Chapter: The Bloodshed Plan
The fortress stood still.
But deep within its stone walls, a storm had already begun to rise.
Kraan emerged from the Forbidden Archive. His steps were slow, yet every movement carried an unnatural gravity—as if the floor itself feared his approach. Behind him, shadows coiled like obedient wolves.
Nevan stood waiting outside the corridor, eyes narrowed with awe and concern. Kraan's aura had changed. It was no longer the wrath of a grieving man—it was the calm of someone who had accepted his role as executioner of the world.
"So," Nevan said carefully, "how do you feel?"
Kraan's violet eyes flickered. "I feel nothing. And yet... I finally understand everything."
He looked to the distant mountains, where the Holy Citadel of Asterra loomed—a shining city of temples, towers, and blind faith.
"There," Kraan said coldly, "is where this world begins to rot. The gods' sanctuary. The center of hypocrisy."
He turned to Nevan. "It's time to burn it all."
The Gathering of the Dark Knights
That same night, Kraan stood at the summit of the Black Spire, where the thirteen thrones of the Dark Knights encircled the abyssal flame.
Nevan stood to his left. On his right, two shadows materialized—Casmir, the Spear of Annihilation, and Sephist, the knight whose soul was already drowned in vengeance.
"Brothers," Kraan said, voice echoing through the black stone chamber. "The gods believe their reign eternal. But tonight, we decide how it ends."
Casmir spun his massive spear in silence. "Do you have a target?"
Kraan nodded. "The Holy Citadel. But not just any attack. We need chaos. Fear. Symbolic destruction."
Sephist's eyes burned. "You want to hit the temples?"
"No," Kraan said. "I want the people to see their gods bleed."
He raised the Dark Moon Light sword. "We start with the Council of Light. Their Grand Priest, their sacred relics, their High Paladins—we break them first. Not for revenge… but for message."
Nevan added, "Strike their symbols, and their faith will crumble."
A Sinister Strategy
Over the next hours, the chamber filled with the other Dark Knights. One by one, they took their seats—murderers, outcasts, lost heroes, cursed mages. Each one a child of the night.
Kraan addressed them all:
"No more waiting. No more hiding. We are the reckoning. We are the truth they buried."
He turned and unfurled a scroll—an ancient map of the Citadel's underbelly: sewers, forgotten tunnels, secret paths only the dead remembered.
"We strike in three phases," Kraan explained. "First: infiltration. Casmir, you'll lead the forward group through the southern aqueducts. Nevan and I will break the magical seals below the Grand Chapel. Sephist… you already know your task."
Sephist cracked his knuckles, smiling with bloodlust. "Kill the High Priest."
Kraan nodded. "Exactly."
The Rising of the Storm
Far away, in the Holy Citadel of Asterra, the priests of light lit their incense, sang their hymns, and bathed in illusion.
They never noticed the silence that crept in.
They never sensed the cold that slithered through their streets.
They never imagined the sword of the dark moon was already descending upon their hearts.
End of Chapter – Next: "The Fall of the Grand Chapel"