(King Haldrek’s Palace)

(Vördrheim)

The royal bedchamber, a place that should evoke pleasure and desire, was transformed into a realm of terror and submission as King Haldrek, his eyes burning with an unholy fire, entered the chamber. Eight naked women, their bodies a canvas of fear and resignation, lay before him, knowing full well the consequences of their presence. Haldrek, a towering figure cloaked in an aura of rage, made his intentions clear with every ferocious step.

‘That damn goddess Yuuna…’

With a savage growl, he lunged at the nearest woman, his hands grabbing her by the throat. He lifted her off the ground, her feet dangling in the air, and with a cruel smug, he began to choke her, his eyes glittering with malevolence. The woman, understanding her fate, made no sound, her eyes wide with a silent plea for mercy. Haldrek, unmoved by her silent plea, tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her flesh, leaving red imprints.

As the woman's face turned red, then purple, Haldrek's rage seemed to intensify. He thrust his body against hers, his movements erratic and violent. He bit into her neck, not gently, but with the force of a wild animal, drawing blood. The woman, knowing resistance was futile, offered no struggle, her body limp in his grasp. Haldrek, with a sudden movement, flipped her onto her stomach, and with a roughness that bordered on cruelty, he entered her from behind, his thrusts relentless and painful.

‘She lost her memories…’

The other women, witnessing this carnal display, remained silent, their eyes downcast, understanding the consequences of any show of fear or pain. Haldrek, as if sensing their silent compliance, became more daring in his actions. He grabbed another woman by her hair, yanking her head back, and with a barbaric grin, he proceeded to bite and suck on her exposed neck, leaving a trail of painful love bites. His hands, like claws, grasped and squeezed her breasts, his nails digging into her tender flesh.

‘Damn it all! Yuuna and her Tyrants might not even make it back with that target on their heads! And I let them go?!’

The women, their bodies now a canvas of pain and fear, offered no resistance. They knew that Haldrek's wrath knew no bounds, and any display of emotion would only invite further torment. As he moved from one woman to another, his anger fueled his every action. He thrust himself into them with an unnatural force, his body slamming against theirs, leaving bruises and marks. He kissed them, but his kisses were brutal and forceful, his teeth often breaking the skin.

Haldrek continued to think, ‘I need them to kill the dragon god of war! I can’t win without them! But with Yuuna’s memories of Xyenn gone…they won’t help me unless I help them. Damn it all! On top of that…Vessels and their draconic deities are stronger due to their bond, without her memories of him, they have no mutual bond! Damn love, she had to go and fall in love with that damn human! Breaking the rules! I need her full strength!’

Haldrek, in a fit of rage, grabbed a woman by her legs and lifted her up, her body hanging upside down. He proceeded to enter her from above, his weight bearing down on her, his movements painful and unyielding. The woman, her eyes now closed, offered no resistance, her body limp and submissive. Haldrek, with a final thrust, released himself, his body heaving with the effort and rage.

‘Of course, she’s from Hell, the eternal rivals of the First Dragon and the pantheon of the draconic soul…she felt succumbed to the lust of the world?! I can’t create the perfect world without them! How much time do we have left?! That brat…that damn brat! Xyenn! It’s his fault! I should’ve seen how far he would go once he fought me like a fool! Knowing I surpass him in strength and power! Dumb kid!’

As he stood up, his eyes still burning with an otherworldly fury, the women, their bodies bruised and battered, lay silent, knowing their role was not yet complete. Haldrek, without a glance, marched towards the door, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his rage. The two knights, their armor glistening in the dim light, stood guard, their faces pale with fear. Haldrek, with a menacing growl, grabbed them by their heads, and with a sudden yank, ripped their heads off, blood and bone shattering in a flair and crunch, splatting against the wall, their bodies collapsing to the ground, lifeless.

Haldrek, his mission of carnal dominance and terror complete, left the bedchamber, his footsteps echoing through the castle, leaving behind a trail of broken bodies and shattered souls. The women, knowing their fate, remained silent, their eyes fixed on the ground, awaiting their next command, or their inevitable demise.

The halls of King Haldrek’s castle, were as cold and imposing as the man who ruled within them. Ice-crusted pillars lined the corridors, their surfaces smooth and reflective, catching the pale light of the enchanted sconces that burned with blue flame. The walls were etched with intricate carvings of battles long past—scenes of conquest, loss, and bloodshed immortalized in ice. The faint sound of the wind howling outside the castle walls echoed faintly through the corridors, as if the very mountain mourned the weight it bore.

