flew backwards and landed in front of Christopher, a deep rut in the shield but the black lines upon it pulsing almost violently. Alasa stepped into view, one of the dark and silver tipped arrows set on the string. Up the bow came, a brief pause followed, and then the arrow was fired even as Gortul suddenly lunged out of the way with a low, spinning strike, axe shining brightly with the motion.

The Advisor's head turned, and because of that the arrow pierced her ear rather than striking her through the eye. Immediately on the moment of impact the arrow suddenly dissolved into red, before bursting forwards in a violent blast that shot past the Advisor's head. With it, her ear and a sizeable portion of hair and flesh were burned away, the woman shrieking.

Sampson rushed forwards to join Gortul, all while Alasa circled around to the side. Christopher, meanwhile, took a sort of growling breath as he tried to stand, only to fall back to his knees again. His one arm kept him from falling forwards entirely, but slowly he looked over to the stump once again. With the glance came a tremble, not one of pain or fear; it was rage, his vision tinted red as his fist clenched on the ground.

Suddenly, he felt a brief, gentle embrace, followed by soft pats on the head. His eyes briefly widened, and he looked sharply over his shoulder. There stood Calypso, her usual smile on her face as she continued to pat his head.

Slowly, he took a deep breath of air, the tension in his body relaxing ever slightly. He nodded, and finally managed to stand up with the help of Calypso. In front of them, there was a scream as black roared upwards, the three Sentinels launched back and away from the fight as the Advisor surged from the pillar, her whip flashing.

Christopher's arm went down to the white blade at his side. "Let's end this shit already."

Both of Calypso's hands came up as Christopher rushed forwards. Straight at the Advisor he went, no deception or trick in mind; the most he did was jerk his head to the side as her whip lashed out at him, striking him across the shoulder and cheek. Briefly he staggered, and in that moment he saw Calypso rush past him towards the side, but still he pressed forwards, unyielding.

The next blow that the Advisor brought up never fell. Her arm was raised high, but suddenly it stopped in place, and confusion washed over her expression. Suddenly, the whip fell from her hand as it was yanked out to the side, the other arm being pulled in the opposite direction even as she was lifted off the ground slightly, legs pulled taut as well. For a brief moment, it looked like there was nothing there, but as Christopher got closer he saw the light glinting from the wires.

Both he and the Advisor looked over to the side where Calypso stood, her arms held up and crossed in front of her, palms facing forwards as her fingers were curled and she beamed away, whisps of light reflecting all around her.

"NO-"

The Advisor's shriek was drowned out as Christopher's hand clenched down on the blade, and a roar ripped forth as Christopher's flesh tore, starting with the splitting of his nails and travelling up his fingers, hand, and arm. He did not retreat at the bite, and with a yell of his own drew the blade. The sword gleamed brightly, shining white as he swung it out to the side and up; the ground split in a line in the direction he had drawn it up then, stretching for yards.

"GET OUT OF HERE YOU BITCH!"

Down he swung, and the blade cut down through her flesh at a diagonal. As she was cut just above the arm, down across her torso to the opposite hip, the blade roared again as the ground behind her split and cracked. Even as his swing finished Calypso drew her hands down sharply, separating them from each other and holding them low and back. All along the Advisor's arms below the elbow and her legs below the knee the wires that held her in place began to tighten frightfully, and then in an instant sliced through with seemingly no resistance. Chunks, carved smooth but into odd shapes and angles thanks to the crisscrossing of the wires, fell with the Advisor's body as a whole.

The woman gave one long, extended scream, a bloody shriek that was directed not just the two of them, but everyone who had opposed her that day. Throughout the battle, the corpses that had been brought up suddenly fell once more, and the H'kelans trembled.

Back Christopher staggered, nearly dropping the blade, but his gripped tightened once more as the Advisor began to thrash upon the ground. With difficult she turned her body over, and without hands attempted to crawl pitifully from the piles of her own flesh. Just a foot in front of her the very air seemed to crack before shattering, revealing a black maw, but even then it took her agonizing moments to crawl through and for the hole to seal up behind her.

Christopher did not try to prevent her passage, and Calypso followed his example. She realized that had probably been a mistake when he suddenly fell straight backwards.

