Vrunemir's castle stood silent.
Once a place of austere power and cold pride, it now felt wrong.
The air itself was thick, like it had curdled with malice, and the sky above the blackened keep was no longer natural; it had turned into a churning mass of violet and black clouds, alive with screaming voices.
And then, from a glowing light—Grimhild arrived.
She appeared via Rulmedia as her cloak whipped behind her.
Her red eyes scanned the entrance chamber.
Blood stained the exterior, and a statue of Vrunemir had been turned inward with its face melted.
Grimhild lowered her brow.
"Lilith..." She whispered. "What could you possibly be planning?"
She moved forward with slow and deliberate steps.
The air grew heavier and the castle doors creaked open as if afraid to resist her.
At the heart of the castle, upon a throne of ruin, sat Vrunemir.
Or rather, what was once him.
The man she knew was gone. His body remained: black hair once regal, now ragged.
He wore black armor and had a scar on his right cheek with a crown hanging crooked on his head.
His eyes glowed a deep, otherworldly crimson as his smile stretched unnaturally wide.
And then he stood.
"Grimhild…" He said, but it wasn't his voice. It was layered, doubled over, like something else was speaking with him. "You came all this way just to fail."
Grimhild remained still.
"You let her in." She said flatly. "Lilith."
The King that was once Vrunemir raised his arms, and a chorus of whispers followed.
"Not let." He grinned. "Invited."
Suddenly, the shadows behind him expanded, swirling into the shape of a woman; Ethereal, towering, and monstrous.
A crown of horns, a hundred eyes weeping black tears, wings made of stitched spirits; Lilith's true form as the Idea of Evil came into focus like a fever dream.
She whispered into Vrunemir's ear, and he chuckled.
"She speaks of your fear." He said. "Of the pain you carry."
"What is your purpose here, Lilith? The Idea of Evil usually remains in the At'ama. They don't intervene with the physical world—it's against their nature."
"The At'ama? Pwa ha ha! It's merely our place of birth, formed by the minds of the collective. We can intervene with the Nie'mada whenever we like, as I am now!"
Grimhild's expression remained unreadable.
"Whatever you're planning, give it up" She said. "The Mortal world has no place for Spirits. You're nothing but a lesser parasite possessing human flesh."
"And what are you, Grimhild Yorgana?!"
Lilith suddenly screamed as the throne shattered behind Vrunemir, and the walls trembled. The castle groaned like it would collapse under her rage.
"You dare call me lesser?! I am the reason mortals weep! The wellspring of hatred, vengeance, guilt! I am in every pain, every lie spoken, and all suffering! I belong here, but you? Pwa ha ha!" She laughed, causing space around her to distort. "You're from a world beyond ideas and comprehension. If there's anyone who doesn't belong, it is you, witch!!"
Grimhild stared at her, unfazed by her words.
"I brought myself here into this world to destroy it, but now, I am risking my life to protect it from clowns like you."
"To protect it? You were the cause of everything! You and the other two witches who called themselves calamity." Lilith grinned as her giant smile stretched across her face of many eyes. "You cannot redeem yourself, Grimhild Yorgana, it is far too late for that."
Grimhild raised her hand, conjuring a magic circle.
"Enough talk. If you're going to remain in the physical world, then I'll blast you out."
Lilith laughed.
"You honestly think you can defeat me? I've once banished you from the At'ama, but this time I'll banish you from Yggdrasil as a whole!"
"I've killed gods before." Grimhild said. "You won't be any different."
Lilith grinned before her spiritual body fused back into Vrunemir.
"Then come, little witch!" She shouted in Vrunemir's body. "Come and see what true evil really looks like!"
+
The world was balanced, and everything was unified, including law and order. But that changed the day I met him; the day I met Count Dracula, the Lord of Darkness.
Creation and Destruction?! Ha, what a joke! They only exist to fuel one another, and nothing more.
The true meaning of life is Chaos, a philosophy that some call Absurdism, but Dracula thought differently.
I was only in my 20s when we crossed each other's paths.
[10 years ago.]
{I was once a bandit and grew up with no parents; only my loyal lackeys who called me their chief.}
{We ate together, killed together, and robbed together. We were like brothers and sisters that parts of the Northern Empire feared.}
"Hey, Vrunemir, are you sure about this?" Standing outside the walls of a kingdom was Vrunemir and hundreds of men wielding weapons.
The one who questioned him was Darylion, his right-hand man.
"Heh, don't tell me you're getting scared, Darlyion?" Said Vrunemir, smirking.
