First Chapter

Of both God and the Devil

“You… evil bastard,” cursed an Elf through her dying breaths. Her fingernails dug into the concrete as she dragged her limp body across the blood-soaked falls of her once impressive and mighty castle. Every word came with a small mouthful of blood; each time the taste of iron reminded her of what was at stake. She clutched tightly around the near-fatal wound around her stomach, almost as if trying to keep all the contents of her person from spilling out. “Ugh… don’t think. Don’t you dare think you’ll get away with… with this,” she struggled to find the words, yet her eyes reflected a vengeful vigour.

The one man alone she would never forgive. He was the one responsible for all this death and destruction. The very symbol of Elven society: The Arcane Citadel – the capitol – was crumbling down before her very eyes in a mystical, bluish flame. For a brief moment, if it hadn’t been for the fact that her home and three hundred years of history was burning down, she might’ve even thought it to be beautiful. A kind of magical flame she had never seen before – otherworldly. When it’s all over, the ruins of this city would become a monument to her failed responsibility. Would the people criticize her inability to defend her own city? Or would they mourn her as one might after seeing the devastations of a natural disaster? It was likely she’d never know.

“Get away with it?”  a young man parroted her words with a bemused scoff. He held a cool demeanour about him – or perhaps ‘cold’ was more apt – as he stared down onto her. A miserable dying sovereign. The thought of being known as the Last Queen scared her terribly deep down inside. If she were to die, then there was nothing she could do. At the very least, then, she wanted to properly grasp upon the true visage of the young man so she could haunt him proper as a vengeful spirit if not an Elf. Yet, even that was denied to her. Maybe it was due to her fatigue after losing so much blood but turning her head up to the man revealed only a jumbled and incomprehensible mess.

The man’s face was warped, like looking at an image through a broken mirror with each fragment reflecting a different face. The only thing constant about him was the long olive-drab coat adorned over his shoulders that stretched past his knees like a cape. She would never forget the scene as long as she would live: a devil’s coat flapping in the winds produced by the fires roasting her city.

“You should be thanking your lucky stars that getting away with it is the only thing I’m doing today,” he let out an ominous chuckle finishing that sentence. Even his voice wasn’t so clear. It wasn’t purely male but multiplexed as if entwined with the voices of an entire choir.

The Elven queen continued to drag her body across the floor as her pearly white dress and fair skin became dyed in her own blood. At this point, all she wanted was a small glimpse at the true face of this devil.

“Astraea!” interrupting her final moments, another stormed into the ruins of the former Elven capitol: a young Elf. “Bastard, what did you do to my mother?!” she yelled as she drew her sword and brought it up to the man’s throat.

‘Mother’, the word resonated within the queen’s mind. However, what she saw was not the precious and fair face of her daughter, but merely someone who greatly resembled her. Her eyes which previously glimmered with a magnificent clear emerald tint was now a deathly pale white. What was supposed to have been porcelain and healthy-looking skin was now an icy blue complexion hidden shamefully under a black hooded outfit. The transformation was so stark any casual observer would never have guessed the queen and this Elf shared blood.

The queen’s heart beat more rapid; how she so desperately wanted to see her daughter drive that thin longsword straight into the neck of this spiteful man, but she knew better than to vocalize that wish. The moment her daughter attempted it would mean the end of the Elves in this entire region. She believed if this devil could be appeased then at least some lives could be spared. As loathsome as he was, the man knew there was no merit to killing absolutely everyone.

“Are you betraying me?” the man asked in a slightly amused tone. It must’ve all seemed like one great joke to him. He gently brushed away the sword with a single finger and made his way next to her. “Is this not what you always wanted? The throne of the Elves is now open to you.”

“No! I never… I never wanted this! Any of this!” she protested.

“No? My dear, whatever the reasons, it was you who desired the seat of the sovereign. I believe your exact words were: ‘I need to correct the errant path my mother set for our kind’, wasn’t it? You needed the power to actualize that goal, and thus came to me.” He placed his hand over her shoulder and continued, “I’d like to think I was fairly transparent about the power coming at a cost.”

“Liar! You said you’d grant me the power to save my people, not enslave them!”

“I said no such thing about saving your people,” the man shook his head, still with the bemused smirk on his face. “All I said was that I’d grant you power. The power itself has no direction. It was up to you how you used it, and tell me, have you not grown stronger since? Have you not been able to slay dozens, if not hundreds, of your kin with that sword just as easily as you might stepping on ants?” He then stepped away from the two broken Elves and towards a ledge overlooking the desecrated cityscape. “Did you believe power like that came without a cost? No contract? No price? If so, then perhaps your mother was right about you being too naïve for the throne.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The sun set upon the horizon heralding not just the end of the day but also the end of the Elves as they had known for the past three hundred years.

“Just what is your goal? Why do all of this?!” the Elven princess yelled. She could not fathom the man’s thoughts.