‘What have I done? I am the savior of the world! I’m the only vessel wanting equality! War must be eliminated in order for there to be peace in Kyrrin! Yuuna and her brag vessel Xyenn must hurry back. I can’t leave my post, my kingdom unattended when I’m the most powerful here. The second I turn away from my kingdom, Ezrael the dragon god of war will definitely invade! I’ll be the true villain! I’m a monster, but I have embraced my darkness for the sake of the world, and that is perfection. I will use it to cleanse the world and make it pure!’

Haldrek strode down the hallway, his snow-covered white robe billowing behind him like a storm cloud. His steps were deliberate, heavy, and filled with purpose. The air around him seemed to darken, and with each step, the temperature dropped further. His teeth were gritted, his jaw tight, and his hands clenched into fists beneath his robe. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from him—an oppressive, almost tangible bloodlust.

The knights stationed at the end of the hallway felt it before they saw him. The weight of their king’s fury pressed down on them like an avalanche. Their breaths quickened, and beads of sweat formed on their foreheads despite the freezing air. They stood at attention, their armor gleaming in the flickering light, but their eyes betrayed their fear. The closer Haldrek came, the darker the aura around him grew, like a shadow that consumed the very light.

One knight swallowed hard, his throat dry. Another gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. None of them dared to speak as their king approached. His eyes burned with unspoken rage, and his presence alone threatened to crush them where they stood.

When Haldrek stopped in front of them, the hall fell deathly silent. The knights braced themselves, their hearts pounding in their chests. They could see the tension in their king’s jaw, the way his breath exhaled in sharp, frosty plumes. He raised a hand, and they flinched. His fingers twitched, curling into a claw-like grip as if he were about to reach out and take their lives.

Haldrek’s hand hovered in the air, trembling with unsuppressed rage. The dark aura around him seemed to pulse, growing heavier. His knights stood their ground, but their fear was palpable. They had served him faithfully, but they weren’t fools—they knew what he was capable of when his temper flared.

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over them. His fingers twitched again, tightening into a fist. The knights closed their eyes, bracing for the inevitable.

But then, a small voice rang out behind him, soft and sweet, cutting through the tension like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Papa?”

Haldrek froze. His hand dropped to his side, and the oppressive aura around him dissipated almost instantly, like a storm breaking apart in the wake of a gentle breeze. Slowly, he turned around.

There, standing in the middle of the icy hallway, was a little girl no older than eight years old. She was small, delicate, and impossibly adorable, with a peaceful, round face framed by long, wavy braided locks of silvery-white hair that shimmered like spun moonlight. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, as if carved from the purest snow, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with innocence and warmth. She wore a simple dress of powder blue, trimmed with white fur, and her tiny boots left faint footprints in the frost-covered floor. In her hands, she carried a wicker basket filled with brushes, their bristles dusted with snow and etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly with magic.

“Papa,” she said again, tilting her head to the side, her voice soft and curious. “You promised to paint with me today. Did you forget?” Her lips curled into a small pout, and she hugged the basket closer to her chest.

Haldrek’s anger melted away like ice under the sun. He stared at her for a moment, his expression softening as the weight of his fury was replaced by something far more profound: love. He knelt down in front of her, his snow-covered robe pooling around him like a blanket.

“Espen,” he said softly, his voice no longer cold, but warm and gentle. “I… I didn’t forget. I’m sorry.”

She beamed at him, her smile lighting up the icy hallway. “It’s okay, Papa! Let’s go now!” She grabbed his hand with her tiny fingers, tugging him eagerly toward the end of the hall.

The knights, still frozen in place, watched in stunned silence as their king, the man they feared more than any other, allowed himself to be pulled away by a little girl with a basket of brushes.

His daughter.

Haldrek didn’t even glance back at them. He followed his daughter, his expression unreadable, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Espen led her father to a room deep within the castle, a place she called the Snow-Crested Atelier. The chamber was a large, circular space with walls made entirely of enchanted ice, their surfaces shimmering like crystal. The ceiling was domed, with intricate carvings of snowflakes and constellations that glowed faintly in the dim light. The floor was smooth and polished, reflecting the soft radiance of the room.

In the center of the room was a large, circular canvas—a blank sheet of frost-covered ice that shimmered with latent magic. Around it were jars of colorful paints, brushes of various sizes, and small piles of snow infused with magical energy.

Espen skipped over to the canvas, her basket swinging in her hand. She set it down and began laying out the brushes, humming a cheerful tune as she worked.

