“They say the bell tolled one-hundred-and-fifty-two times that day.”

The Grand Bell tolled over the silence, striking the air with a sound that garnered fear. The city was a hostage, pinned with a dagger held to its throat. Only a single soul wandered the streets that day, for the wind blew foul from the north. The streak of her large, curved blade grinded against the cobblestone, echoing across the city. Her skin was gray, however smattered in grime, blood, and filth. A few strands of silver escape her otherwise matted, dirty hair. A blazing red hue emits from her eyes, burning like a sun with a deep hatred of all things. She wears black armour, covering overtop of her red dress.

She is the Pale Wretch, the demon queen who singlehandedly slaughtered untold thousands on her way here, to the capital of Solasúians.

She, like the Solasúians, was an invader from another world, who trampled over the corpses of the humans. The Pale Wretch’s bare, bloodied feet felt the sun-kissed cobblestone as she ventured forward. Soldiers attempted mightily to put an end to her advance, however they were no match for her fury. They were easily felled, paving the streets in their corpses.

The Loyal Knights of House Barn stood their ground, meeting the demon queen in arms. Yet they would fall to the Pale Wretch, for her blade—made of a foreign black metal—glided through their steel platemail like paper. After begetting slaughter upon slaughter, the Pale Wretch would finally arrive at her truest destination: the throne room, where sat the Empyrean—the ruler of the Solasúian race.

Finally, she could enact her vengeance…

She pointed her long, claw-like finger ahead of her, aimed at the Empyrean seated upon the stolen throne. “At long last,” the Pale Wretch spoke, readying her blade. “Thy life is mine, Dias Pallas Barn!”

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Indeed, the Empyrean sitting upon the throne was none other than the great conqueror, the uniter of the Solasúian race, Dias Pallas Barn, who would become the Hero King after this fabled battle. His glowing, sapphire blue eyes peered fearlessly upon the Pale Wretch, with no fret of her power.

The will to avenge his fallen brethren empowered Dias to come to a commanding rise. Dias ascended from his throne and roared, “Pale Wretch, you will not win this day!”

In that moment, Dias reached across his torso to unfurl the legendary sword of the Empyrean, named Arbandor. He took a step forward as he unleashed Arbandor from its adamas casing. The blade was created from purest adamas, and its crystalline body sung harmoniously as it was withdrawn from its vessel. Without hesitation, Dias plunged himself into the fray.

Adamas versus black metal—it would be a battle that would go down in history as the greatest of all time.

The two charged at each other. In a mighty swish, Dias heaved his sword downwards, his arms bulging amid the strike. The Pale Wretch would match his strike with one of her own, leading to a power struggle of the ages. The collision ripped through the air, reverberating across the entire city like a cathedral. The entire city watched with bated breath as Dias toiled against the Pale Wretch, their fate decided on a single blade-stroke. Dias was stuck on the defensive, pushed back by the Pale Wretch’s overwhelming offense.

The full length of the Hero King’s hair would sway as he wagered his life on a desperate attack. He stood his ground and plunged Arbandor forwards, aiming for the heart of the Pale Wretch. The Pale Wretch would counter with the mad thrust as well. Dias’s attack managed to skewer through the Pale Wretch’s cuirass.

However, the blade of the Pale Wretch embedded deeply into his chest. The result of the fight ended with the two of them being impaled by each other’s sword. Having been stabbed in the center of her chest, the Pale Wretch would weep tears before her passing. Dias’s chest heaved heavily as he climbed up upon his throne. He turned to his left and beheld the face of his only son and heir, the young Nomos Deimos Barn. 

“My son,” Dias coughed, “you must lead now.”

He grasped the limp fingers of his father’s hand and cried, “No, Father…! I cannot! Not in your shadow…”

“You must…for the sake of our kind.”

The Hero King would pass with those words loose upon his lips…