Azorth de Monrozal
Two long days had passed since I proclaimed my judgment on my grandson, Nadivo. I know within the depths of my heart that he intended to kill me that day, and as such, I decided to strike him down first. His idealism about returning to the upperworld was admirable, but it was ultimately foolish. The depths of this cave are our domain, and he couldn't see it. Nadivo was addicted to tales of the past, where Great Kings ruled our people, even if they were unfit.
They waged needless wars in hopes of proving that they were more potent than their predecessors. When everything was said and done, all their great ambition brought us was damnation. Centuries of our people wallowing in caves, while humans and elves annihilated the rest. Those people are not our oppressors; they simply won where we lost.
There is no right or wrong in a war of that caliber. Nadivo never seemed to grasp that understanding, but he would constantly indoctrinate the youth. He would wash over the failures of our people and dangerously began preaching them as if our people were victims. I will not deny that some may be, but as a whole, we were not.
That is why, when I fought the great beast for passage in this dungeon, I fought for a future for our people. We battled for four days and three nights, and upon my defeat, a miracle happened. The Great Beast provided its superiority, but also showed me mercy.
It allowed my people to move into its dominion under its protection. I will always be grateful for its hospitality. For a while, things were going well for our people. Our numbers were increasing, and we built a new kingdom within the confines of this dungeon. Some of our people began adapting quickly, and new generations were born with the latest characteristics. It was an honor that my people chose me over the other primordial blood royals to lead them in that time of need.
I did well, but not everyone was pleased. Things would have been different if I had been tougher on my rivals. If I had put more men to the sword, then things would not have ended on the path that they are on now.
Kabloom!
Thick smoke filled the throne room as a thunderous explosion blasted the door off its hinges. It was a startling sight, but one that I expected. Nadivo's execution was a rising excuse to devolve our people into barbarism. I sat on the throne as twenty primordial men rushed inside. Their weapons gleamed as their traitorous boots stained the great rug of my throne room.
'So the time has finally come? I expected more, but at least this saves me trouble.'
There was no need to ask what the meaning of this was, as the one responsible for such a brazen act pushed himself through the crowd.
"You may expect a grand speech, grandfather, but I am not that fool, Nadivo! I instead offer you a warning! Get off my throne and kneel or scatter to the annals of history where you belong!"
Those were the words of an arrogant fool. While Nadivo was foolish and deluded by idealism, Dalk'tov was a fool brimming with unearned ambition like the Great Kings of my generation. He dressed like them, too. He wore a long, overcoat, deep obsidian in color, lined in burnt crimson velvet that subtly glows in mana-rich environments.
The coat trails behind him like torn banners from an ancient battlefield, the hem frayed and stained with dated ash. Beneath the coat is a form-fitting garment of layered blackened silk, woven with strands from corpse weavers. Greaves and boots are partially plated with ash-stained obsidian horns.
His spiraling horns rested at the side of his head, peaking from the silver hair that once shielded them. For a child who was once ashamed of his horns, he displayed them proudly now. His violent eyes sparkled with ambition as he pointed his sword in my direction.
"If you leave now and fix my door, I may still consider you fit to lead, Dalk'tov," I responded.
My enforcer and old friend Zokin stepped forward from my side, and I raised my hand to stop his advance. He nodded without answering and watched like a statue. If any of Dalk'tov's minions made a move in my direction, I wouldn't need to sully my hands. Unamused by the answer, Dalk'tov stepped forward and stretched out his collar.
"I have come for what is mine, and I have no desire to wait any longer. You may have killed my brother for knowing this, but I will suffer the same fate! The Great Beast is gone, and we want out of this hole! The majority have spoken-"
"Your faction has spoken," I corrected. He frowned at my correction.
"They are the same now. Somehow, many of them enjoyed listening to my brother's prattling, and you killing him made you enemy number one. Your opinion on whether or not I am unfit is irrelevant, because you are unfit."
"Yet, I sit on this throne, and I will continue to do so after this conversation."
"Everyone knows you aren't as powerful as you once were. Your power used to shake the kingdom itself, but now your lapdog has to be the one to kill Nadivo. That is weakness, grandfather, and I'm sure a relic such as yourself understands that. The vampires are getting stronger, and even those filthy rats right above us are growing in strength. If there was one thing that my brother was correct about, it was that you are content with us rotting away into weakness," Dalk'tov spat.
I didn't frown, nor did I get angry at him for his words, because he is wrong. Much like his brother, he is a child, and children do not know better. I leaned back against my throne and made myself comfortable.
"I am content because my people can go to bed with full bellies every night. Our people have thrived down here, and they will continue to do so."
Dalk'tov laughed as he turned to face his co-conspirators. He waved his arms like a madman, pointing and gesturing as he gave his speech,
"Look at him, so arrogant in his ignorance. Ask yourselves this: When was the last time you witnessed Azorth walk the streets?! When was the last time Azorth or his bootlickers protected your families from the beasts of the cave?!"
He turned to face me, gesturing with his sword at Zokin and me. The young primordial encouraged the chattering of his men, and they broke their silence.
"Can Azorth even walk?!" shouted a man.
"You can't rely on Azorth! He's forsaken us long ago!" shouted another.
"Not in my lifetime!" A much older Primordial shouted. That one in specific had to be well over a century old, but he was spitting lies.
His lies were like full-on fire, and chatters of outrage spread across the room. The men under Dalk'tov's control shouted and jeered in my direction. Many of them began building their courage and flinched in my direction. The throne room was in chaos, and in the middle of it was Dalk'tov, grinning ear to ear.