“I’m ready!” She laughed. “Your so slowww!”

Haldrek stood near the entrance, watching her silently. For a moment, the weight of his responsibilities, his anger, and his burdens felt distant—like a storm that had passed. In this room, with his daughter, there was only peace.

“Papa, come on!” Espen called, waving at him. “You promised you’d help me make something beautiful!”

Haldrek smiled faintly and walked over to her, kneeling by the canvas. He reached for one of the brushes, its handle cool to the touch, and dipped it into a jar of shimmering blue paint.

“What are we painting today, little snowflower?” he asked, his tone soft.

Espen giggled. “A happy world! A world where everyone is smiling and playing and there’s no fighting. Like the stories you tell me.”

Haldrek hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s make it together.”

As they painted, Espen chattered excitedly, her voice filling the room with warmth. She painted little figures of people holding hands, animals playing in snowy fields, and castles made of ice that sparkled in the sunlight. Haldrek added his own touches, his strokes precise and deliberate, as he brought her vision to life.

Haldrek said with a smile, “This is true beauty, Espen.”

“Papa,” Espen said suddenly, her voice thoughtful. “What’s true beauty?”

Haldrek paused, his brush hovering over the canvas. The question caught him off guard. He set the brush down and looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“True beauty…” he began, searching for the right words. “It’s… difficult to explain.”

“Is it flowers? Or snowflakes? Or paintings?” she asked, tilting her head.

Haldrek smiled faintly. “Those things are beautiful, yes. But true beauty is… more than that.” He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “True beauty is a world where no one has to suffer. A world without woeful death, without war, without kings or peasants. A world where everyone is free and equal.”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Espen blinked, her eyes wide. “No kings? But you’re a king, Papa.”

Haldrek chuckled softly, but there was a sadness in his voice. “Yes, I am. But I wish I didn’t have to be. I wish there was no need for kings or armies or castles. I wish there was no need for death, a death delivered to someone who is caught up in someone else’s warfare.”

His voice grew more serious, his tone heavy with emotion. “I’ve seen too much pain, Espen. Too much bloodshed. Too many lives lost for the sake of power, for the sake of greed. I don’t want that for you. I want a world where you can grow up happy, where you don’t have to see the things I’ve seen. A world where everyone is treated fairly, where no one has to fight to survive. Where there are no ranks. No bullies.”

As he spoke, his anger began to rise again. His hand tightened around the brush, and his voice grew louder, more intense. “I want a world where people aren’t divided by wealth or status! Where no one is born into suffering, and no one dies for someone else’s ambition. I want—”

Before he could continue, Espen dropped her brush and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Papa,” she said softly, her voice muffled against his chest. “It’s okay. You’re here. You can make that world happen.”

Haldrek froze, his anger dissipating in an instant. Time seemed to stand still as he looked down at his daughter, her tiny arms wrapped around him. Her warmth, her innocence, her love—it was enough to calm the storm inside him.

“I love you, Papa,” she whispered.

Haldrek’s eyes softened, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. He hugged her back, his large arms enveloping her. “I love you too, Espen. More than anything.”

‘I will be a hero for her..and only her. I will bring war to those who cause war, and for that…the concept will be eliminated from reality. Even if something happens to me, the world will reflect my daughter Espen: perfection.’

When Espen pulled away, Haldrek glanced at the wall they had been painting. It was only then that he really focused and noticed what they had created. The canvas was no longer just a collection of shapes and colors—it was a vision of a perfect world. The people in the painting were smiling, their faces filled with joy. There were no weapons, no castles, no barriers—only freedom and happiness.

Haldrek stood and walked toward the painting, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch it. As his fingers brushed the surface, he felt a strange pull, and suddenly, the room around him faded away.

He was standing in the middle of a vast, snow-covered landscape. The wind howled around him, but he felt no cold. He looked down and realized he was naked, his body exposed to the elements. But he wasn’t alone—everywhere he looked, there were others. Men and women, all naked, all walking through the snow.

There were no kings, no peasants, no soldiers—only people. They moved together, their faces free of fear or pain. The snow beneath their feet sparkled like diamonds, and the air was filled with a sense of peace unlike anything Haldrek had ever known.

He whispered to himself, his voice trembling. “This… this is freedom. This is beauty.”

The vision began to fade, and Haldrek found himself back in the atelier, his hand still resting on the painting. He turned to look at Espen, who was smiling up at him.

“Papa?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Haldrek knelt down and pulled her into another hug, holding her tightly. “Yes, my little snowflower. I’m okay.”

