Chapter One: Darkness of a Different Kind (Prologue, Part One)
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Darkness fell.
It wasn’t the usual darkness that came with the end of day, carrying a hint of warmth, however faint. Nor was it the darkness of midnight, wrapped in silent peace, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the cold wind. It wasn’t the comforting darkness found moments before sleep, safe and warm in your bed, for that darkness holds the promise of a new day and new light.
No, this was a void, an emptiness found only in lost places and forgotten times. Heavy and oppressive, it seeped into the soul, turning every heartbeat into a thunderous echo.
And this darkness belonged to one man.
Henry stood silent and still on the plush grass encircling Castle Roandair, the fortress looming like a shadow against the dark veil he summoned to shroud the kingdom. The chill of the coming siege crept into his bones, but his thoughts wandered to a time when his hands knew the smooth stroke of quills instead of the cold weight of swords, when his nights were bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight and not the blood drawn from hate and torment.
Osira had often been beside him then, her laughter a faint melody now swallowed by that same void. The memory of her smile tugged at his heart, drawing him deeper into the past—to the day they first met, to the life they shared before... all of this.
But the present surged back into focus, a cold wind cutting through his reverie. His eyes, once filled with the dreams of knowledge, now held the darkness that flickered around his body, the twilight cloak licking at the air as he concentrated on the siege ahead. The time for reflection was over—now, only war remained.
His army waited in silence behind him, tension rising off of them like heatwaves in the cold air, a lull before the coming storm. He felt the answering fear as it poured forth from the battlements before him.
Were they afraid of the battle to come, or of him? Was this truly what he had become? He pushed the thought from his mind. There was no room for it now. He had to focus.
Torches lined the stone walls of the castle and fought to shine through the inky waves of eldritch power. Occasionally, a piece of light would find its way to cast the faintest glint upon the Roandian soldiers’ armor.
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Inside the castle, hidden in a secret chamber within the king’s quarters, lay the beautiful Osira. Her thick black hair splayed out across a makeshift cot as her entire body sweat in exhaustion. The chambermaids that attended her had never delivered a baby before.
Though in a few moments, that would change.
This fact was not what was troubling Osira.
She clung tightly to the emerald crystal that hung from her neck and tried to focus through the pain. The crystal glowed gently through the gaps in her fingers. Her tears were not from the pain or coursing adrenalin. Nor were they for her own life.
These concerns were pushed far from her mind by the single, dominating demand she made.
“Protect my children.” The crystal hummed in understanding.
In the corner of the room, a small dust of light that called itself Pik chimed anxiously.
“I know, but what can we do about it? We can't take on the whole cursed army ourselves,” Bertrude complained, his voice a blend of frustration and helplessness as he cleaned his unusually large, pointed ears with a silver letter opener he had “found.” His stout half-goblin frame was taut with tension, every muscle coiled as if ready to spring. The dim light caught on his mottled greenish-brown skin, highlighting its rough texture. Unruly chestnut hair tumbled into his sharp, angular face, partially obscuring the vivid emerald of his eyes, which glinted with a fierce, watchful intensity.
Pik chimed sharply.
“Alright, alright, no need to get nasty,” Bertrude sighed. “I don’t want to leave her either. But we have our orders.”
Pik’s green glow dimmed slightly as he let out a low whizz.
“I know, old friend. I don’t like it either. But the children must survive.”
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When midnight found them, the air was damp and thick. If not for the cursed darkness filling the sky, the moonlight might have struggled past the impending storm clouds and cast a solemn light across the two armies. But, it did not.
“Steady!” The king, resplendent in Roandian blue steel, paced the battlements.
He barked orders and profanities to the Masters of War.
The Master of Archers repeated his orders, shouting his own curses and critiques at his men, adjusting their armor and their aim. Memories of his younger days as a simple farmer, before the war changed him, flickered in his mind. The Master of Swords followed suit, slamming his gauntlets on the back of a slightly slouched swordsman, nearly knocking him to the floor. He remembered his own training, the harsh discipline that had shaped him into the warrior he was today.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The soldier did not cry out, but saluted as he rejoined the ranks. This was a familiar thing, the only comfort they had, and the familiarity of it helped the soldiers stand their guard.
The king strode across the ramparts with more confidence than he felt, each step a battle against the gnawing fear in his gut. “If you move before I command, the creatures below will be the least of your worries!” His voice echoed in the night.
He stared down at the darkness below, trying to pierce it with his mind. He did not see Henry so much as he felt his presence. And with that, Henry felt him. The blade of the king’s sword glowed faintly as the crystal embedded in the hilt hummed.