"Damn right I am." He said flatly. "We are about to raid the entire Kingdom of Ramsora, are you sure about this?! We only have five hundred men while they have thousands."
Vrunemir grinned.
"We all have leather armor and chainmail, with concealment magic. We are going to ambush them." Vrunemir glanced at Darylion, placing his hand upon their shoulder. "Why do you think we killed and took, brother? It wasn't for the thrill! It was for this very moment, when we can have enough manpower to conquer a kingdom and get revenge against the wealthy!"
Darlyion seemed worried at first, but Vrunemir's words eradicated all self-doubt.
"Heh, you crazy fool. All of this just to be king, huh?"
Vrunemir grinned.
"I will name this place Vrunemir's Kingdom! The world will know to fear me after this is done, and the wealthy, and the nobles, will pay dearly for disregarding us."
Darylion chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to the rest of the men, who were sharpening blades, polishing arrows, or casting minor illusions over their armor.
Every one of them had followed Vrunemir not for riches, but for belief; belief that he could lead them out of the gutter, out of the freezing mountains, and into something more.
[The siege began at dusk.]
Five hundred raiders cloaked in concealment magic moved like phantoms through the shadows of the sleeping kingdom.
Vrunemir led from the front, his dual blades strapped to his back, and his eyes expressing anticipation. They moved like ghosts, swift and quiet.
The Kingdom's outer wall was breached with enchanted black powder.
Guards were slaughtered before they could scream.
Magic users were silenced with poisoned bolts.
Homes were set ablaze as a tactic to scatter enemy attention.
It worked—too well.
Vrunemir and his men were coordinated, as if their minds were one.
{My men and I had each other's backs. We grew up together, and simply wanted a better life, out of the gutter.}
{We hoped the rich and noble could one day help us, and we even asked. But no matter how many times we tried, they declined and called us commoners. We were tired of being treated like dirt.}
{It was time we turned the tables and fought for what we want, rather than beg. And if I had to kill for that, then so be it}
Vrunemir and his raiders stormed through the streets like a black tide as their eyes burned with the hunger of the forgotten.
Screams filled the night, mingled with the crackle of flames and the clash of steel.
Nobles were dragged from their manors, guards impaled on their own spears, and cathedrals burned as the bells rang.
"They deserve it!" One raider shouted as he kicked down the doors to a granary, unleashing fire spells to torch the grain stores the nobles hoarded for themselves. "Let them starve in the ashes they made!"
The children were spared, but the ruling class; lords, knights, and ministers, were hunted without hesitation.
For every coin that was stolen from the poor, for every time they turned away a starving mother, justice now came in blood.
Vrunemir strode through the chaos like a god of war incarnate.
His blades flashed in the moonlight, carving through chainmail and enchanted plate alike.
Shields collapsed under his momentum, and spells fizzled against his cloak, reinforced by Gilfronta.
He moved with a rage too sharp to be called madness.
"Take the keep!" He shouted as he cut down a fleeing captain. "No survivors among the court! Let the world know that the gutter has risen!"
Darylion followed at his side, shielding his flank and yelling commands at the men behind them.
From every alley, more of their forces surged like rats from the sewers, and a tide of vengeance fueled by years of suffering.
What the noble houses called civilization, Vrunemir's crew saw as tyranny wrapped in silk.
By midnight, the kingdom's heart, its castle, was breached.
The royal guards made their last stand at the grand staircase, forming a phalanx of silver-plated shields and halberds.
Behind them, the king himself, Gilleon, stood draped in sapphire robes, desperation plain on his regal features.
"Hold the line! Protect the Kingdom of Ramsora!"
The king shouted.
"For honor! For—"
Vrunemir hurled a dagger through his throat before he finished.
With a cry, the line broke.
Steel met flesh, and screams echoed through the vaulted halls.
It was blood everywhere… and by dawn, the war was over.
Vrunemir stood atop the palace walls, blood drying on his armor as smoke lifted into the morning sky.
His banner, stitched together from black cloaks and golden chains, was hoisted above the highest tower.
The people of the kingdom, what few remained, were herded into the central square.
His raiders watched from the rooftops and walls, weapons still in their hand.
Vrunemir stepped onto a broken statue's pedestal and raised a hand for silence.
"This city belonged to cowards who fed off the backs of the starving! Today, we end that age!" He shouted. "This is no longer their kingdom. This is no longer Ramsora!"
He drew his blade and slammed it into the stone.
"This is Vrunemir's Kingdom! And you will never forget it! With me in power, I'll conquer the entire Northern Empire and make the nobles pay dearly for what they've done! And you all will join me!"