The royalty intent on killing each other in varying degrees of hot and cold blood had fought hard and without rest. Again and again they threw themselves at each other, and each time they came away with some small wound for each encounter; Cyril with a cut above his left eye that continued to bleed down into it, Gartian with a slash across the back of his hand, and so on. It was a miracle that each strike didn't end with someone losing a limb or a life, but always at the last second one would block or dodge away.

The strange shape of Gartian's blade, the way it cut back and forth as if in imitation of a lightning bolt, worked to the King's advantage. When their blades slid across one another he was able to catch the Prince's weapon, holding it still as he lashed in some other way such as with a punch or kick; once he even bit, gnashing his teeth as the Prince pulled away physically to avoid the sudden and surprising movement, which just made Gartian cackle.

With one such disengage there was a slight stumble in step, one that Gartian immediately saw and took advantage of. With a howl he leaped forwards, and with wild, arcing strikes he tried to butcher the Prince then and there. The Prince brought the Gift up time and time again to defend, but every once in a while a blow snuck its way past, carving into his arm here and his side there.

"DO YOU FEEL IT KINGLING?! DO YOU FEEL YOUR DEATH BREATHING DOWN YOUR NECK?!"

Cyril didn't respond to the Rabid King's ramblings. Instead, he simply snarled, hands gripping the Gift much more tightly. Suddenly he deflected, twisting his sword to the side and forcing Gartian to bring his attack to a stop. He struck once, twice, thrice from above, and upon the third blow he broke Gartian's blade. As the King of H'kela stumbled the Prince drew his blade back, and red energy suddenly appeared along his wrist, jumping forwards along his hand and onto the blade. There, it suddenly moved much more quickly, leaping and gathering to the tip as Cyril stabbed forwards.

Deep into the chest of the Gartian the Gift sank, and there was a brief moment before the red energy suddenly exploded through his back, arcing beyond him and upward. His body trembled as left over red crackled over him each spot it touched being rapidly eaten away; cloth crumbled and skin sizzled and faded. Despite all of this, Gartian uttered not a single cry of pain. The Prince ripped his blade back and The Mad King staggered, before falling backwards. A wide grin was on his face as he looked up towards the sky, a blank haze in his eyes. Weakly he chuckled, and with it came flecks of blood.

"Eh heh heh... Ah, it's good to see that things never change. Your stupid Queen preached peace, peace, peace, and look what happened when she died: you went straight back to the slaughter." He managed to tilt his head forwards, to watch Cyril as he approached, the young man's expression grim. "You especially, boy. You were ready to butcher even before she was dead, never mind before her body started to get cold. You know what the means, right?" His body slowly relaxed, even as his head tilted back again, and the hole in his chest continued to grow thanks to the hungry red. "You're no different from me, or any of the rest of these wild bastards all around us. We're all animals. We'll devour each other at the first opportunity."

"Silence." The Gift came down on Gartian's head.

H'kela - The Oasis

With the death of the King of H'kela, the war had ended; everything that followed were merely formalities. The resistance put up by the H'kelans after the death of their ruler, the man who had dragged them out there through either fear or some twisted sense of duty, rapidly crumbled. In a matter of minutes weapons were being thrown down as men and women fled or simply threw themselves down and begged for their lives. In a way there was no need to beg, as no butchering came from the Barceans and Guratans. Only a victorious cheer rose through the ranks, swelling as the battlefield ceased to boil.

The rest of the day passed in rest, and the next day they were moving once again in force. They expected no resistance and received none, moving quickly because of it. Their goal was the Oasis, with certain postwar matters to take care of, and they reached it within the day.

The Oasis was a slightly deceptive name, as it was actually made up of several oases rather than just one. However, the location of the palace was along the largest of them, and therefore the source of the name. A great wall made of sand the color of stone was built around the entire area, encompassing all of the oases, and normally would have meant a controlled passage, or none at all. However, the news of the loss of the King had come before them, and the walls stood undefended, the gates left open. Perhaps, if the victors had been led by anyone else, the reaction would have been different, but even the H'kelans knew there would be no pillaging.