Zokin's grip began to tighten on his blade, but there were no rash movements. He had also grown weary of this charade. His blade began to swing softly in the air as he challenged any of the flinchers to step forward and challenge him. None of them built up the courage to do so.
"Not in his lifetime! Azorth is a man who pretends to be a leader! He is no king, yet he has a throne! That is why we have rallied men! Our people need strong leadership, which is why we are here. To restore-"
"Enough Dalk'tov! Enough!"
My words ripped across the throne room, silencing Dalk'tov instantly. His men ceased their jeering, and I stood from my throne. My soft gaze sharpened into a harsh glare as I surveyed the men in front of me. Zokin stepped forward again and took my side. He raised his sword in their direction and took his stance. The battle was not only inevitable, but it was necessary.
I rested my hands behind my back and watched as Zokin slowly made his way down the steps. Words were not needed for Zokin, but the cowering men, who opposed him, needed clarification. Dalk'tov took a step backward, shielding himself with his followers.
"I do not know how many people you have made complicit in this coup, but I warned you. If you want this throne, then I accept your challenge. Kill me and take it with your blade! Do not talk to me to death!"
Dalk'tov's words caught in his throat, but that was to be expected. He may have a foolish tongue, but he wasn't raised to be completely daft. Zokin's blade flashed, causing a streak of blood to fly into the air. He moved with deadly precision as three of Dalk'tov's men died before realizing what happened to them.
They were the fortunate ones in that situation. Zokin glared at the rebels and charged their ranks. His blade flashed again, severing the leg of a hesitant man. The man cried in pain before Zokin's sword was buried in his neck. Bodies fell to the ground with cries of anguish before even one primordial could react to Zokin's advance.
"Do you understand now, Dalk'tov? Do you understand why you were destined to fail from the beginning?" I remarked.
Dalk'tov's eyes were wide, and his sword clattered to the floor. He decided to run. Metal clashed as one of Dalk'tov's minions finally decided to meet Zokin head-on. There was no fear in his eyes, and his strength proved to be comparable to Zokin's on the surface. He slashed horizontally, but Zokin parried. Sparks flew from each impact as the two swordsmen locked blades.
'Was there always a man capable of matching Zokin's prowess? No. Age has finally caught up to the man.'
Zokin's blade slammed into his foe's, forcing him to flinch. His muscles tensed as he attempted to overwhelm the younger man with brute force rather than technique. Meeting the challenge, the young man pushed forward with all of his might.
'As expected. He was holding back.'
Before I could place my foot onto the next step downward, the young primordial's head was severed. He had overextended himself and paid for it with his life. Zokin was onto the next man before the other's head could drop. He lunged and sheathed his sword into the chest of another. The man around him was scattered, with half deciding to flee and the other to attack.
Whatever decision they made mattered little to Zokin. He twisted his blade and retracted it. Blood sprayed, coating the warrior, but it didn't halt his swift motions. His body leaned away from an attack from a flanking primordial and locked blades with another. The footsteps of the throne room became more prominent as the remaining men ran toward him. No doubt, each man would enjoy the recognition of slaying Zokin of Stone, but I wouldn't allow that.
"Stone and root, heed my call. Bind and break — silence all. By Deep Root's ancient hand, let stone rise at my command."
Mana flowed from my chest and engulfed my palm. My feet were the last to reach the floor of the throne room, and when they did, hell broke loose. The stone underneath churned, and an intrusion shot around Zokin's feet. It pierced the man Zokin was locked blades with, causing him to scream in agony. Zokin was quick to decapitate him.
"Tharagos, Stalacite Shred."
Upon my command, the stone around Dalk'tov's men sharpened and flew out of the ground. Shrewd spikes launch in waves, blasting chunks of flesh and blood across the room. The screams of the rebels weren't pleasant to me, but they were necessary. Zokin moved with the quickness of a serpent, burying his blade into any who survived my spell's damage.
In a single move, nineteen men were dead, and only one remained. Zokin met me halfway across the room and flicked the accumulated gore from his stained sword. His eyes were tired, not from exhaustion, but the necessity of spilling our kin's blood.
"Shall I pursue?" Zokin inquired, his eyes shadowed.
"We shall pursue," I corrected, and Zokin nodded.
Stepping over the body of a fallen primordial, I lead the way in the pursuit of Dalk'tov. The scorched and splattered stone of the door brought a distaste in my mouth. This throne room had been undisturbed for centuries, and yet, Dalk'tov had laid waste to it in his pursuit of power. Nineteen men had lost their lives, and yet, Dalk'tov runs like a coward.
The stench of his ambition taints our halls. Smoke and blood waft from the ruined throne room into the hallway. It was uncivilized and unbecoming of our people. However, if Dalk'tov wants to rule as they did in our past, then I should give him a glimpse of what they might look like.
My heartbeat steadied, pounding with the mana that flowed through it, matching my quickening footsteps. Dalk'tov couldn't have gone far, I was sure of that. I will do what is necessary to squash this rebellion and usher in the peace that I fought so hard to deliver all those centuries ago.
"Old friend, I ask that you continue placing your trust in me. These deaths are not on your hands, but mine. My failure to contain my grandchildren has led to this time of unrest."
"Unrest is natural in our people. We are, at our core, a warrior people. I shall fight to keep your peace," Zokin replied.
"Thank you. I will not make the same mistake I made with Nadivo. I shall end Dalk'tov with my own hands."