Thunder, rain, and lightning. Those were what the young royals heard and watched for the duration of their stay. The hellish storms beyond the window doors were a great nuisance, yet more of a danger than they seemed, almost like an unholy curse upon the grand capital of the empire and its many dominated realms. The day was all but lost to the night, as true darkness consumed all that was to be seen.

Charles yawned as he lay on his bed, his eyes slowly darted across their room's aged ceiling whilst Leighton slept comfortably on his bed beside his sister Silvia, with both royals embraced in each other's arms around them. Ashton on the other hand, his mind directed outside the windows of the room. Gazing into the pitch-black void this stormy night had created, with his body leaned against the wall and his arms crossed, his eyes ever so vigilant against whatever creature of the night may silently lurk beyond. "Storm be damned..." Ashton muttered under his breath. "...You should sleep, brother." Charles urged his older brother, having heard Ashton's earlier remark, as he continued to stare at the ceiling which was as blank as his mind could be.

"Considerations should be considered." Ashton retorted. "I've not a single clue of what this storm portrays. However, it casts a query I have yet to apprehend. Seldom might I bring about a solution to this madness." Charles crossed his arms, then smirked. "I get that you're concerned. So what about it?"

Ashton turned to face Charles, who never even bothered to look back at his brother. Finding the ceiling worth more of his attention than taking a glance at Ashton. "What about it...? Nothing you should be concerned about. Since you are but a simple and careless fool of a prince." Charles chuckled and nodded. "Haha...! True, but at least I am the greater fighter... And no one would even try to say otherwise, without thinking twice..." Charles affirmed his claim, that despite being young, no knight of the Vnerman Empire could best him. In combat, and master swordplay. "As you say. Brother." Ashton sighed and turned to face the window once again, a devious smirk slowly formed upon his face as he cracked his knuckles before chuckling. "It is... As you say..."

As the young royals remained in relative safety, Empress Aurelia sat beside her elegant emperor in a separate room. The dining hall of the royal palace. Seated upon glistening thrones laced with tempered steel and fashioned diamonds. Upon the round marble table, candlelight lit up the darkness as roasted dishes awaited to be devoured and wine to be served on glass cups. "My emperor..." Aurelia spoke softly.

"Please, my dear... Just call me August... It's not like we have anyone else to entertain on this gloomy night. We can speak however we like in private. Decorum is a bore..." Augustus, the grand emperor of Vnerman, with eyes of white and hair of blond. His smile broke even the hardest of pains, yet even he knew of suffering. Augustus brushed off his hair from his shoulders and tied them into one with a thick string and band, his eyes always on his partner who sat beside him with a gentle glow of pride. "Whatever you wish, my husband..." Aurelia smiled in response to her emperor's tease, as he proceeded to wrap his arm around her waist while slowly leaning in. "I can't say I can wish for anymore..." Augustus replied with an even cheeky smirk.

"Now about that storm outside..." Augustus raised an eyebrow and began to question his loving wife, her calm demeanor faltered for a split-second before returning to its composed state. "Y-Yes... About that, August... It appears to be some sort of unholy curse it seems or some unknown unnatural phenomena." The emperor chuckled for a moment before gently pulling Aurelia closer to his side and onto his shoulder. "It's certainly unnatural alright, but unholy is a bit far-fetched... And damn is it pitch black." Augustus and Aurelia gazed out into the window before them, everything outside the capital was nothing short of endless darkness, cursed or damned.

"I haven't seen anything unholy that looks like this. If the moon somehow died, I'd be one of the first to believe it. Eh, something about science your cousin told me about some time ago. I think it was about a solar eclipse...? Well, whatever it is, this just got a whole lot scarier..." Augustus added to one of his many worldly dilemmas.

"In any case, we should do something about it..." Aurelia suggested. Her eyes never left the empty void beyond the windows of the imperial royal palace, as did her husband who sat beside her, while they both gazed silently into the unknown beyond. "...I think that should be our first and main priority..." Augustus responded to Aurelia with a blank face. Both rulers who had long forgotten the dinner served on platters before them. As did the long night proceeded without patience or wait.

