A crowd of around five dozen peasants stood in a clump in center of their little village. The sounds of roosters filled the crisp morning air, accompanied by the cries of donkeys and cows that could be heard from the fields. The morning air was crisp and cool, and the sky was still the dark blue of dawn, the light of the great tower not yet reaching the little hamlet located near the edge of the ten kingdoms.

The group murmured as they waited for their new lord to arrive. Huddling together to ward off the cold morning air, both the men and women alike looked tired and worn, their status as peasants clear as the cloths on their back, their ragged clothing unable to stave off the biting autumn wind. Children buried themselves into their parent's sides, desperate for warmth, or attempted to sneak back inside their little huts, only to be shouted back to the group.

Off to the side, behind a dozen barrels, was a boy. Having reached the awkward age between boyhood and manhood, the child looked like a tree whose branches had grown too long and too thin in the warm days of summer. Standing at six feet, he was both taller and thinner than all of his peers. However, when he stood proud, like a proper man should, as his father said, he looked like one of the mighty trees that surrounded his little village to the north and west. Yet he lacking in confidence, as most young men are, causing his shoulders to slouch and his back to stoop.

His father had died in the skirmish against the new lord's troops. He had received the news late in the afternoon a week before, and he hadn't spoken much since. His mother had cried for days, and he did his best to tend to her, but he couldn't find the words. He had loved his father dearly. He was the boy's hero. And now he was dead, and if the rumors were true, he was eaten by the monsters that served the new lord.

The boy watched as dust began to kick up off the main road to the east. After a while, a gleaming golden carriage appeared in the distance. It rode on four platinum wheels, and pulling it along was a pair of beautiful white horses that looked like something out of a fairy tale, complete with braided manes and ornate golden armor.

Seeing that his mother was busy chatting with their neighbor, a sweet old coot who had lost his mind when his wife died, Fin ducked away from her. Slinking away from the crowd, he moved toward the warehouse on the north side of the square. He had prepared himself for this moment. He wouldn't fail.

The carriage slowed as it approached the gates to their town. Once it entered, the horses effortlessly pulling the magnificent thing to the middle of the town, it stopped in front of the crowd of villagers. No discernible coachman was visible. It was as if an invisible hand steered the twin horses along. After several agonizingly long moments, the golden door of the carriage opened, and a well-dressed man appeared, standing on the golden step of the wagon looking down at the crowd.

Man wasn't the right word, the boy thought to himself. Demon. Fiend. Monster. Those words described him better.

He looked like one of the elves that Fin had met once deep in the forest while hunting a few years back. He had the pointed ears and lean, fit body of one, and he was supernaturally attractive. Fin knew the girls out in the farms liked to swoon over paintings of men that looked just like this one. His immaculately cut and pressed clothes hung on his lithe frame perfectly. He looked like a figure out of a fairy tale, except for the obvious darkness that tainted him.

The man had blood red eyes that cruelly looked over the little crowd. His long black hair, grey skin, ebony nails, and twin horns rising from his forehead marked him as something other than an elf. Something much, much worse. Fin was captivated, by the man's beautiful and terrible visage, his body shaking. He smiled then, revealing two sharp fangs, and bowed at the crowd.

"My kind, patient, loyal subjects, I wish you a very good morning." The man's voice rolled over them like thunder, far louder than possible for a man his size. The crowd gasped at the display. "I am the great wizard, Abad-Shai, Master of the Vault and new Lord of the Duchy of Pharin. I have defeated your valiant lord, Duke Endhelt, in single combat. This place, your... lovely home, is now mine, as are all of you." He looked down on the crowd. "Serve well, and you will be rewarded. Wish harm upon me or mine in any way, and..." The man paused, his brows knitting in thought. "Serve well. That is all you should endeavor to do."

"I'm sure you have many questions, but I want you to understand something simple about your new Lord," he stated coldly, his gaze becoming harsher. "I do not require you to worship me. I have no delusions of divinity." A wicked grin spread across his lips. "You need not treat me as a god. I am simply your lord, and I require your service, fidelity, and support. Do this, and you will never have to fear my hand."

Fin stood tall and squared his shoulders. He pulled the large club he had fashioned out of an oak branch from behind a crate and gripped it hard. He began marching toward the mage from the far side of the village square that he had hid in.

Not hiding. Waiting.

He was his father's son. He was strong. Even if the mage was powerful, Fin could take him. He had defeated a bear once. He was the strongest in the village despite being only thirteen. His father told him mages were weak up close. He could do this.