And for the first time in years, he truly meant it.

…

The great doors of the throne room groaned as they swung open, revealing the towering figure of King Haldrek. His snow-covered robe trailed behind him, leaving a faint trail of frost on the cold stone floor. The room was vast, its high ceilings supported by massive pillars of ice, each carved with ancient runes that shimmered faintly under the pale blue glow of enchanted torches. The throne itself sat upon a raised dais at the far end of the hall, a jagged creation of blackened steel and frost-bitten wood, majestic and unyielding.

But Haldrek’s attention wasn’t on the throne. His brow furrowed as he stopped just inside the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping across the occupants of the room. His cleric, a man cloaked in robes of deep crimson and gray, stood near the foot of the dais. His face was gaunt, with hollow cheeks and piercing green eyes that gleamed with an unsettling mixture of wisdom and unease. His name was Malrik, a figure as enigmatic as he was feared. His bald head shone under the torchlight, and the intricate tattoos etched across his scalp seemed to pulse faintly with magical energy. A heavy staff made of blackened oak rested in his hands, the tip adorned with an orb of swirling dark mist.

“Malrik,” Haldrek said, his voice firm and commanding, reverberating through the icy chamber. “What is going on here?”

The cleric lifted his head, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly. “The Velmires have gathered.”

Haldrek’s eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze to the far side of the room. There, clustered together like a horde of scavengers, stood the Velmire family. Their presence filled the chamber with an air of tension, their whispers and mutterings barely audible but persistent. At the front of the group was Lord Gorvhan Velmire, the fat, wiry man with a nervous energy that seemed to make his very skin crawl. His blubber lips perpetually twisted into a forced smile. His greasy eyes darted around the room like those of a cornered animal.

‘Tch, he’s finally here after ruining my tournament with that massacre. Does he feel no remorse for that? He put a bad rep on my family’s name! But I won’t tell him that, I like being alive!’

“Your Grace!” Gorvhan called out, bowing deeply but clumsily. “I—I’ve taken the liberty of gathering the family leaders, as you requested.” His voice was high-pitched and shaky, and he wrung his hands together as he spoke, his long, fat fingers twisting like gnarled roots. “As you have me-mentioned before, we will help with this war. For we as a noble family are very successful in our operations!”

Haldrek descended the steps of the dais, his robe flowing behind him. His presence alone silenced the room, and the Velmires instinctively drew back, their murmurs ceasing as they turned their attention to their king. Gorvhan visibly shrank under Haldrek’s gaze, his forced smile faltering.

“You’ve gathered them,” Haldrek said, his tone cold and cutting. “Just know I despise everyone who is of nobility. Meaning I despise myself as well. But I am still a hero. You all make me sick.”

After he said that, uncomfortable ease filled everyone up, daring not to say anything.

Haldrek continued, “You will be used accordingly, and according to your strengths. But remember. Our main weapon is Yuuna and her vessel, Xyenn. They are our trunk card, and if anyone has an issue with that you will not leave here alive.”

Haldrek’s eyes swept over the assembled Velmires. Some of them stood tall and proud, their lineage evident in their regal bearing. Others seemed less composed, their unease palpable in the way they shifted their weight or avoided his gaze. Among them were faces that carried the weight of their family’s storied history.

Syrus Velmire, the Iron Warden, had forged their dynasty centuries ago, and his legacy was etched into every member of the family. His iron gauntlet, now a revered heirloom, was said to have crushed countless foes in the Tournaments of Chaos. Lady Verena Velmire, the Blood Queen, had solidified their power through her mastery of blood magic, securing their dominance with rivers of blood and fire. Tyros Velmire, the Silent Blade, had expanded their influence into the shadows, making them masters of espionage and intrigue. And now, Lord Valen Velmire, the Silver Lion, stood as the head of the family, his presence commanding even as whispers of his personal losses haunted the air.

The Velmire family members were as distinct and striking as their storied lineage. Beside them stood Lord Valen Velmire, the Silver Lion, with his sharp silver hair, piercing steel-gray eyes, and a regal, weathered face framed by a short, neatly trimmed beard that hinted at his years of battle. Lady Kaerith Velmire, Valen’s sister, had fiery red hair braided with gold bands, her amber eyes glowing like embers against her freckled, tawny skin; her confident smirk suggested she was as dangerous with words as with a blade. Tyros Velmire’s descendant, Lord Ardyn Velmire, was a tall, shadowy figure garbed in dark blues and blacks, his deep indigo eyes shrouded in a constant haze of suspicion, with sharp cheekbones and a scar running from his temple to his jaw. Finally, Lady Teryn Velmire, a distant cousin, stood apart with her snow-white hair cascading in waves, her violet eyes almost luminous against her smooth, dark bronze skin, her elegant posture concealing a predatory cunning that made her presence impossible to ignore. Each member bore an heirloom or token of their heritage—rings, blades, or pendants that whispered of Velmire’s history.