Somewhere beyond the dark borders of the Vnerman Empire, within this continent known as Liondel, three powers reigned supreme. To the south, Vnerman. To the east, the Holy Empyrean. And to the north, Andorra. In said north was a kingdom that rivaled both the Holy Empyrean and Vnerman in both economy and power, despite being a tad bit smaller than the two great old empires.

The Kingdom of Andorra was a kingdom of unrivaled strategic might, not only by air, land, and sea but also in both defense and offense. This was thanks only to their atheist young ruler King Ethos, who cared little for gods, angels, demons, or anything related to the supernatural and beyond. And within the Andorran capital of Fergus, Ethos, dressed in his dark matching black attire with his black hair and velvet eyes watched from his throne down upon his noble subject within his bright luminous court. The young king was but a late teen with the gaze of an adult tyrant. Yet, it was he who brought Andorra from its foundations onto the sovereign scale, despite being merely a mere century old. And yes, what was once a crumbling city-state was uplifted to a high status of kingdom, a true sovereign kingdom that rivaled empires.

"Ugh... So boring...!" King Ethos groaned in boredom as he lazed about upon his throne. Nobles, fearful of his wrath dared not question him outright. Though, among them was a brave elderly general, tall and mighty as with the bushy grey beard and hair that came with his old age. His blue eyes gazed at the ruler who sat like an improper lord over the vast royal domain that was the king's. Nevertheless, the general bent his knee and kneeled before his lord. "Ahh... General jackass... I mean, Jerald." Ethos gazed upon the old man beneath him who looked back with a stern face that made him almost scoff.

"My king..." Jerald began. "Please, act appropriately for your role as ruler of this realm. I fear your reputation may decline upon-" Ethos raised a hand, silencing the general as he interjected. "Yeah! But you forgot that I'm the founder of this fucking realm, reputations ain't worth apeshit if I built this kingdom, and I'm at the goddamn top!" The king paused for a brief moment before adding to his statement. "Know your place, general! I didn't kill demon kings left and right for nothing...! Assemble the army... We're going demon hunting!" His voice boomed throughout the castle, nobles left and right nodded without hesitation, for this great crown held absolute authority. Both royal and personal powers within and beyond his grand domains.

Yet the old general stood opposed. "Your majesty! You can't be serious! We've only fought demonkind just a decade ago! There's no way we can replenish our resources in time for the seventh war! This is madness!" Ethos merely rolled his eyes and sat upright as he continued to stare down at his discontented general. "I've never lost a single arm, army, or a stupid conscripted peasant plebe! What in the fuck are you afraid of, stupid?"

King Ethos, with a wave of his hand, summoned his royal guards. "Take the general to his quarters, and give him some proper medication and a psychiatrist. I believe that he's finally gone senile...!" The royal guards grabbed Jerald by his shoulders and slowly pulled him away. But the elderly general remained defiant. "Your majesty, please reconsider my words... For the sake of the people." And with those words, he disappeared into the corridors. Away from the gaze of the king and his nobles.

"I don't get it though..." Ethos pondered to himself. The night was bright upon the great capital of Fergus. However, the general's warning did not fall upon the king's ever-open ears, which left him to contemplate the state of his realm, as well as the inner workings of his sovereign kingdom. "Well... Whatever!" Ethos stood from his throne and his court dispersed in moments. "I'm sure we'll deal with that problem once the pillaging begins. After all, to the victor goes the spoils..." Ethos grinned in delight. The thought of resources pouring into his royal pockets and coins into his coffers made him all but oblivious to the consequences of his actions. But then again, he never cared for such things, for these matters were all but beneath him. "This is going to be, so much fun!"

"My king..." A voice from behind a pillar spoke from the shadows. "Advisor rice- I mean, Rochester... Come out and get your ass over here." Ethos said while maintaining a cold gaze over the darkness to his left, as a meager man approached from the shadows, all dressed in velvet shades befitting the rank of advisor, matching his velvet hair and eyes that went against the almost regal outward appearance he portrayed.