"But," the mage continued, "do not think that I cannot control each of you if it suits me to do so." The mage raised his arms, as if conducting an orchestra, he waves his hands with a flourish. Thin strands of essence shot from the mage's fingertips, encasing each of the villagers' heads in a cage of silvery threads. "I will harbor no dissent, and I will not tolerate treachery in my new kingdom."

[Puppet Master]

He waved his arms. Every villager jerked upright and began mimicking his movements, waving their own arms in unison. The mage's cruel laughter bellowed across the silent morning, drowning out everything else as he controlled the screaming townspeople.

Fin slowed as he got close to the front of the carriage. The mage hadn't noticed him yet, but something was wrong. It was as if every fiber of his being was gripped in terror. His legs froze in place. He started moving backwards. Something in him wanted to turn and run away from this place. Deep inside, he wanted to scream, to flee, but his body refused. He was helpless, and a panic he had never known began to rise inside him, like a bubbling pot threatening to boil over.

The elf's laughter subsided as his red eyes turned to gaze upon the boy. Fin felt the blood leave his face and his heart stop completely.

"A boy approaches his new lord... with a stick it seems." The mage grinned. "Boy, tell me, what is your name?" The elf's voice shook the air itself, reverberating in Fin's soul. "Do not fear. Tell me your name."

"F-Fin," the boy stuttered. "My name is Fin."

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"Well met, Fin. Now tell me, why did you walk toward me just now?" Fin felt his stomach knot up. "Did you harbor ill will toward your new master?"

"Y-yes. I came to... to protect everyone."

The elf nodded. "That is very noble of you, young man. It is a brave man who protects his fellows from danger. That is a trait that I value most highly. But I must ask. Why is it that you fear me?" The elf asked calmly, still grinning, his fangs gleaming in the morning light.

"You... you're a monster. You're evil!" Fin shouted.

"And why, might I ask, do you believe so? I am simply a man who has taken your land through the noble act of conquest. It is the way of the world. The strong rule. The weak serve. Could we not all simply live in harmony, obeying the natural order of things?"

"No!"

"And why is that?"

"You killed my father. You ate his flesh!" The boys hands gripped his club tightly. "You will kill us all and eat us next. Just like you did to him. You took everything from my mom and me!" Tears were flowing from his eyes now. He was ashamed. Boys cried. Men were brave.

"I see, so I took everything from you and your precious mother." The grey-skinned elf walked toward the boy then, each step slow and measured.

Fin couldn't move. He was completely paralyzed.

When the monster got close, standing mere inches away, he leaned in, speaking to the boy in a low voice so the others could not hear. "I also lost the one I call father, though he died well before I was born. Likewise, my mother abandoned me when I was young. I know your pain well, and I value the honor you show your father. Could we not be friends? I could show you so much about this world, if you simply were willing to serve me."

"Never, murderer." The boy hissed through his chattering teeth.

"We will see." Standing up tall once again, he smiled and spoke with the same booming voice as before. "The boy is brave, that much is certain. Let us see if he is willing to back up his bravery with action." He pointed at Fin. The strands of essence streaming from his fingertips dissipated. "I give you this one chance. Strike me with all your might. I won't stop you. If you fell me, you are the new lord of this land. If you do not, your life is mine to do with what I wish. Choose. Will you be an enemy, or will you be my friend?"

The paralyzing fear that wracked the boy faded. Fin stood tall and set his jaw.

"I will never be your friend, monster."

He pulled the large club he had crafted back over his shoulder, but just as he was about to swing, he heard a familiar cry from the crowd.

"No! Fin!" The boy felt tears slide down his face. "Fin! No, please! Run, boy!" It was his mother. "Run!"

It was too late. He would end this.

Fin stepped forward, and with a mighty heave of his large body, he swung with all the might and rage and sadness that his tall, wiry frame could muster, striking the monster directly in the head.

The club shattered.

The mage didn't even flinch. A second passed where the two simply stared into each other's eyes, the boy holding the handle of his destroyed club toward the man.

"No!!" His mother ran from the crowd and leapt upon Fin. Cradling him in her arms, her tear-streaked face gazed upon the grey-skinned monster's immaculate form. "Please. He is just a boy. He doesn't know better. His father died when... in the battle. Have mercy. Please..." The woman sheltered the boy in her arms. He struggled against her grip, but her fear made her strong.