Valen himself stood near the center of the group, his silver hair falling in sharp contrasts against his dark armor. His expression was stoic, his sharp features betraying nothing of his thoughts. He radiated a quiet strength, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease as they met Haldrek’s.

Before Haldrek could speak further, the Velmires began whispering amongst themselves. Their voices were low, barely audible, but the king’s keen ears caught fragments of their conversation.

“…the ritual… forbidden… the draconic gods…”

“…Kragvyr will not stand for this…”

“…to summon darkness itself… he risks everything…”

Haldrek’s expression darkened. “Enough,” he said, his voice cutting through their whispers like a blade. The Velmires fell silent, their eyes falling to the floor.

Turning back to Malrik, Haldrek spoke with calm authority. “Prepare the ritual of Zahul.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of his words settling over the gathered nobles like a shroud. Malrik hesitated for the briefest of moments before bowing his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said cautiously, “the ritual is… forbidden for a reason. To summon such darkness is to invite the wrath of the draconic deities. Kragvyr himself—”

“I know what it entails,” Haldrek interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “And I know the risks. Do as I command. If any of you defy me once more…”

Malrik hesitated, his fingers tightening around his staff. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Gorvhan, on the side, thought, ‘Oooh this is bad! We all might get clobbered! And the other family leaders…I bet they still hate me right now. They’ll never trust me again. I have to keep my composure, I think Haldrek feeds off fear! But for those rituals..rituals are roots from hell itself, darkness is from hell, in which Yuuna’s escape from hell and the First Dragon’s act of implanting darkness in the world for the sake of balance, they can be altered and used to summon anything from hell if done right. It’s because of Yuuna, and the things she did to try and stop the dragon gods on her own, made things worse with the darkness she spread through kingdoms!’

The cleric turned and began issuing orders to the sorcerers who had gathered near the edges of the room, their dark robes blending into the shadows. The Velmires exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to speak against the king. Even Lord Gorvhan, who had been fidgeting nervously, remained silent.

The preparations for the ritual began in earnest. The sorcerers moved with practiced precision, drawing intricate runes on the floor in a mixture of ash and blood. The air grew heavy with the scent of iron and burnt incense, and the faint hum of magical energy filled the room. At the center of the runic circle, a stone altar was placed, its surface etched with ancient symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

As the ritual neared completion, Haldrek stepped forward, his expression resolute. Malrik approached him, his face pale and drawn.

“Your Majesty,” the cleric said quietly, “to complete the ritual, you must… you must draw near death to yourself.”

Haldrek nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I know.”

Malrik hesitated. “The timing must be perfect. If it is not… you risk losing everything.”

“I will not fail,” Haldrek said firmly.

The cleric bowed his head and stepped back, his hands trembling slightly as he raised his staff. The sorcerers began chanting, their voices low and guttural, weaving a dark melody that echoed through the chamber. The runes on the floor began to glow, their light shifting from red to black as the energy within them grew.

As the chanting reached its crescendo, Haldrek stepped onto the altar, his white robe falling away to reveal the simple black tunic beneath. He drew a dagger from his belt, its blade as black as the void, and held it aloft.

In the back of his mind, a voice roared—deep, guttural, and filled with fury. It was Kragvyr, his draconic deity, screaming at him to stop.

“Haldrek! You defy the natural order! You defy ME! Cease this madness!”

But Haldrek ignored the voice. His grip on the dagger tightened, and he raised it to his chest.

“For my kingdom,” he whispered. “For my daughter. I need everything I can get. I will eliminate war.”

And with that, he plunged the blade into his heart.

The pain was immediate and all-consuming, a burning agony that radiated through his entire body. Blood poured from the wound, pooling on the altar and spilling into the runes below. The sorcerers cried out, slicing their own palms and letting their blood drip onto the floor, their magic amplifying the ritual.

The room was engulfed in darkness. The torches flickered and died, and the chanting was replaced by an oppressive silence. Haldrek felt himself falling, his body weightless as the world around him faded away.

‘Falling…’

‘Falling the same distance I fell….when I became a vessel of purity..’

