The large black doors, engraved in golden symbols, of the throne room were thrown open. They banged at the sides and a group of beings marched in, stomping the glossy black marble in unison. Some of those beings looked like giants that barely fit through the doors, donned in intricate black armors, while others appeared to be not taller than a prepubescent child. However, regardless of size, all of them radiated a great amount of power.
Servants and aides all had their heads bowed with one knee on the floor, and their right hand placed over their hearts. None of them dared to look up at the powerful group that stormed in. The nobles weren’t required to do the same, but being washed by the mana pressure coming from the group caused them to hold their breath and simply watch, not allowing themselves the freedom to clean the sweat drops that were rolling from the sides of their faces.
And yet, there were some smirks and smiles among the ones that were looking. It wasn’t because of the powerful beings, but rather, because of what they dragged in.
Hanging from the hands of a couple of large armored ones was a man. Behind him, his battered feet were leaving a trail of blood that was quickly being cleaned with water spells by a meticulous servant from the imperial palace. His body was half-covered by bloody rags that only clung to him because the wounds wouldn’t allow them to fall, and his head hung low in defeat as all he could do was keep his consciousness while being dragged, until he was right in the middle of the throne room, where he was mercilessly dropped to the ground.
Every armored being dropped to one knee, lowered their heads, and placed a hand over their chest. There was someone even more powerful than they were, even with their combined strength.
The Empress herself.
She sat with her legs crossed atop a golden throne, decorated with red cushions, and located all the way on top a set of stairs that placed her higher than even the tallest of armored beings. From behind her, golden and red light passing through the stained glass windows gave her both a menacing appearance and one of respect and reverence.
She was above all.
However, the man that had been dragged in here didn’t believe so. Despite his defeated and disgraced look, he raised himself up as far as he could, leaving him hunched over on his knees with his only remaining eye glaring directly at the Empress. His black hair was a mess, and the pale skin that he had before was full of wounds and burn marks, but none of that cleared the defiant look that he still carried.
“Bow before Her Majesty, scum!” shouted an old, large man from the bottom of the throne’s stairs. He was wearing a black eye-patch on his right eye, he had a bushy gray beard, and a bald head with a scar running from the top of his head to his missing eye. He was donned in intricate red clothes, a golden band across his chest full of medals, and a large sword strapped on his back.
“Never,” the dragged man spat, his voice hoarse. “I’d rather die.”
The nobles and servants that were watching tensed up, some of them widening their eyes, others looking away, and a few of them tightening their lips. Nobody disrespected the Empress like that.
The old man’s face reddened with anger, his eyes wide and his mouth’s corners pulled down into a frown. “How dare you!? We’ve shown you more than enough mercy by keeping you alive to meet Her Majesty! The least you could do is—”
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The sound of the Empress tapping the ground with one of her feet after uncrossing them caused the man to quickly stop talking, calm himself and stand straight as he turned to look at her.
Her long golden hair swayed bewitchingly as if the wind wanted to caress it. Her perky chest, thin waist, wide hips, and long legs, were the kind that would cause the most noble of noble young lady and the fairest of peasant girls to sigh in jealousy, while every man of her empire could only wish to have her… But none would ever express that outloud.
As she took a step forward, the tap of the heel of her metallic black greaves, followed by the tip, echoed through the hall. She calmly walked down the stairs, the power of each step causing everyone to freeze; while the beaten man’s glare to only get stronger and stronger the closer she got. He had never been so close to her; his mortal enemy, the one that took everything from him.
Once she was but a handful of steps away from him, the ragged man noted the details of her face, expecting a monster to be drawn there, only to see that there were nearly no imperfections. Her nose was small and delicate, her cheeks carried a natural pink tint, her calm lips looked like rose petals, and her sharp, cold, eyes looked down at him with blood-red irises from which the Original Black Mark of the Hellborne—a thin line from both eyes, like teardrops, with a couple of sharp bends to the center of the face—painted part of her face. Her gaze looked at him as if he was nothing more than any other peasant of her kingdom.
The man’s breath got quick with rage, and he could only wish he could leap at her and tear her pretty face apart; to turn her into the mush that she deserved to be, but try it as he may, there was no mana in his body, and his muscles didn’t have the strength to even lift up a finger and denounce her for the evil that she was.
“Do your worst, demon!” He shouted, “I might’ve failed as the Goddess’ Hero, but righteousness shall prevail! You will pay for what you have done!”
“Hm…” the Empress pondered, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Is that so…?”
The man—the Hero—didn’t say anything more, choosing instead to sustain a glare up at her uncaring eyes.
“So be it,” she finished, stretching her right hand to the side.
From the air, a sword suddenly appeared. The hilt was as black as the night, and the blade was as red as her eyes. She grasped the sword firmly, and the blade shone with a red light, one that felt as if the sun’s light was burning directly on the skin. The Hero didn’t look at it, his focus set completely on the Empress’ illuminated face, who, like him, refused to look away.
In one clean, swift swing, the blade cut through the air, passing by the Hero’s neck and sending his head flying through the air. Right after, from the cut’s wound, the head burst into flames, followed soon after by his body.
Some people saw both pieces hit the floor, only able to watch as the now former Hero’s body burned to ashes; the stench of his flesh filling the hall. Nobody could do anything about it without the Empress’ orders, so they could all only watch as she turned her back on the body, unsummoned the blade, and walked back up the stairs of her throne.
Finally, with a soft thud, she sat down, considering the burning corpse for a few seconds, after which, with a dismissing wave of her hand, she ordered: “Feed what remains to the pigs.”
A group of maids quickly rushed into the hall, and with magic of their own, they cleaned both the body and the stains of his remains.
Once the hall was glossy again, the beings in armor, the servants and aides, and the old man standing by the side all turned to look at the Empress. The old man took a deep breath, and with his head held high he let out what had to be said.
“Eternal life to the Empress!”
“Eternal life to the Empress! Eternal Life to the Empress! Eternal life—”
The chant resonated through the hall, spilling beyond its walls and even reaching the ones that couldn’t set foot in there, continuing the echo as far as their voices could reach.
She looked at her subjects with the same uncaring look, but did not stop them. They had cause to celebrate.
The Hero was now dead.