The night sky above the capital city of Kaelthorn burned red, painted with fire and smoke. Screams pierced the chaos as the once-proud banners of House Kael crumbled beneath waves of enemy soldiers. Draven Kael stood at the heart of it all, his black armor drenched in blood, his greatsword gleaming crimson under the infernal glow.
"Hold the line!" Draven roared, his voice carrying over the clash of steel and the cries of the dying. His soldiers rallied behind him, the last remnants of Kaelthorn's defenders, fighting with the desperation of men who had nowhere left to retreat.
They called him The Black Wolf, a commander who had never lost a battle. Tonight, however, even the Black Wolf bled, and hope was slipping away.
Draven's grip tightened on his sword. The enemy shouldn't have breached the gates so quickly. He had laid the defenses himself—every barricade, every choke point, every line of retreat. Yet the fortress city fell as though the enemy had known his every move in advance.
"Damn it," he muttered, eyes narrowing as he struck down another soldier. The sinking feeling in his gut was heavier than any wound. This wasn't strategy. This wasn't luck. This was betrayal.
A horn blared, long and deep, signaling the collapse of the western wall. Draven's heart sank. That section of wall should have lasted until dawn at least—but the enemy was already pouring through.
He turned, searching for his brother. King Alaric. His blood. His liege. The man Draven had bled and killed for.
"Where is His Majesty?" Draven demanded, grabbing a retreating soldier by the collar.
The soldier's eyes were wide with panic. "He… he's gone, Commander. He abandoned the throne. Took the royal guard and fled."
For a heartbeat, the battlefield went silent in Draven's mind. His brother… left? No. Alaric was reckless, arrogant, sometimes cruel—but a coward? Never. Unless—
A scream cut through the fog of war. A woman's scream, one he knew better than his own heartbeat.
"Lyra."
Draven sprinted through the chaos, shoving past burning debris and fallen men, until he reached the palace courtyard. And there she was—Lyra, his wife, her golden hair shimmering in the firelight, her emerald eyes wide with terror. She wasn't running. She wasn't fighting.
She was standing at Alaric's side.
The king's hand rested possessively on her waist, his lips curved in a cruel smile as he met Draven's gaze.
The world tilted.
"Alaric," Draven growled, his voice breaking. "You… you took her?"
Lyra's lips parted, trembling. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I—I never loved you, Draven. You were only ever his shadow. His hound. Alaric… he promised me more. He promised me freedom."
The words tore into him deeper than any blade. His chest burned, his vision blurred. He had given her everything—his loyalty, his heart, his future. And she had thrown it all away like ashes in the wind.
Alaric smirked. "Did you truly think you could be more than my dog? Did you think the people loved you? Everything you built, every victory you claimed—it was mine. My kingdom. My crown. My woman."
Draven's knees nearly buckled. The betrayal was absolute. His brother. His wife. The city he swore to defend. All gone. All stolen.
The soldiers around them began to jeer, mocking him, their laughter rising above the flames. And then… he heard another sound. A sound not of mortals, but of gods.
It was laughter. Cold, cruel, endless. Echoing across the burning sky.
[ The God of Mischief laughs at your despair. ][ The Goddess of Fate smiles at your suffering. ]
Draven staggered. "W-What…?" He looked up, but the heavens only burned brighter, mocking him.
A spear pierced his chest. He gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, as Alaric's captain of the guard twisted the weapon and shoved him to his knees.
Draven's sword clattered against the stone. His body burned, but his soul burned more.
Alaric stepped forward, pulling Lyra close as if to salt the wound. "Die, brother. And know that your life's work will be remembered as nothing more than mine."
The spear tore free, and Draven collapsed. His blood pooled beneath him, mixing with the ash.
His vision darkened. The laughter grew louder. The gods laughed at him, at the broken man he had become.
"Is that it…?" Draven whispered, choking on blood. "A lifetime of loyalty… for nothing? My love… my kingdom… all stolen? Is this… fate?"
[ Fate Confirmed: Draven Kael dies a traitor and a fool. ][ End of Trajectory. ]
"No…" His hand clawed at the stone, nails breaking as he forced himself up. His voice trembled with fury. "No! I will not die as your pawn!"
The laughter faltered. For a heartbeat, the flames around him froze.
And then—
[ SSS-RANKED SYSTEM DETECTED: Eternal Nemesis ][ Initialization Complete. ][ Authority Granted: Hatred = Power. ][ Quest Generated: Slay the Gods Who Mock You. ]
A surge of burning energy ripped through him, tearing his soul from the chains of death. His eyes snapped open, glowing crimson like embers. The gods' laughter turned to silence.
Draven Kael, betrayed, broken, left for dead—awoke to something greater. Something terrifying.
He was no longer a pawn of fate.
He was its enemy.
[ Eternal Nemesis System Online. ]
Cliffhanger: [ Choose: Break your Fate. Reject Death. Rise as Nemesis. ]