"My good woman, I would never deprive a dutiful and kind woman such as yourself of the love of her son. Please, stand." His grey hand reached down. She hesitated a moment, then offered her calloused and worn hand to the man. His own clean and slender hand wrapped around hers, his perfectly manicured black nails digging into the skin on the back of the woman's hand as he helped her stand. "Nor would I ever deprive a child of his only parent. Please, be at rest." The grey-skinned man's voice was calm and soothing. A wicked snicker sounded from somewhere nearby, but Fin couldn't tell where it came from.

"My lord... I will do anything. I know that you can be merciful. I just know it." The woman stood up and bowed deeply. Fin followed. "Please, do with me what you will. Take us both. I offer our lives willingly. Just don't take him from me. I can't bear it." She was sobbing.

The elf's lips curled upward. "My good woman, you are already mine. This whole land and everything in it is mine. You have nothing to offer me beyond that which I already own." His perfect jet black hair flowed in the wind. The light of the great tower had finally burned away the morning mist, causing his black horns to glint in the light.

"You may have my service. My body. My soul. Take it all. I don't care. Just don't take him away."

"My kind woman. I won't take him from you. I swear it." The man raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

[Devour Essence]

Fin's mother fell onto the ground in a heap, her body completely still. Fin dropped to his knees and shook her. Her headed rolled to face the sky. He looked into his mother's tear-soaked eyes, desperate for them to show the life and joy they always had, but they were still and empty. He felt his chest heave, and a single massive sob escaped his lips. He looked up into the cold red eyes of the elf above him. The man's smile had faded away, replaced with an unreadable look.

Fire filled Fin's heart then. He shot upward, pulled his arm back, swung with all of his might, and—

[Devour Essence]

***

The boy awoke.

He felt strange. His body was heavy. He opened his eyes. He was somewhere he didn't recognize. Heavy stone walls surrounded him. He felt his heart race.

He sat up on the small stone bench he was laying on. He felt cold, inside and out. A large mirror decorated the small room of the dim space. He sat up, struggling with the weight of his frame. He felt heavy. He looked into the mirror.

He screamed.

His skin was mottled and bruised. His scalp was bald, his skin a bluish grey. He was stretched, taller and thinner, and horrifying. His eyes were black pits. He couldn't see anything within their sockets.

He stood and rushed to the mirror. He looked at himself, at his stomach. Then he screamed again.

In the middle of his stomach was a face. His mother's face, her blue eyes weeping, her mouth shaping soundless words. He reached down and felt her face.

It was real.

He lashed out and shattered the mirror. The broken glass shredded his arm, but within seconds the wounds healed over.

In the shards of broken glass still left in the mirror's frame, he watched as black tears streamed down his face. He raised his hands to his face and wept.

***

Abad watched the scene unfold.

He had forgotten about the boy that became Nocturne entirely, but seeing the boy's sandy hair and blue eyes triggered something in Abad. He could remember wishing the boy hadn't struck. He had liked the child's fire. However, the second he attacked, the boy's death was certain. He could harbor no dissent in the kingdom he was building.

However, the kindness of his mother stirred something in him. As an orphan himself, he couldn't bring himself to separate her from him or him from her. In his mind back then, he was doing them a kindness. The gift of immortality was no small gift, and they would always be together. Why hadn't Nocturne been grateful?

It took much training, but eventually the man became loyal. Abad knew his creation hated him, but he knew no one else, had no one else. His old life was gone. Abad became the father the boy longed for.

He thought back to that time. He had made a gamble back then. To join the nobility, he needed a title. He had settled on the Duchy of Pharin due to its distance from the capital. He bested the noble and easily conquered his armies, taking the man's entire land, holdings, and family as his own. He wondered to himself many times what the lord's name was. He had entirely forgotten.

Duke Endhelt. That was his name.

Abad sent the man's children off to the houses of neighboring lords as wards, his enchantments ensuring that they subverted his neighbors' dealings from within. The lord's wife became his concubine, granting Abad legitimacy when she granted him her late husband's title and assisting him through the poisoned words she spoke to the other ladies of the court. Though rather plain, she had hated her husband and served Abad without compulsion. She had been most useful.

However, it mattered little in the end. He had died, or something like it. Aside from the most powerful heroes and possibly his fellow Shadowspawn, the people in these memories were all gone now. Memories. Shadows of the past.

"Would you do it again if you could?" A gentle voice sounded behind him.

He turned around to face the voice, but all he was greeted with was a blank white void.

"Seeing it unfold again, would you make the same choices, Abad-Shai, Lord of Nothing?"

Then he woke up.