The sound of hooves thundered through the valley.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of Royal Guards surged over the hills like a tide of iron and fire. Their armor gleamed beneath the fractured moonlight, banners snapping in the burning wind. Behind them, the sigil of the Crown—a golden lion with bleeding fangs—fluttered over the inferno that was once Carden Village.
Marcus stood in the center of the ruins, surrounded by corpses and cinders, his body trembling between exhaustion and rage. Blood trickled from his lips, black and steaming. The shadow within him pulsed like a second heart.
Arnold limped beside the broken chapel, one arm clutching his ribs, his sword dragging behind him. He stared at the oncoming army and whispered, "It's too late, brother. You can't stop them."
Marcus didn't look at him. His eyes were fixed on the horizon—on the endless flood of men coming to claim his head.
Marcus: "Then let them come."
A gust of wind swept through the ruins, carrying ashes like snow.
The first wave arrived—twenty knights on horseback. Their captain raised his blade high.
"By the decree of King Alaric IV, Marcus of Carden, you are condemned for heresy, witchcraft, and the slaughter of innocents! In the name of the Crown, surrender—or burn!"
Marcus tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that was neither smile nor sneer.
Marcus: "Burn? You think fire will purify me?"
He raised his hand. Shadows erupted from the ground like serpents, twisting around his arm, coiling upward until his fingers vanished into darkness. The air shimmered.
Marcus: "I am already made of fire."
He thrust his palm forward.
The earth exploded.
A wave of black flame tore through the front line, swallowing horses and riders alike. Their screams echoed through the night, mixing with the crackle of burning armor. The shockwave rippled through the square, shattering what little remained of the village.
Arnold shielded his face from the blast. "Damn it, Marcus, stop! You'll destroy everything!"
Marcus turned toward him, eyes glowing like molten gold. "Everything is already gone."
The next ranks advanced—crossbows raised, spells ready. Bolts whistled through the air, and streaks of blue magic cut across the smoke. Marcus moved like a shadow—too fast, too inhuman. He leapt through the haze, his sword carving through armor as if through paper. Blood painted the ground in crimson arcs.
Each kill made the whisper louder.
"More… yes, feed us, Marcus…"
"Their souls remember your name."
He clenched his jaw, trying to drown it out. "Shut up."
But the voice laughed.
"You can't silence what you are."
He stumbled for a moment—long enough for a soldier to strike. A blade sliced across his back. He roared, more beast than man, and spun with impossible force. His clawed hand ripped through the soldier's chest, black fire consuming what was left.
Marcus stared at his hand in horror. "What have I become…?"
Arnold's voice came from behind. "Exactly what I warned you about."
Marcus turned. Arnold stood with his sword drawn, eyes cold, blood running down his temple.
Arnold: "If you keep fighting them, you'll lose yourself completely. I can still end it before it's too late."
Marcus: "You'd kill your own brother?"
Arnold: "I'd save the kingdom from its doom."
The army regrouped, forming a semicircle around them. Dozens of blades gleamed, and behind them the royal mages began their chants. The ground trembled beneath their spells.
Arnold looked at Marcus one last time. "Forgive me."
Then he charged.
The brothers collided in the center of chaos.
Steel screamed against steel, sparks flying. Each blow echoed through the burning village. Soldiers watched, too afraid to interfere—the vice-captain of the Royal Guard and the cursed son of Carden locked in a duel that could decide the fate of them all.
Arnold fought with precision, every strike perfect. Marcus fought with fury, his blade fueled by pain and something darker.
Arnold: "You can't control it, Marcus!"
Marcus: "Then I'll let it control you!"
Their swords clashed again—then a burst of black flame erupted between them, throwing both across the battlefield.
Arnold hit the ground hard, blood spilling from his mouth. Marcus rose slowly, his body trembling, steam rising from his skin.
The blood moon's shattered remnants drifted above, glowing faintly.
The whisper returned—louder than ever.
"The time has come. The gate awaits."
Marcus looked toward the horizon. There, beyond the smoke, rising above the dead trees… was the inverted castle.
Its towers reached down from the sky like the claws of a god. The gates were open—waiting.
Arnold followed his gaze. "No… Marcus, don't go there. That place isn't meant for the living."
Marcus took a step toward it, his voice hollow. "Then perhaps I'm no longer among them."
He turned, his eyes no longer gold—but black.
The soldiers hesitated, backing away as shadows coiled around him once more.
Marcus whispered, almost tenderly: "Tell them the Lord of Monster walks again."
And with that, the ground beneath him cracked open. Darkness swallowed him whole.
Arnold fell to his knees, screaming his brother's name as the black storm consumed what was left of Carden.
When it faded, only ashes remained.
To be continued…