The Prince and the three Chieftains moved at the front of the column that filled the main street of the Oasis. All around them buildings that, for the most part, were built low to the ground had H'kelans who looked on in either fear or hope, some expecting the tension to break into looting and others thinking that a change had finally come. To the Palace they went, which was easily the tallest building in the entire Oasis; set in the western part of the Oasis, the stone was just lighter than the sand that was all around, set in three ascending tiers. Pillars were everywhere along the outer edge of each tier, with archways leading within the palace itself.

Even as Cyril dismounted at the entrance, he said (to those that were in the condition to come along), "Chieftains, Sentinels, friends; find everyone you can and bring them to the throne room. No killing if possible, but defend yourselves as necessary. Who knew what happened here before we arrived."

When the self-decided messengers arrived in bursts back at the Oasis and the news began to spread, one of the first places it reached was the palace and those within. Immediately, violence had broken out in the hallways, the tradition of a bloody race for power still held strongly by the H'kelans. Anyone with even the slightest excuse of being the next ruler, or those who had been grooming others for the role, immediately set out to try and slaughter those who would oppose them. The time for the subtle use of politics to force a banishment or execution, or the slightly more direct route of poison, was gone; it was the time for cold steel.

No one was safe. Servants who simply wanted to live were forced to flee and hide for their lives, the idea of a witness being highly frowned upon as each faction tore each other to shreds. Those in power who chose to not act, or did not feel they were strong enough to try and force a claim upon the throne, withdrew to their own areas of the castle, and set their defenses in case one of the rivals became overzealous. 

None of the factions had any spawn of Gartian behind them. Though there had been plenty made with the unfortunate concubines, almost none of them had survived beyond their seventh year, killed by so called accidents of disease to the seeming regret of the entire palace. Only one child had survived to live past her twentieth year, but the popular opinion was that she was not suited to the throne; all knew she preferred her strange activities rather than politics.

Her existence, however, was still seen as a threat in that moment, at least to one faction. Ten men were sent to deal with her, and headed toward where her room was in the lower part of the palace, well out of the way of what had been Gartian's usual trails. Her door, despite the fact it stood alone in the hallway, was simple and unassuming, and gathered together the ten assassins prepared to rush in and finally end her life.

When the one in the lead touched the handle a black pulse surged from the door down the hallway entirely, and the suddenly dead men fell immediately, all that was left of their bodies were skeletons that had the appearance of being dead for many years with light steam rising from the bones. Within, the dark mark made with a mixture of the juices from ground fungi, horse blood, and human saliva pulsed briefly, before becoming a simple mark made of unpleasant substancees once again.

She had been the first to receive a message regarding the King's demise, having allowed a bat (which seemed irked somewhat by the sunlight, but otherwise quite calm) into her room through the window merely minutes after his death. After receiving the message from the cold and reserved voice she recognized, she had plenty of time to prepare her defenses, knowing that her life may very well be in danger. The curse set into the door, though brutally powerful, was simple in execution; it activated merely upon contact with someone or something with the slightest desire to harm.

Cyril was not aware of this the next day, as he progressed through the hallways on his own. Though the others had insisted on coming with him, it took him a little time and some soft words followed by slightly sharper commands to move off on his own. It was not anything against those who wanted to protect him, and make sure he remained safe; he simply wanted some time to think alone, and judging from the number of corpses they had found upon entering the palace and the silence that was prevalent the fighting had been over for a long while.

He had not met anyone living as he made his way through the hallways, just innocents or combatants alike dead here and there. The fighting had clearly been as vicious as any sort of battle, and part of the Prince regretted not pushing on to the Oasis immediately after the battle while the other part knew that the rest had been necessary. Each door he opened, checking the contents within carefully, before he moved on. When he reached the door with the ten piles of bones surrounding it he may have briefly paused, but still on he pressed, hand going to the handle.

Within the room, the symbol on the inside of the door burned away as it swung open. Within, the first thing the Prince saw were the bookshelves that lined the walls with many old, strange books within them; the next thing he saw were the piles of books on the floor, almost creating a maze of pillars to step through. There were not many pieces there that made it seem more like a room that anyone lived in rather than a library in miniature; there was a bed and a nightstand, nothing more.