“We could spare these men,” the king whispered into the night.
“And spare the fun?” A silent whisper came back.
Suddenly the clouds were ripped by a blinding flash of light and the dull pound of thunder. Streaks of white tore at the sky and then vanished, consumed by the dark curse above. Thunder rolled like stone giants in the distance and rain crashed down upon both men and undead alike.
The minions of darkness began to march, and the earth trembled beneath their iron-clad feet. Their march quickened to a trot and then surged into a full run. The ground pounded in unison with the hearts of the defending soldiers. Arms trembled, not only from fear or exhaustion, but from the quaking earth beneath them. They had stood there, poised and ready, since the first whispers of night crept across the horizon. The once vibrant energy of anticipation had long faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and the relentless grip of dread.
“Steady, damn you! Steady!”
An infinity passed in a moment.
“Fire!”
Arrows mixed with the night’s sky and found their marks along the ground. Blood of all shades spat across the grass from the injured creatures. Cries of pain turned to vicious howls as the army of terror surged forward faster.
“Lightning Acid, ready!”
His orders were repeated in shouts across the length of the crenelated walls. Men with glass vats of glowing liquid moved gingerly to the edge, careful not to spill a drop.
“Release!”
As the undead creatures reached the base of the castle and began to claw, the glowing green death poured over their heads. Shrieking hisses filled the night air as the alchemical solution quickly ate through the nearest invading forces.
Clouds of arrows filled the sky and fell with the rain upon the encroaching undead. The undead creatures wore little protection from arrows and appeared to hold no regard for their own wellbeing. As they fell, more climbed over their still bodies and fought through the falling acid and steel. Not a single answer of arrows came in return, only the vicious howling of undead beasts and gnashing of teeth.
Minutes became hours became lifetimes.
Horns blared out from across the undead army, and more creatures surged forward, an unending torrent clawing their way past their fallen brethren.
They piled up the wall and a few of the foul creatures made it to the parapets. Lightning flashed again and seared the sky for a moment before being eaten once more by darkness.
The men upon the battlements poured down vat after vat of alchemical acid, followed by enormous stone boulders, crushing the undead creatures below and causing them to collapse upon themselves - all in a vain attempt to stem the tide.
The battlefield seemed to pulse and surge in sync with Henry's own heart. He allowed the darkness to lift for a moment, granting the candles and moonlight a breath of freedom. In that moment, the horde of creatures became clearly visible to the Roandians, the horrific sight piercing them to their core.
When ropes and claws failed to get his undead successfully over the battlements, a new approach had to be used.
Henry admired his handiwork as his army surged past him and battered themselves against the castle walls. Grotesque half-faces, patchwork figures, amalgamations of bone and steel… the sight was more horrifying than death itself.
Henry felt the waves of fear roil off the castle and smiled a bitter, wicked smile.
He welcomed the fear, drawing it in with each slow breath as it seeped into his core, intertwining with his aether like a dark current, quietly fueling his power.
“Goodbye,” he sent a thought to the king.
He reached into his cloak and grabbed the black crystal that hung from his neck. Holding it to the night sky, he cried out. All the pain and hate that filled him flooded the crystal and it lit with a black void of energy that enveloped all that touched it. Lightning crackled in the sky.
It struck the ground not fifty paces from him. Then it struck again before cascading in a searing line through his soldiers, ripping skeletal figures in half.
Sacrifices must be made, he thought, and urged the ripples of lightning towards the castle.
When it met the castle walls, not even the king himself could hold it back. The wall beneath the king staved in like brittle clay beneath a mallet and he was swallowed by an avalanche of stone and steel.
The undead army poured in.
Henry pulled out his User Interface stone, a rough, silver device barely larger than his palm. Its edges were jagged and the mismatched pieces of metal hinted at its hasty assembly. The runes carved into its surface flickered weakly, some already fading.
He took a deep breath and activated the stone. Instantly, his HUD flickered to life, but it was far from functional. The screen shook violently, and the usual clear text was replaced by garbled symbols and fragmented words.
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Henry squinted, trying to decipher the jumbled messages. It felt as if the universe itself resisted the integration, the world pushing back. He tried to navigate through the chaotic interface, but each tap only resulted in more distortion. His health, aether pool, and quest log was lost in a sea of glitches.
He sighed and closed the HUD with a frustrated swipe. "Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed."
I’ll have to let the support team know about this, he thought, pocketing the stone. For now, there were more pressing matters.