"What do you want from me now, you sack of bones...? I bet it's about Jerald isn't it!?" Ethos's momentary fury shook Rochester to the core, but he remained composed in the face of undeniable wrath. "Truth be told, yes... He spoke true my lord." Ethos raised an eyebrow in confusion. His eyes remained on his advisor for a second before they blinked in confirmation. "We'll get the fucking resources once and after we conquer all of demonkind. We can pillage along the way while we're at it!" Rochester merely chuckled and adjusted his round glasses before retorting. "Not only that, your majesty. But also morale..." Rochester paused for a moment, gazing upon Ethos who crossed his arms in wait. "The soldiers are tired, even after decades of conflict, unlike you, they get tired of both war and bloodshed. Don't forget, people age... Your grand majesty..."

The king finally scoffed at his advisor. His glaring eyes never left their mark whilst he proceeded to descend to his advisor's level. "If I didn't know any better, I would've had your head removed." Rochester adjusted his glasses once again whilst his king took a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he smirked.

"I'll consider that warning Roche, maybe I'll even make it happen..." King Ethos walked away with a smirk on his face and Rochester remained standing with a smile of his own. "But of course, my king." Ethos proceeded through the opulent halls of his grand castle. Down the flights of stairs and stairways that soon led to his dimly-lit war room. "Your majesty..." The royal guards stationed to patrol the area bowed and left his presence, providing the young ruler with his needed privacy. "Alright, come out..."

Ethos stood in place and dead candlelights sprung to life. Crimson fire lit the room as the interior designs were unveiled from the darkness. And from the darkness stood Ethos's silhouette, yet it was not his shadow. "Greetings. My lord..." It spoke with an eerie voice, distorted from reality as if gurgling and static. "Spector... I've got a job for you..." The king approached the round table that provided the entire map of Liondel, a detailed diorama of figurines was spread out across the mapped continent, marked with key targets, roads, towns, and populated city-states that made strategic points. Specifically, Vnerman's weaker, neutral, allied, and vassal neighbors.

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"What would you have me do, my lord...?" The silhouette laughed silently as its master leaned on the table. Gazing down upon a certain market city that produced grain and seafood just shy of the western coast. "Go start a plague for me... And make it quick." Spector tilted its head before laughing once again. "It shall be done, my lord..." Ethos's silhouette disappeared entirely before quickly returning, knowing full well that Spector had left his shadow and went on to fulfill its purpose. "So it is. I've got a world to burn." Ethos began moving pieces across the map like a board of simple chess. Once more, the candle lights faded to nothing. And the room became dark and silent. But then he added. "So it was then, so it will be now... Fate is a cruel mother fucking sonofabitch."

The king's mind went into strategic mode, his lips all but shut as his intellect went into planning for the next upcoming war. However, as he did so, old forgotten forms flew down from the table and onto the floor, one of Andorra's few darkest secrets. Lack of produce, and the absence of food production. The only reason why Andorra was, and still is, a military government solely built on war.

Two hours later, factories across the kingdom went into overdrive. The engines of war drew infernal breath once again. Engines roared to life whilst men and women of their professions went about, lifting, hammering, and constructing, the deadly weapons of war. From suits of battle armor to planes and tanks, Andorra was again in full motion.

Throughout the night, the hellish sounds of marching soldiers and grinding tanks went about through the streets of the capital. There was no meeting of generals, nobles, or men and women of power, for only the ruler had the final say. "All engines operational." Said the engine operator aboard the steel Andorran battleship. "All sonar are clear sir." Added the navigation officer. "Well done comrades! Full on to the horizon!" Andorran fleets cruised along the wide river across the Andorran capital that led to the greater seas. To the vast ocean realm that led to the west and beyond. The sunrise just and so on the horizon, her grace magnified the vast potential of tomorrow. "Full speed ahead!"

Vessels ranging from light cruisers to ultra-heavy destroyers and carriers sailed for Andorra's foes. Their future was all but secured within Andorra's sovereign dominions, over the vast lands they governed and the lands beyond that they would soon control. The rising sun sang promises of glory and gold. Without god, war was just another job for the common men and women of the world. Just like any other, just and right as so.

Meanwhile, on the balcony of one of the royal castle's legislative houses, four nobles stood in watch over the river and the cityscape before them. Two ladies, one lord, and one count. The first two were Lady Fernau and Lady Farley, both had blond hair and orange eyes, dressed in orange and yellow garments, adorned with minor jewelry. The third was Lord Harold, dressed in all blue matching his blue hair and blue eyes, but his suit never had a single jewelry upon it. And lastly, Count Druin, an elderly man with grey hair and grey eyes that matched his silver and white attire which also had no jewelry.