‘But I ended up falling in the hands of a god…’

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the throne room. He was sitting on a stone platform, surrounded by an endless void of blackness. The air was cold, and the silence was deafening.

Before him sat a figure on a throne of shadow and bone. Death himself.

The same Death who fought Xyenn.

His form was draped in a black cloak that seemed to devour the light, the edges trailing shadows that twisted and writhed like living things. His face was a skull, his hollow eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. Long black hair spilled over his shoulders, and two curved horns jutted from his skull, framing his fearsome visage. From his back sprouted massive black wings, their feathers tattered and dripping with darkness. In his hands, he held a scythe, its blade jagged and adorned with black roses that seemed to bloom and wither in an endless cycle.

The figure leaned forward, his voice a deep, resonant growl that seemed to echo within Haldrek’s very soul.

“Ahhh,” Death said, his lips curling into a skeletal grin. “A vessel. How’s my rival Xyenn doing? Is he doing great? I hope so. I’ve heard from a powerful source that he’s working with you, eh?”

“The Prophet..that grizzly old buffoon?”

“Nevermind that, no one knows his origins anyway. But he sure talks a lot. It’s like he sees everything.”

“I didn’t want to summon you, I—!”

“You wanted to summon something from hell, is that right? You must know I have now become the god of death, the seven Monarchs of hell picked me up after Xyenn defeated me, it was embarrassing honestly. But I feel so new!”

“You lost…to Xyenn?! That brat?!”

“They came to me, offered me power, power of the very concept of death, and beyond it. I’m too powerful now!”

“The Monarchs…?”

“They saw that I was a pawn of the First Dragon. The Cycle of Rebirth is just a thorn in my side, they said. So, I ask you, what was it you wanted? Some kind of demon war horse? A demon bear? Take your pick. Times running out.”

“Give me a Monarch!”

“You’re willing to summon a being from hell, just so you can erase war?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes….i'll use all the power I can!”

“Ahh. I can’t give you a Monarch, they can only come here once the gates of hell open again, their power is too great; in which it needs a human link to connect them to your side of life. Monarchs are the ones who are the all powerful beings of pure darkness, the First Monarch however, an ancient enemy of the First Dragon, seeks things beyond your understanding. Even when the First Dragon was betrayed by his own kin because they got greedy and scared of the First Monarch, Hell still lingered, thinking that would be the time to come through to Kyrrin, but the cycle of rebirth and the balance of the world keeps them from coming here. The First Dragon Gabriel is so smart, I give him credit for it. The First Monarch can swallow your world whole by just looking at it. Crazy right? I’m so glad I’m in the ranks with them. They even have power over me!”

“Give me a Monarch! Tell them to come here, to me! What do I have to give up?!”

“Ehhhh, you’re annoying me. Even after all I told you, you’ll still be fine with this? The use of rituals, the use of darkness itself, it paves the way for the gates of hell to reform in your world easier, it makes the human who’s connecting the link to hell and Kyrrin to create it faster, better, more effectively.”

“I’ll find the human, and take them down. Hell won’t be summoned.”

“…Hmm. How about this?! When you wage war with the dragon of war, draw near death upon yourself again, and I will be summoned.”

“What do you want?”

“Xyenn. The boy who beat me for the first time in millennium. But just know, once you summon me at near death like now, and I form into the world, you will die permanently.”

Haldrek thought about his daughter, and the paintings, and thought, ‘I am a hero. I can do this. For her. I can cut the link from Hell to Kyrrin, I can make the world perfect. I won’t give up. I’ll do whatever it takes! Even if the gates open, Yuuna will deal with them. She hates them anyway, and she has to be as strong as them. As long as Espen lives in a world without war…’

Haldrek said, “Yes. Do it. I will summon you on the day of battle, and you will help me conquer my foes.”

“Annnnd get my revenge on Xyenn! I really really want his soul..”

“It’s a deal.”

Death smiled, and said, “Then let me finalize the contract!”

SLASH!

Death slashed Haldrek’s head off with his scythe, black roses growing from the spot his head got lopped off in.

Haldrek then opened his eyes, back in the throne room as everyone gasped:

“He’s back!”

“I wonder what he saw!”

“Who did he summon?!”

Haldrek stood, and said, “Someone deliver a dove to Yuuna and her Tyrants and vessel. Those who are closest to the gates of hell and the power of darkness are witches themselves. Learning how to manipulate the forces of darkness and rituals with honed technique and sacrifices. Tell them to look for the witch who’s connecting the link to hell and Kyrrin.”