On the bed he finally saw her, brow furrowing some as he finally found the first living soul in a while. She sat, slightly hunched over a large book. Her hair was long and a very dark shade of black, her skin quite pale in contrast. Her entire body was covered in a sheer, dark fabric, but thicker and darker cloth covered with gold maintained her modesty, along with the heavy cloak that could be wrapped around her. Even after he entered she ignored him in favor of turning a page as her sharp nails glinted.

"Who are you?"

Faint lavender eyes finally looked up to him, but only after they finished the page they had been on.

Their time in the Oasis took the rest of the day. The survivors were gathered to the throne room as the Prince had requested, and those who had weapons were forced to either cast them down or be cut down themselves. With the leaders of the surviving factions gathered, a mix of generals, counselors, and the like, discussion of the terms of surrender began, and they passed without resistance on the part of the H'kelans; what could they do with a power army within their borders?

Of them all, Yihira seemed to be the one most excited to raid the treasure coffers, and when the affair was done they left, with the Prince leaving a few choice words behind: "If anyone like Gartian rises to power again, I'll put them in the dirt as well." There was only one other thing they needed to retrieve, and that was in a nearby temple: Kori's body, which was carefully covered to be carried in the departing forces.

With the departure of the Barceans and Guratans, the H'kelans that remained immediately went to the meeting room for the next difficult decision to be made; who would rule. More factions had survived than anyone had anticipated, and they all had equally strong claims to the throne through distant blood relation in the mother's line, the father's line, by the inconsistent favor Gartian was known for, by wealth, by military power. The argument rapidly heated as everyone clamored to be heard over everyone else, and once more it looked like daggers and swords would be drawn-

And then, suddenly, everything went quiet. As a new presence, without any sort of sound, made themselves known. Many of them had only heard of her, but the Lady of Demons had a certain aura around her that just couldn't be mistaken for. In the darker room her glowing red eyes gleamed, and what little light there was reflected off her silver hair as she smirked.

"Look at you all, so eager now that the Rabid King is finally gone. You think it is now your time, to turn H'kela into something of your own making, to reclaim glory lost in Gartian's mad bid for even more. You're fools, the lot of you. None of your kings or queens will last; most of their reigns will be shorter than Gartian's." The already dark smirk became even darker. "And just how many of you have been bought by the Manu Propria? Threatened, or otherwise manipulated and influenced? You are all the cancer in the weakly pulsing heart of the nation. None of you have a claim worth examining, save for me, with one who has blood directly from the King herself."

The Lady of Demons' hand came up, and from the shadows she had been hiding herself in the sole surviving daughter of Gartian stepped forwards. At her side she still held the large, heavy book that she had been reading when found hours before and in the time since then where she had remained out of sight, and at her presence most of those within the room tensed. However, even as weapons were drawn, people preparing to not only attack but to defend themselves as the tension finally snapped.

The teeth of Lady Renata were suddenly exposed as her smirk split into a grin.

"Long live Queen Revali."

Suddenly the shadows leaped upwards with teeth and claws. In an instant they turned on the men and women who had once owned them all while Revali watched, never blinking.

Barcea - The Capitol

The trip back to the Capitol took one full, long day of travel. About halfway through the forces of the Guratans broke away from the Barceans, heading back towards the north with Seryosa in the lead on Whiskers; Kisarin and Yihira, meanwhile, remained with the Prince. When they arrived in the Capitol, the wave of cheering was quickly dulled into silence as what was so clearly the covered body of the Queen appeared, and the weeping began soon afterwards. Cyril held his head high, but didn't stop until they reached the castle.

Preparations for the funeral began immediately, and it was held the next day. In the greatest church in the Capitol, dedicated specifically to Ambrosia, the service was held as the enormous structure was packed to the brim with Barceans. No one attempted to silence those who cried; it would have been impossible to do so any way. It was the Paladin himself who spoke, and easily his voice could be heard over all:

"It was no small amount of sorrow we say farewell to Queen Kori Serio. It is a sad time, so weep for the loss. No one will blame you for showing your tears, so let them flow freely. Let them be the greatest display of love you have ever given for this woman, if you have been otherwise unable to. The Queen was certainly taken us far too early; she had already accomplished so much in five years, but there was so much more that she wanted to do for all."