“A vast army of newly created ‘Shadow Elves’, each with the strength and skill of a dozen regular Elves. As your followers have so wonderfully proven to me, they have the power to destroy entire states whilst sustaining negligible casualties. And all at my beck and call? Quite the tantalizing prize, isn’t it?”

“You think we’d listen to you after what you’ve made us do?” the princess snarled as she once more prepared her sword for combat.

In response the young man tossed over a small black pill. “One pill, every three months. If you refuse to take it then the rampant death magic dwelling in your bodies will slowly devour you from the inside and eventually kill you. This isn’t a curse, and there is no way to rid yourselves of this condition; it might be more accurate to call it an ‘evolution’ or ‘metamorphosis’. You’ve converted a little over 18 000 of your people into these new 'forms', and I’m the only one who can reproduce these pills.” The man walked over knowingly and unhesitatingly. He directed the princess’ sword right above his heart, “if you wish to see your followers slowly die, then be my guest and drive that sword through my heart. You’d become the hero who killed the monster that destroyed your country, but I won’t be going down alone.”

“You evil… son of a…”

“Now, if you wish to save your people instead, then…” he moved in closer to whisper into the princess’ ears and spoke in a voice still audible to the queen, “take the throne.”

“I’d become a puppet! What use is a throne if it’s subordinate to your evil?!”

The young man began to laugh, “and what use is a throne without subjects?” he then moved her sword and helped point it towards the queen. “I won’t repeat myself. Take the throne.”

Submitting to evil, mother and daughter stared at each other through the end of a sword. In recent years the queen had become so busy there was no time to properly sit down and gaze upon the face her daughter. That it came to all this just to get that opportunity brought nothing but shame and tears. “Mother,” the daughter whispered beneath her breath. Though it was different, the queen remembered this face. It wasn’t just that of her daughter’s, but a long time ago she had seen this same face in the mirror when it came for her to take up the throne. A face riddled with fatigue and unease.

‘If she can make that face then she’s finally ready’, the queen thought to herself. Becoming a sovereign meant one had to make tough choices, and the fact her daughter was ready to take on the burden and save her people was enough to give a brief moment of relief. “Miriam… Miriam Sanc Laplace, become a worthy queen. Though you may suffer today and tomorrow, I know that one day you’ll free our people from the devil’s grasp. And I’m sorry… for everything.”

“Don’t worry, mother. I’ll free our people one day,” with those words of conviction the princess raised her sword ready to strike down and end the life of her dear mother.

As the kin-killer blade swung down upon the helpless body of the Elven queen, it was suddenly intercepted by another interloper. This time it came in the form of a young boy looking older than ten or eleven. With a mischievous look about him he let out a comical sigh as if it wordlessly suggest ‘phew! Made it in time!’ With a metallic clang, the boy punched the blade away from the queen, saving her life.

“Wow, you Elves sure are hardcore. Going as far as matricide?”

“What are you doing?” the princess’ eyes sharpened with enmity resembling the one she had previously shown towards the man who forced her.

“That’s my question. Were you really going to kill your own mother?”

“Why are you asking me that?! You’re the reason this all happened!” she shouted.

The boy turned and examined the queen who had long given herself up and lost consciousness. With a magical touch the boy miraculously healed her wounds and steadied her breathing, enough to ensure her survival. “I’m the reason? Please, you were just using me as a justification to start this war in the first place. Admit it, you just didn’t like how your own mother was straying away from the traditional ideals your grandfather – the previous king – embodied. You and your followers were itching to start this from the very start, and I just happened to come at a very convenient time.”

“Your people forced their way onto our lands and killed mine. You think we’d let that go?”

The boy, after having confirmed the safety of the queen carried her up on his back. After a brief moment of pause he continued, “that was an… unfortunate diplomatic incident. If I could redo that day then I would, but we were also desperate at the time, please understand.”

“Enough! You’re no better than he is!” the princess pointed towards the man who had been silently watching over the scene with an amused look.

The boy shook his head. “Hardly. I at least have morals,” he replied with a sigh. “In any case, you’ve won. I’m taking the remaining Elves, along with the queen, and evacuating the city.” He then turned towards the man with a spiteful look, “you’ll be letting us go, right? You’ve admirably demonstrated that the current Elves are no threat to you. There’s no reason for you to come after us.”

The man thought for a second then agreed. “Very well. Excess greed isn’t a good thing, and I’m more than happy with the army I’ve… acquired today.”

“Whatever man,” the boy scoffed. “I might be a Demon Lord, but I don’t think I’d ever outdo you as long as I live.” With those parting words the boy along with the queen suddenly dispersed into particles of light. The sound of fighting from below had also considerably subsided, though the destruction and memory of this day would be raw for years, or centuries, to come.

This day would be remembered through Elven history and become known as the ‘Devil’s Schism’.

But how did this all start?