Each of them had their respective houses. Fernau and Farley of House Felix, Harold of House Pendragon, and Druin of House Drake. These specific noble houses had next to no allegiance to the Andorran crown, though the results were more than adequate in the royal endeavors of the king, they did not seem to share the same passion for war and warfare, or any of the mass killings and bloodshed to say the least.

Although no words were spoken, they had but one thought in their minds. "...This chaos must be stopped..." And yet, they had not a single authority over the king or his devoted people. Utterly helpless to hinder the laws already long implemented by their ruler. King Ethos. Who remained in power regardless of whoever or whatever came his way.

Yet somewhere to the north, to the frigid island known as Darkmount, a mountain island of freezing temperatures stood a mighty palace of ice and snow. Though not comparable to the ruler of the western old continent. Here, within the cold palace of Darkmount, upon his icy throne, was Jack. The ruler of Darkmount, made of pure eternal ice, resembled a man dressed in glass armor. "...Existence is a pain in the ass." Jack, with his freezing breath, muttered to himself in a hushed tone. "...Everything this world had provided was a waste of effort..." His eyes gazed across his frosty chamber, thousands upon thousands of snow elves guarded every corner and pillar of his throne room, as the morning sun reached his crystalline palace.

Hurried footsteps ran across the snow beyond the palace walls, rushed breaths heaved cold air, whilst thick blizzard snow hampered down the boots of the elf who ran and ran through frosty gates and icy villages just to enter the frigid palace where his monarch presided. The seat of power within the Darkmount domain, where it is even colder than the freezing temperature outside. Royal guards stationed inside needed only a look to recognize the man before them, immediately granting entrance to the young snow elf who had a bag that resembled a satchel strapped tightly onto his waistline like armor.

"My lord, I bear grave news! Andorra's fleets have begun to move!" An elven messenger kneeled before his monarch after bursting through the palace doors and onto the wide elevated platform before Jack, the Monarch of Snow. "...I know. That's why I am pissed at the moment... The question is, where exactly are they headed...?" The elf, dressed in his snowy attire took a moment to extract a folded parchment from his satchel before reading the contents written within it. "A-According to the southern division's reports..." He began, stuttering. "T-They're headed for the imperial garrisons stationed at the Cryomoltan ports to the southwestern coasts of the continent. I... I think they're going to start another Andorran-Hell war, the s-seventh one to be precise."

"Your majesty, if I'm not mistaken." The elven messenger added. "...I do believe there is currently a storm over Vnerman, as we speak... Though I may not have the information relating to the matter as of the moment, however, if I were to guess, this was not their doing. Andorra isn't the type to use magic or any artifact that once held arcane power. Still, I may have a theory that Hell may be beginning to retaliate against its neighbors. Although, that remains a hypothesis until proven otherwise... But it does connect with my assumption that Hell may target the Vnerman Empire to gain a foothold on the overworld... Then again, that also remains as a hypothesis as well..."

Jack gazed upon the messenger with query in mind, while racing to find Andorra's true objective. Yet, found none. But perhaps this snow elf may have the answer he sought. The elven messenger took a moment to breathe before proceeding with the contents of the parchment. "B-But to enter the Gates of Hell, they'll have to overtake one of the ancient imperial garrisons stationed around the gate. That would also mean they'll have to declare war on Vnerman, which they would certainly do once given a chance." Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. "What are the chances they'll- Forget it! I'll kill them all myself." Jack stood from his throne and declared with a frightening fury. "War is going to happen one way or another! Might as well join in...! Prepare the legions! We march upon the Holy Empyrean! We've got a grudge to settle, freeze them in winter! To war!"

His voice resonated across the palace and throughout the snowy mountains where eager legions of snow-elven warriors formed armies alongside golems of ice and a company of glacial titans. The snowy weather became harsher and harsher as they marched onto the land bridge that connected the island to the continent of Liondel.

Citizens to the north of the Holy Empyrean, ignorant of the encroaching threat, slept comfortably in their beds, unaware of the dark future that awaited them. The skies blackened, and the grass became flooded with snow. An unholy winter was coming, one that would end lives within the hundreds of millions.

