chapter 19 : The Price of Immortality
There were five sons.
Born not of mercy, but of Kaelvron's wrath and broken ambition. Each one a twisted shard of the monster they called father.
Morda — The Firstborn.The once-proud commander, iron-fisted and fierce. His body bore scars like trophies, his mind sharp as the blade he wielded. He dreamed of ruling alongside Kaelvron, but the darkness claimed him first — killed by the hand of his youngest brother, Vaeric.
Dreadmaul — The Second.A towering brute, silent as a grave and twice as deadly. His warhammer crushed bones and spirits alike. Slain by Rigorus, leaving a scar across the family no wound could heal.
Garron — The Third.Loud, angry, wild — a storm of muscle and rage. He believed pain was purpose, and cruelty was strength. His temper could scorch the air, his fists crushed enemies before his words could even form.
Iskrel — The Fourth.Cold, calculating, and venomous. A master of poisons and schemes, he wore a mask of quiet control hiding the chaos beneath. For Iskrel, trust was a blade aimed at his own throat.
Vaeric — The Youngest.The runt. The pale shadow with hollow eyes that saw nothing but madness. Silent and deadly, he broke the family's fragile bond with one ruthless act — slitting Morda's throat in the dead of night, laughing for the first time. He was no longer a son. He was a curse.
They were sons only by blood.
In every other way, they were enemies—each trained to kill the other, each raised to carry the legacy of a father lost to madness.
But one thing bound them still:
A promise whispered under broken skies, when they were children.
If one of us ever strayed—became the monster their father was—We would be the ones to end it.No mercy. No hesitation.
"You killed your brother," Kaelvron said, gazing at Vaeric. "The quiet dog finally barked. Hm."
Vaeric didn't reply. His sunken eyes were hollow, unfocused. His hands still trembled from the kill.
Kaelvron approached while looking down at Vaeric.The ground seemed to bend under the pressure of his aura alone. Power leaked from his form like a sickness, staining the room in crimson dread.
"You think that makes you strong? You think I'm proud?"
He laughed—then threw the goblet, shattering it near Iskrel's head.
"You killed your brother with the very technique I taught him! Ah! Delicious irony!"
Before he could get too close...Garron — The Third.,Iskrel — The Fourth. appeared.
He stepped forward slowly, removing his shirt.
"Come, boys. Kill me."
They froze.
"...What?"
"I said KILL ME!" Kaelvron roared, the air distorting as his divine rage flared. "You've all dreamed it. So come. Show me what you've learned. Or do you only know how to betray each other like cowards?"
Iskrel was the first to move. He dashed forward with twin daggers glowing with poison magic—"Whisperfang"—a technique Kaelvron had once used to assassinate a king in his youth.
Kaelvron sidestepped and kneed him in the ribs.
"You're fast, boy. But not faster than me."
Garron charged next. No words. No tricks. Just fists. His skin turned to stone as he activated "Earthblood Body," a martial technique passed down only to the strongest.
He landed a solid punch on Kaelvron's jaw.
Kaelvron didn't flinch.
Instead, he grinned, grabbed Garron's arm, and snapped it backward with a laugh.
"I taught you to use your legs when you punch, idiot."
Vaeric closed his eyes. Then opened them—black mist leaking out. A forbidden technique. His own creation, stitched from nightmares.
"Void Requiem."
The room dimmed. Silence fell. The shadows bent around him.
Kaelvron finally looked amused.
"Now this is interesting."
The boys came at him together. Fists. Blades. Spells. Poison. Shadows. The very best of Kaelvron's teachings hurled back at him in defiance.
He dodged.
Blocked.
Laughed.
"Do you think you can kill me... with what I gave you?"
His body blurred. He appeared behind Iskrel and caved in his back with a palm strike.
Garron grabbed him in a headlock—screaming, "NOW, VAERIC!"
Vaeric formed a blade of condensed void and stabbed toward Kaelvron's chest.
Kaelvron caught the blade between two fingers.
"You hesitated."
With a flick, he shattered the weapon.
And then the massacre began.
Kaelvron broke Garron's jaw and kicked him into a pillar.
He lifted Iskrel by the throat, studied him, then whispered, "Nice try," before hurling him through the roof.
Vaeric remained.
Bloodied. Kneeling. Breathing hard.
Kaelvron approached slowly.
"You surprised me, runt. You really did. But you can't kill a god with shadows."
Vaeric smiled. A quiet, pained smile.
"Didn't want to kill you…"
He coughed blood.
"…Just wanted… to stop becoming you."
Kaelvron paused.
And then laughed.
"You think you're better than me?"
Vaeric's eyes dimmed. And in those final moments, he remembered something. A night long ago.
He and Morda, hiding under a broken roof. Cold. Hungry. Shaking.
"I swear," Morda had whispered, "if either of us ever becomes like him… promise me. The other will end it."
Vaeric smiled.
"…At least I kept one promise, brother."
His body went limp.
Kaelvron stood above him, victorious. But the silence left in his wake was different.
It wasn't fear.
It was grief.
Even Kaelvron… felt it.
Just a flicker.
They fought from dawn till dusk, each blow more desperate than the last. Blood stained the stone floor, their bodies broken and bruised. Yet Kaelvron stood tall above them all — fists bloody, chest heaving with triumph.
"It is time," he said coldly.
From the shadows, a figure emerged — silent and purposeful.
the deadbody of Morda was placed next to his dying brothers .The three sons lay defeated on the ground. The figure dragged their bodies to the center of the chamber and began drawing a circle, not with ash or chalk, but with fresh blood from his hands.
One by one, he placed their broken bodies inside the circle.
Kaelvron tore away his robe and sat cross-legged beside the crimson sigils, assuming a meditative pose. A sickly, unnatural light bloomed from the blood circle, bathing the chamber in a hellish glow.
The sons screamed in agony — blood poured from their eyes, ears, mouths, and noses. Their flesh melted away, bones cracking and crumbling until nothing remained but lifeless skeletons.
The blood of the fallen rose, swirling through the air in a crimson sphere around Kaelvron. The cloaked figure's chanting grew louder, older — echoing like a dark hymn.
The sphere tightened, smaller and smaller, elevating with Kaelvron at its center.
Then — it exploded.
The blast shattered the darkness, flooding the chamber with an eerie light so bright it felt like daylight in the dead of night. The bloodfire burned fierce and terrible.
And from the inferno descended Kaelvron — godlike and untouchable.
He looked down at his transformed body, feeling every muscle, every breath of wind, every subtle movement within a thousand-mile radius.
A sword lay on the floor nearby. Without moving, Kaelvron pointed, and the blade flew to him as if pulled by an invisible, invincible force.
"Finally..." he whispered, voice thick with triumph."I've attained immortality."
His laughter erupted — long, cruel, and unending.
The cloaked figure bowed deeply. "Great one… congratulations on reaching the realm of immortality. You are one in a lifetime."
Kaelvron's grin cut through the chamber's silence."Then bow deeper," he said, eyes burning with promise."It is time. Time to take over the world... starting with those damn Draevens."
In a flash, he vanished — only to reappear floating high above the fortress, soaring through the night toward the lands of the Draevens.
Far away…
The skies over Draeven darkened.
And in the quiet heart of the land, a certain saint looked up.
Rigorus.
His soul felt… heavier.
A storm was coming.
And blood was just the beginning.