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Narrator’s Voice:
While Kaelen wandered uncertain paths, uncertain of his role in the prophecy, elsewhere, a shadow stirred in the far reaches of Valoria—a darkness that neither slept nor relented. In lands where light dared not tread, a figure plotted, a mind honed with purpose and unyielding ambition. Unknown to Kaelen, his journey was already woven into the plans of a force that viewed him not as a savior, but as an obstacle to be crushed.
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The land lay barren beneath a sky thick with swirling, storm-colored clouds. No light pierced the air, which hung heavy with an almost tangible weight, thick with the scent of decay and dust. The horizon stretched bleak and endless, interrupted only by jagged rocks and the occasional, withered tree—its branches clawing at the sky in a final, desperate plea.
In the center of this desolation rose an imposing fortress, its walls like the bones of some ancient, long-dead creature. The stronghold towered high, each spire jutting sharply into the sky as if seeking to pierce through to a world beyond. Black stone walls dripped with a perpetual, unnatural frost, despite the ominous heat that filled the air around them.
The ground was lifeless, drained of color and hope. It felt as though all the land near the fortress was infected by its presence, cast into shadows by a power too dark and ancient to name. Shadows seemed to move within the walls as if the fortress itself was alive, pulsing with some sinister energy.
At the heart of this darkness stood a figure—a tall, imposing man, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of unseen torches. His armor was polished obsidian, marked with scars from battles long past. A blood-red cloak hung from his shoulders, swaying slightly in the stale breeze that whispered through the halls. He was a man whose presence exuded authority, his very existence a command to any who dared cross him.
His gaze pierced the shadows, sharp and unyielding. In that silent moment, he surveyed his domain with a satisfaction born of absolute control. His kingdom stretched out before him—a land of ruin and despair, molded by his will alone.
This was no ordinary man. This was a figure consumed by purpose, one who saw Valoria not as a world to protect, but as a prize to conquer, a world to shape and rule. In the silence, he whispered, almost to himself, yet his voice echoed through the empty corridors, resonating with power and ambition.
"Let the prophecy come," he murmured, the corners of his mouth curving into a dark smile. "And let the fool who believes himself destined come forward. I shall show him what destiny truly means."
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In the heart of his fortress, seated upon a throne carved from black stone, the villain—known to his followers only as Lord Malakar—sat in contemplation. The dim light from enchanted flames cast jagged shadows across his features, giving him an even more sinister look. His gaze was distant, yet fierce, as he looked into the void, his mind turning over old wounds and grudges that had calcified into a purpose.
“Valoria…” he whispered, almost reverently, yet with an unmistakable edge of disdain. “A world of weakness, held together by the threads of those too cowardly to wield real power.”
Malakar’s hand curled into a fist. He could still remember a time when he was part of that fragile world, a time when he, too, had believed in hope, in light. But that life felt like a distant dream now, a memory dulled by years of conquest, betrayal, and bitter solitude. The very thought of his past disgusted him—how naïve he had once been, bound by foolish morals and ideals that had only ever kept him chained.
“Fools… they clutch to notions of peace, yet they cannot see the rot beneath.” His voice grew stronger, filling the vast, empty chamber. “They seek harmony, but they are nothing without someone to lead, someone to show them their own limits.”
Malakar’s dark philosophy had become an obsession. He was not born of pure malice; rather, he saw himself as a savior of sorts—a bringer of order to a chaotic, misguided world. He believed that he alone could drag Valoria out of its misery and into an era where strength ruled above all else.
“Destiny…” he sneered, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with a fierce intensity. “This so-called prophecy… they whisper about a chosen one, a savior who will bring balance.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound echoing like a distant thunderclap. “Balance. A weak man’s word for surrender.”
Malakar’s thoughts turned to the rumors he’d heard of the one known as Kaelen—the wanderer marked by fate. Though he had never met this Kaelen, he despised him on principle. To Malakar, Kaelen was just another puppet, a tool of those who clung to outdated ideals.
“Perhaps I was marked by fate as well,” he muttered, almost in mockery. “But my destiny is not to follow; it is to rule.”
He allowed his mind to drift back to his past, to memories that still fueled his hatred. He could still feel the bitter sting of betrayal—the moment he had been cast aside by those who had once praised him, the very people he had vowed to protect. His heart had turned cold that day, his ideals shattered. He had learned that weakness could not be tolerated, and he had vowed to shape a world where only the strong survived.
“Let them come to me,” he said, his voice now a low, dangerous growl. “Let them bring this so-called savior before me. I will show him what true strength means.”
As he spoke, the fortress around him seemed to tremble slightly, as if it, too, was infused with his dark resolve. He closed his eyes, allowing his fury to simmer down, replaced by a cold, calculating focus. Every move, every conquest, was part of his vision for Valoria. He would tear down the world’s fragile order, replace it with one of his own making, and anyone who dared stand in his way would be silenced.
Stolen novel; please report.
In the silence that followed, Malakar smiled. He had no fear of destiny, no fear of heroes or prophecies. To him, they were obstacles—stepping stones on his path to ultimate dominion.
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Lord Malakar strode to the balcony of his fortress, a towering overlook from which he could view his legions below. As he appeared, an eerie silence fell over the crowd—a gathering of dark creatures, humans turned loyal soldiers, and mystical entities bound to his will. The ground below was a writhing sea of allegiance, thousands of beings whose lives he now controlled.
