The night air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood as Elion moved through the crumbling corridors of the Blackstone estate. Fires burned in the distance, casting flickering shadows across the ancient stone walls. The once grand halls were now littered with the bodies of clan members, soldiers, and assassins. The estate, a fortress that had stood for centuries, was being reduced to ashes in a single night.
Elion felt no sorrow for the chaos or the death. His heart had long since grown cold. The weak perished, and the strong endured. That was the truth of this world, the lesson the talisman had taught him. Mercy was a luxury, and power was the only currency that mattered.
He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the halls for any sign of movement. He had left the servants' quarters far behind, venturing deeper into the heart of the estate. His goal was clear: find the head of the Blackstone Clan, Lord Osric, and take what was rightfully his. The clan had ignored him for too long, treated him as nothing more than a servant, an afterthought. But that was about to change.
*I will claim this estate as my own,* he thought, his hand resting on the hilt of the dagger he had taken from the assassins. *And anyone who tries to stop me will die.*
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**The Betrayal**
As Elion rounded a corner, he heard voices coming from a nearby room. He slowed his pace, creeping closer until he could make out the words.
"...it's all falling apart. We can't hold the estate much longer," a gruff voice said. Elion recognized it immediately—Torik, one of Lord Osric's most trusted enforcers. The man was known for his brutal efficiency and unwavering loyalty to the clan.
A second voice, calmer and more calculating, responded. "The estate is lost, but Lord Osric still holds the family vault. That is where we will make our stand." Elion's blood ran cold. He knew that voice all too well—Sarna, Osric’s eldest daughter. She had been the one who ensured Elion’s place remained as low as possible, using her influence to humiliate and break him whenever she could.
Elion’s hands clenched into fists. If Sarna and Torik were heading to the vault, then that’s where Osric would be too. The vault was the most secure place in the entire estate, hidden deep underground and protected by ancient enchantments. More importantly, it was where the Blackstone family stored their most valuable treasures—artifacts, tomes of forbidden magic, and, most crucially, the family’s ancestral ring, a symbol of authority over the clan.
Elion’s mind raced. He couldn’t face Sarna and Torik directly, not yet. But if he could reach the vault first, if he could claim the family ring, it wouldn’t matter. He would have the power to crush them both.
The voices faded as Sarna and Torik moved on, heading deeper into the estate. Elion waited until the coast was clear before slipping out from his hiding place and following at a distance. He knew the estate’s layout better than anyone. He had spent his entire life navigating its hidden passages and secret rooms, overlooked and unnoticed. He would reach the vault before they even knew he was coming.
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**The Descent**
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Elion moved quickly through the twisting halls, avoiding the occasional skirmish as soldiers and assassins clashed in the chaos of the night. His destination was a hidden staircase located at the far end of the estate, concealed behind a tapestry in one of the older sections of the manor.
When he finally reached the tapestry, he paused, listening carefully for any signs of pursuit. Satisfied that he was alone, he pulled the heavy fabric aside and pressed his hand against the stone wall behind it. The wall shifted with a soft rumble, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into darkness.
The air was colder here, damp and filled with the scent of mold. Elion’s pulse quickened as he descended the stairs, the faint glow of magic still humming in his veins. His body felt stronger, more alive, as if the very darkness itself was feeding him power.
At the bottom of the stairs, a large iron door blocked the path forward. Elion studied it for a moment, noting the intricate runes etched into the metal. These were the wards that protected the vault—powerful enchantments designed to keep out anyone without the proper bloodline. Anyone except a true Blackstone.
Elion smiled grimly. He may have been born as the clan’s lowest servant, but he was still of Blackstone blood. His mother had been a mere concubine, but her lineage could not be denied.
Reaching out, Elion pressed his hand against the door. The runes flared to life, glowing with a faint blue light as they scanned him. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a creaking groan, the door slowly swung open.
Elion stepped inside.
---
**The Vault**
The vault was a massive chamber, its walls lined with shelves and pedestals displaying the Blackstone Clan’s most prized possessions. Ancient grimoires bound in leather and iron, glowing crystals that pulsed with magical energy, and weapons forged from rare metals filled the room. But Elion’s eyes were drawn to the center of the vault, where a pedestal stood alone, bathed in the soft glow of a magical barrier.
On the pedestal rested a small silver ring, unadorned except for a single black stone embedded in its center—the Blackstone family ring. Whoever wore the ring held the power to command the clan and control its vast resources.
Elion approached the pedestal, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the magic radiating from the ring, dark and ancient, older than the estate itself. This was it. The key to everything.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the barrier. It resisted at first, a faint pulse of energy pushing back, but Elion didn’t hesitate. He had come too far to be denied now. He concentrated, drawing on the dark power inside him, and the barrier began to crack, splintering like glass under pressure.
With a final push, the barrier shattered.
Elion grabbed the ring and slid it onto his finger. The moment it touched his skin, a surge of power rushed through him, stronger than anything he had ever felt before. The vault seemed to tilt for a moment as if the world itself was bowing before him. His senses expanded, and he could feel the ancient magic of the Blackstone Clan coursing through his veins, bending to his will.
But with that power came something else—whispers. Dark, insidious voices that clawed at the edges of his mind, speaking of betrayal, conquest, and blood. They were not the same as the whispers of the talisman, but something older, something deeper, tied to the very essence of the clan’s dark legacy.
Elion welcomed it.
---
**The Reckoning**
Footsteps echoed down the hall outside the vault, and Elion knew that Sarna and Torik had arrived. He didn’t bother hiding. There was no need. He had what he came for.
The iron door swung open, and Sarna entered first, her eyes widening as she saw Elion standing in the center of the vault, the Blackstone ring gleaming on his finger. Torik stepped in behind her, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his face dark with suspicion.
“Elion?” Sarna spat, her voice laced with contempt. “What are you doing here? How did you—”
She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze locking onto the ring. Realization dawned in her eyes, followed by fury. “You... you filthy wretch! That ring belongs to the Blackstone family. You have no right!”
Elion smiled coldly. “I *am* Blackstone,” he said, his voice calm, almost amused. “More so than you, it seems.”
Torik stepped forward, his sword drawn. “Hand over the ring, boy, and I’ll make your death quick.”
Elion met his gaze without flinching. “You seem to misunderstand. I’m not asking for your permission. This ring is mine now. And with it, I control the clan.”
Sarna’s face twisted in rage. “You worthless piece of filth! I’ll tear that ring from your dead hand!”
She raised her hands, fire sparking at her fingertips as she prepared to cast a spell, but Elion was faster. The dark power surged through him, and with a wave of his hand, black tendrils erupted from the ground, wrapping around Sarna and Torik in an instant.
They struggled, Sarna’s fire sputtering out as the tendrils tightened, crushing the breath from their lungs. Elion stepped forward, his eyes cold as he looked down at Sarna.
“You always thought you were better than me,” he said softly. “But in the end, you’re just as powerless as the rest of them.”
Sarna gasped for air, her eyes wide with terror, but Elion didn’t stop. The tendrils constricted further, and with a sickening crunch, her body went limp. Torik followed moments later, his neck snapping under the pressure.
Elion released the tendrils, letting their bodies fall to the floor. He looked down at them, feeling nothing. No remorse, no regret. Only the cold satisfaction of power.
He had won.
The Blackstone estate was his.
And this was only the beginning.
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