He brought both hands up, holding them out to either side as light continued to shine brightly through the windows. "The man who took her from us has already met the fate he deserved, and let it end there. Do not give into the hate that may come with grief; there is no need for it. Instead, be like Kori, and turn your feelings towards love instead. Be the patron of Ambrosia that your Queen was, and indeed still is. Come, let us pray."

Both hands came down, held together. "Dear Divines up above, we thank you for Queen Kori Serio. Her time with us was a welcome respite from the cold that this world seems so fond of returning to. Let us always remember how she was, and strive to be like her: to be gentle, to be caring, to be calm, to be patient, and to be loving. Keep both her and her memory safe, for all time. Praise be."

For one last time the Queen's body was lifted, carried in its coffin. She was returned to the castle, with the royals, the Sentinels and their allies, the guard, and the two Chieftains, and together they all went beneath the castle, into the catacombs beneath. Deep within the tunnels they went, and though they were dark they were extremely clean and organized, with statues of white stone set into the walls, where the bodies rested within. This ceremony was completely silent, in comparison to the one that had come immediately before; carefully the Queen's body was set within the alcove cleared for her, one man and one woman standing on either side of it.

Then, everyone was allowed to say their final farewells, one at a time. The Prince simply watched as each person stepped forwards one at a time to look wordlessly down upon Kori, before turning to leave the catacombs entirely. His turn was the exception to the rule; he went together with Ayano, one arm held around her as she trembled. As he looked down, her hand shakily went forwards to run her fingers over the face of her older sister one last time, stopping only when they felt the cloth draped over the left side of the face. It was a beautiful blue cloth that matched the dress she was in that the Queen had been carefully covered with in some places, concealing the wounds that had killed her and the mutilation that had come afterwards as if they hadn't been there at all with a wrap and a veil. Of what they could see, the right side of the Queen's face was clean, beautiful, and perfectly at rest.

The Prince and Princess turned, beginning to leave, but even in that moment someone passed them, and Cyril stopped in his surprise. He turned in time to see two figures, one much taller than the other, standing at the body, and he recognized them both: The Lady of Demons, and the Lady of the Abyss.

The Divine quietly shed her tears freely, but Lady Renata simply looked down. Eventually, her hand came up, and with it was a deeply red rose with a silver tinge. This flower was carefully placed upon Kori's breast, and the moment Renata's hand left it the color began to shift, becoming the bright, beautiful blue that the Queen was known for. The two took a step back then, but as the Divine turned while dabbing at her eyes the Lady of Demons continued to face the body, and slowly she looked to those who stood on either side of the space.

"Allow me."

Both bowed, and quickly left, passing the Divine in the process; they had no idea who she was, clearly, only rightfully assumed that she was welcome as a guest. The Lady of Demons brought both hands up, and shadows slowly flowed forth, up into the space where Kori's body rested and then over it; they solidified, and black stone was left behind that shone even in the dark. The Lady turned only afterwards, and nodded towards the Prince even as he bowed his head in thanks.

"You do not have to say anything. Come, we have a coronation to reach."

Up they went, and the event of the day that Cyril had been so desperate to delay until later, a suggested that was refused by anyone with even the slightest amount of political power, began. Held within the throne room, it was once again a space filled with Barceans, so many that they spilled out into the hallway and through the entrance of the castle. A clear space was set through the middle, and it was through this that the Prince slowly walked. Once more he held his head high, and did his best not to glance to either side, to look at the still somewhat saddened but now hopeful people.

Up to the throne he stepped, where the Sentinels and a few others waited, such as Alsius. It was the Direwolf who stood directly next to the throne, and next to him was a small, beautifully crafted box laid with gold. Slowly, Cyril took one knee in front of the throne, with his head bowed low, and Alsius spoke.

"The Queen is dead." He reached down, and from the box carefully lifted a crown. It was made of gold, and was set in thick curving designs, one with sudden points directed upwards. There were no jewels or anything of the like set within, it was simply made of gold.

"Long live the King!" As Alsius' words, spoken like a command, were echoed by all within the room, he set the crown upon the new King's head. Cyril rose, stepped forwards, and then turned to sit upon the throne.

