### Chapter 1 – The Crown of Monsters
The banners of **Draeven** burned that night. Fire clawed at the sky, its smoke twisting like black serpents above the fortress walls. Beneath the thunder of collapsing towers, screams rose and died in a choking chorus.
At the head of the slaughter marched **Kael** — the Hero. His white armor was drenched in blood so thick it gleamed crimson in the torchlight. The men who followed him looked upon his back with awe, yet none dared glance into his eyes. Kael's gaze carried no mercy, no humanity — only the cold certainty of conquest.
"Leave none alive," he commanded, his voice sharp as steel. "Every tongue that could whisper Draith's name must be silenced."
And his soldiers obeyed.
Behind him, **Selara**, the Heroine, walked with graceful cruelty. Where Kael's brutality was blunt, hers was refined, delicate, and terrifying. She trailed a thin dagger along the walls as she passed, humming softly as the steel screeched against stone. Her smile widened whenever the screams grew louder.
A wounded servant staggered before her, clutching a bleeding arm. "Mercy, my lady… please…"
Selara crouched, her emerald eyes sparkling as though she had been handed a gift. "Mercy?" she repeated, tasting the word like a foreign delicacy. Then she slid her blade under the servant's chin and whispered, "Mercy died long before you did."
The body crumpled at her feet. She stepped over it without breaking her stride.
At the heart of the fortress, upon a throne of scorched iron, sat **Draith** — the Villain King. His hulking form seemed carved from the same stone as his citadel, his cloak stitched from the skins of enemies long since forgotten. His crown tilted upon his brow as though even gold refused to rest easy on his head.
As Kael entered the hall, Draith's booming laughter rattled the rafters.
"So," Draith sneered, his voice like gravel in a furnace. "The saviors of the realm arrive… painted red as butchers."
Kael raised his sword, dripping blood onto the cracked marble floor. "We are not saviors," he said flatly. "We are victors. And you, Draith, are nothing but the last stone in our path."
Selara's laugh was soft, lilting, and cruel. "I almost pity him, Kael. Almost."
Draith rose, towering over them, his presence filling the hall with suffocating dread. "Pity? You dare speak of pity while your blades carve through children in the streets? Do not pretend at righteousness, little killers. You are no better than me."
Kael's lips curled into a grim smile. "Better? No. Stronger? Yes."
The three clashed, and the fortress shook. Draith swung a blade as wide as a man's chest, shattering pillars with each strike. Kael met him head-on, every blow a thunderclap. Selara darted through the chaos like a shadow, her daggers glinting with venom, slicing wherever flesh was exposed.
Blood spattered the throne, the walls, the banners. The battle was not noble, not righteous. It was monsters tearing at monsters, each blow proving that cruelty was the true language of power.
When Draith finally fell, his crown rolling across the blood-soaked floor, Kael placed his boot upon the Villain King's chest. Draith coughed, laughter spilling with blood.
"You've won nothing," he choked. "You've slain me, but the world shall see you for what you are… monsters in crowns."
Selara bent down, lifted the crown, and placed it gently upon her head. Her smile was radiant, beautiful, and utterly terrifying.
"We don't fear what the world calls us," she whispered. "For the world belongs to us now."
And as Draith's final breath faded, Kael and Selara stood together, not as heroes, not as saviors, but as tyrants cloaked in the lie of victory.
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