But even then, this was only the beginning. For even Hell itself was aware of the chaos above them, beneath the very continent where the three powers reigned supreme. There, the realm of demons, monsters, and the agents of evil were born and raised. Where eternal damnation and perversion were thought to be rehearsed. Yet, this was all but false, for this was Hell by name, and not a hell by definition. To be concise, Hell was just another nation on a map, and its diverse residents were just another species. Albeit misunderstood on a historical scale.

Within the brooding landscape of red and darkness, Hell was a thriving utopia, of trees and groves. Thousands of diverse wildlife roamed its earth, whilst many millions more plantlife blessed its vast fertile lands, contrary to popular religious belief. And at the center of these blessed fertile lands, was the red capital of Hell, Oblivion. Red was the primary color of the capital, for red was the symbol of Hell's current monarch. A noble and humble devil who went by the name of Lucius, not to be mistaken for the heinous, and deceiving blasphemer, known as Morningstar. For even he was never welcome or even accepted into Hell. Or any other plane of reality.

And within Hell's capital of Oblivion, was the Crimson Palace. A towering fortress structure of red glass and metals. Yet truth be told, not even its residents knew of its mysterious history, who built it, or who owned it. Because before Hell even became a thing, this very fortress stood in place, surrounded by seas of endless crimson blood. Hell's formidable bastion of demonic order.

"Hellen..." Lucius began, his red eyes and red hair tied into a tail matched his loose red suit, his gaze was off into the distance where a stone tower connected the surface to the demonic realms. "Why do you think we're here?" He clasped his hands together at an eager pace, graceful and gentle as his eyes gleamed with audacious curiosity.

Chandeliers hung in an everlasting silence as flaming red lamps lit the devil's office. His portraits distorted whilst a feminine figure took her time to approach the monarch who remained patient and silent. Her footsteps echoed across the wide, decorated, office floors and walls before her form revealed itself to the light of Hell's imperfect blue sun.

A succubus approached from across his desk, leaning over to rest her delicate hand upon her monarch's shoulder. Her voice, sweet yet commanding, spoke like a serpent of alluring lies into Lucius's ear. "...Because of Andorra, my master." Hellen's ferocious purple eyes gazed upon her handsome young monarch, her tight dress complimented her purple hair which was of matching color to her attire. "Curious..." Lucius replied.

"...How long do you think it'll take their fleets to arrive on shore before they begin their landings? I highly doubt they'd wait a couple more weeks before their ambitious ruler is at it again." Lucius paused for a moment whilst his eyes momentarily closed shut. "Provide me with an estimated number of days, weeks, and months until they reach the borderline." Lucius crossed his legs and leaned back on his throne that overlooked his capital and the realms beneath him. "Given their circumstances..." Hellen began. "It would take an entire fleet just ten days to reach the shores by sea. However, due to the weather conditions of the raging storm eastward, I estimate about two whole weeks in total. Provided if their vessels are as advanced as they were portrayed."

Hellen sat on Lucius's desk as she caressed his hair and planted a few kisses on his neck before slowly moving on to his cheek and lips. "That's enough for now, Hellen." Lucius reciprocated Hellen's kiss with equal passion before parting. "We still have a pressing matter to attend to, maybe later." Lucius's whispered breath hung beneath Hellen's lips as Lucius once again gazed upon the lands below, a certain euphoria swept his mind whilst his heart began to slow its beating. "Whatever you say, my dearest monarch..." Hellen licked her lips, the taste of her monarch's gentle skin still lingered within her mind, savoring every detail and smell of her would-be partner, or perhaps even her destined and preordained husband.

"Have the imps and demons construct the infernal cannons..." Lucius commanded. "I think they'll be here before a week... Have them all on overtime, and keep the legions on high alert, their fleets are going to arrive earlier than expected... They always do..." Hellen kissed Lucius's cheek before slowly disappearing into a pink mist that smelled like garden flowers, her form slowly faded, as a smirk graced her lips. "...By your command, my master..." With a puff, Hellen faded to nothing, leaving Lucius alone with his thoughts and the eerie silence of the room. Until then, it was the waiting game.