He raised a single hand, and the crowd erupted in a chant—a rhythmic, fierce cry of loyalty. Malakar’s expression was one of icy satisfaction as he took in the sight. They feared him, yes, but more importantly, they believed in his vision of a world reshaped under his power.
“Soldiers of the new order,” he spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly over the throng. “Today, you stand on the edge of destiny. The age of weakness and fragile ideals has ended. I will lead you, and we shall claim what is ours!”
The crowd surged, voices mingling in chaotic agreement. Malakar’s gaze scanned over them, lingering on his lieutenants, loyal creatures of darkness who had pledged themselves to his rule. Among them were beings who wielded magic to rival any of Valoria’s finest, twisted by their loyalty to his cause.
Malakar turned his attention to a nearby village, visible from his vantage. His eyes narrowed as he raised one hand, dark energy crackling at his fingertips. “Let them see the power they stand against.”
In a slow, deliberate motion, he channeled the energy forward. Shadows coiled around his fingers, growing, darkening until they spread across the landscape, forming a twisting tendril of dark mist. The tendril shot forward, gliding over the trees and brushing past them as if alive, draining the life from leaves, turning their green hues to brittle shades of black and gray. The grass withered, and the vibrant, natural life that had once thrived in the land was consumed in an instant.
A shiver ran through his legions, some averting their eyes from the display of power, and others looking on in awe and terror. To Malakar, it was a mere demonstration, a warning that the world of Valoria would soon face much worse.
He let the power subside, drawing the dark mist back into himself, and turned to face his army once more.
“Those who stand against me will know despair,” he declared, his tone dark and commanding. “We will not stop until every corner of this world is under our rule, and those who oppose us… will suffer.”
He raised his hand again, signaling his commanders to begin preparations for the next assault. The village he had drained would be the first of many, a message to all who dared believe that balance or mercy could save them.
In the wake of his display, the atmosphere was tense, his followers both inspired and shaken. Lord Malakar’s power was a sight to behold, and as he returned inside, his words lingered like a haunting prophecy: no one, not even this so-called hero, could match what he was capable of unleashing upon the world.
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The war room was dim, lit only by the flickering flames of a single candle in the center of the long wooden table. Maps of the surrounding lands, strewn with red markings, painted a picture of conquest—one that Lord Malakar had long since envisioned. His gloved fingers traced over the inked lines, each representing a conquest, a village, a kingdom soon to fall. His name was feared across the realms, but his ambition... even more so.
His trusted lieutenant, Varian, stood to his left, silent as ever, watching his commander with steely eyes. He had been with Lord Malakar through every battle, every scheme—loyal, unwavering, and willing to follow him into the depths of hell itself. Yet today, even Varian could feel the tension in the air, as if something darker than the usual brooding shadows hovered.
Lord Malakar, a towering figure draped in dark armor, finally broke the silence. His voice, cold and calm, carried an edge of impatience.
“The time has come to move faster. The lands are ripe for the taking, but fear must be cultivated first. If they do not tremble before us, they will never yield,” Lord Malakar said, his voice deep and unwavering.
Varian nodded in agreement, though his expression remained unreadable. “And how do you intend to make them tremble, my lord?”
Lord Malakar smirked, the corners of his lips curling upward in a cruel, almost savage manner. “By using the one thing they fear most. We will burn their villages, crush their warriors, and leave nothing but ruin in our wake. But more than that, we will destroy their hope. We will take their homes, their families, and remind them what happens when they resist.”
Varian’s eyes narrowed. “You want to show them mercy... after they beg for it.”
“Mercy is for the weak,” Lord Malakar sneered. “They will beg, yes, but they will not receive. We will show them the price of defiance. Once they see their own kin slain before them, they will realize the futility of rebellion.”
The lieutenant took a step forward, his voice steady but laced with something dangerous. “And Kaelen? You’ve spoken of him before. Will he be part of your plan?”
Lord Malakar’s eyes flickered with disdain as he turned to face Varian, his voice dripping with venom. “The so-called hero. He’s a child—a puppet for whatever gods or fate believe they have a stake in this. He will not be a threat.”
“But he could be... unpredictable,” Varian persisted. “I’ve heard whispers that he possesses skills beyond the average warrior. He’s survived battles no one should have.”
Lord Malakar laughed darkly, a sound that seemed to chill the air around them. “You underestimate me, Varian. I’ve seen warriors come and go, heroes rise and fall. Kaelen is nothing more than a fleeting ember in a dying flame. He might have defeated a few of my scouts, but that does not make him a threat. I’ll burn him like the rest.”
Lord Malakar’s hand slammed onto the table, causing the maps to shudder. “He’s a nuisance, nothing more. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to strike him down, to teach him the price of defying me. Once he shows his face on the battlefield, he will regret it.”
Varian studied his commander for a long moment before speaking again, his voice low and full of resolve. “And if he proves to be more than just a nuisance? If he becomes a true obstacle?”
Lord Malakar’s eyes narrowed, his stare like a predator sizing up its prey. “Then I will crush him myself. No one—no one—stands in my way. Not now, not ever.”
Varian held his ground, though a flicker of doubt flashed across his face. “As you command, my lord.”
Lord Malakar turned back to the maps, his hand sweeping over the lines as if already envisioning the battles to come. “Prepare the legions. The next step of our conquest begins now. We will make them see the truth—they are already defeated.”
With a final glance at his lieutenant, Lord Malakar’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “And Kaelen... when the time comes, he will fall just like the rest.”
Varian nodded, the shadows swallowing his expression, as the two men stood in silent agreement, the flame of their ambition burning bright in the darkened war room.
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