Cyril Serio took the throne in the early fall, twenty-two days after the first sign of violence on the border, and what would technically be considered the beginning of the last war with H'kela.

Theme of the Manu Propria: Deacons of the Deep - Nobuyoshi Suzuki

Unknown

She sat within the chair that she had been rolled in on, given very little choice in the matter; it was still too dangerous to actively lift her very often from one place to another, the wound across her chest stubbornly refusing to even begin to heal. The ends of her severed limbs still ached painfully, so much so that she was often curled in on herself for hours at a time, combined with the pain of her torso. In that moment though, the Advisor refused to show such weakness...

Even if she wanted to flee in fear. All around her sat many masked faces, some wearing black robes and some wearing white, each of them murmuring to each other. In front of her sat large, smoothly cut platforms of stone, three in total on top of each other, each rising up no less than four yards high in sheer walls before the next level. On the first two levels sat five chairs each, with each spread out in no organized order across the platforms; what was on the third platform was completely obscured by a thick, sinister smoke that slowly curled out with its tendrils, grey and purple mixing within.

"Explain yourself." The voice came from somewhere on the second platform, and the reply came from one on the first:

"How can she possibly? There's no other way to put it: She failed miserably!" A third voice followed:

"She has left us in a troublesome situation. Now there's someone else with Her powers, and it took nine of us to put the last one down after he became fully realized."

A conversation began between ten voices at once, and for a moment the Advisor was forgotten. Just as quickly she became the focus again, however:

"Explain yourself."

The Advisor stopped herself from trying to stand, and simply spoke instead. "The situation rapidly spun out of control. We underestimated Gartian and his desire to destroy-"

"We? No, we knew very well just how proactive he would be. You, on the other hand, loosened his leash."

"There was nothing I could do. The interference from Her was much too-"

"These sound like nothing but a load of excuses-"

And then, suddenly, everyone speaking was interrupted as someone seemed to simply appear right in front of the Advisor. He was a man of average height but rather thin build, and his hair was deeply black that went to his shoulder. The robes he wore were pure white, his skin so unnaturally pale it matched the shade, and his eyes had the faintest glimmer of green in them, but were otherwise so dark the appeared black. A curved half-mask covered the left side of his face, and the gaze from his right eye was, in a word, uninterested.

He looked like a certain sketch in a certain black book that belonged to a certain demoness, but he did not have a white blade at his side.

Before she could gasp he moved, one hand coming up with his fingers lightly curved; down it carved at an angle, following along the slice that had been made by the rage-inducing boy with the blade. Her eyes widened as he carved through her body like paper, and a strangled scream barely left her before the messy halves of her body were separated from each other entirely, the top half falling forwards heavily while the lower one slumped in the chair.

Those on the lowest level stayed utterly silent, while those on the first two platforms immediately brought their voices up again with various exclamations and questions such as, "Why did you do that?!"

He did not answer.

"Because I asked him to, my brothers and sisters." The voice, which was both soft and loud at the same time, like two voices, one whispering and the other booming, intertwined together inseparably. It was neither male nor female, more like metal and stone grinding together, distorted and unnatural sounding. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, surrounding each person on all sides, a paradox of sound, but every single one of them knew to look to the third platform up above, where the faint outline of one last figure in a throne could be seen.

"Yes, I asked him too. There was nothing else our fallen sister could tell us that I do not know. Have faith in me, and do not worry. This does very little to change our plans, and is in fact a boon; after all, we know who the Chosen King is now, rather than waiting for him to appear out of the blue, pardon my phrase. Come, calm yourselves, and relax. Let us discuss how to break him and everyone he knows."

Elsewhere

"My Lord, the new King has been crowned at Barcea. We are prepared to act on your orders, but..."

"Don't worry, I'm feeling good today, I just had a nice long soak. Tell me, what's the perceived problem?"

"The Phantasm is confirmed in his presence, and it seems like he will not be leaving-"

"The Phantasm?!" Hands of metal reached forwards, gripping the messenger by the throat and lifting him up to golden-orange eyes that blazed with excitement. "He will be staying?! Excellent, I wouldn't have it any other way!"

Arc One Complete
The Darklight Project Member

Them Done Horrid Murder on Bloody Stages

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