Around the same time… on the other side of the Dark Castle.
A sudden explosion rumbled through the walls of the ancient halls. The hallways of the Dark Castle were strewn with shadows and eerie, lightless depths, but suddenly, the void and nothingness were torn apart by a bright, immolating explosion.
—BOOM!!
The grand walls shook, with dust raining from the ceiling, and in what appeared to be a courtyard within the castle, thick, rolling black smoke ebbed outward in fumes.
A massive crater was shrouded within, standing as the area of a just-concluded battle.
An unearthly black garden surrounded the edges of the open-air courtyard, strewn with hauntingly beautiful black, crystalline flowers. The midnight lilies reflected nothing of the nonexistent light in this dark, hapless region.
While the war between the armies of the Alliance and the Legion of the Damned happened outside beyond the obsidian walls of the Dark Castle, a small number of scattered, devastating battles raged on the inside amongst the elite forces.
Each one as deadly and immense as the scale outside, perhaps more so.
While the foot soldiers on the other side couldn't observe, the major confrontation which would finally decide the conclusion of the eons-long War of Shadows was decided within the very walls of this ancient castle.
At the same time, the golden-white beam of light tore through the sky and was visible from outside, a mysterious figure sat in the throne room deep inside the walls of the solitary fortress.
A thick shade of shadows covered his features as he sat against the throne — made up of obsidian bones and lustreless black crystals — which was perched at the height of a tall platform above a flight of broad stairs.
The audience chamber was wide, robust, and regal — adorned with massive pillars made from black stone, rising up to the ceiling all across the room. Snuffed-out candles and ancient lamps hung along the walls and pillars, and a magnificent chandelier, seemingly made from black granite, hung from above at the center.
There were tall, broad, regal windows lining the upper walls, their mosaic panes made of almost transparent dark glass.
And a midnight-purple rug unfurled down the full length of the chamber, leading all the way up to the throne's platform from two monolithic stone doors standing unshaken at the sole visible entrance.
The mysterious, statuesque figure in the darkness coldly observed the world beyond the walls of his fortress, even without being directly present in the raging battles.
Occasionally, the chamber walls shook and dust rained from the high ceiling. The number of collisions happening all around the vicinity caused the thousand-year-old fortress to groan; a testament to the scale of battle ravaging its walls and chambers.
A high-pitched shriek suddenly broke through the silent, solemn darkness from somewhere, followed by a worried voice.
"My lieeeggeee!!"
—FWISH
Something small, dark, and leathery, with wings, tore through the air like a blurry streak and approached the still figure sitting against the magnificent throne.
It was a small creature with midnight-black furry skin. It looked like a bat with its membranous, leathery wings flapping about in a flurry—except it had two tiny little arms and feet that also waved around in a panic.
Despite the ominous nature of the Dark Castle and the audience chamber, the small creature, with its big round eyes like glistening blood-red gems and fluffy appearance, looked adorable.
It almost didn't quite fit the whole atmosphere, if it weren't for the two tiny horns jutting out of its head and a single tiny fang that was barely hidden, sticking out of its small mouth.
The darkness around the throne didn't change, but the shadows almost seemed to shift gently as the furball closed in, with tears glistening in its big round eyes.
"My Liege! The humans… The Alliance, th-they're coming!" it cried out in a panic. To the furball, the invasion was akin to the end of the world—catastrophic.
The Alliance soldiers outside were unyielding despite their numbers. The Shadows and Generals standing as the last line of defence within the Fortress had fallen and were just defeated.
And worst of all, it couldn't understand why its master and Liege wasn't doing anything, but letting it all happen—all within His own territory.
Just then, the massive stone doors guarding the entrance to the throne room shuddered and quaked. The gravelly sound of stone grinding against stone resounded in the air like a heavy growl.
The small furry creature flinched with a yelp and flew closer to the figure sitting in the darkness.
The massive stone doors, seemingly made for giants, were somehow being pushed open from the other side.
And finally, the mysterious figure sitting on the throne where no light reached spoke.
"Pip. Go hide somewhere else."
It was a dark, ancient, and unfathomable voice, almost weary with the weight of eons and mystery.
A gauntlet-wearing arm gently swept the air before the voice and softly pushed the small creature, Pip, aside, gesturing it out of harm.
Pip's big red eyes quivered as it looked at its mysterious master, hearing the consideration in his Liege's cold voice. Yielding to his words, reluctantly, it flapped its leathery wings and flew off further into the darkness behind the throne, sniffling and barely holding back its tears.
It was like a child told to abandon home.
Once the master made sure his oldest subject… and companion… was gone, all of his attention was focused on the figure who stepped through the small opening between the giant doors.
It was a striking young man with silky hair the colour of yeast under sunlight, and golden amber eyes that burned like ethereal embers. He had soft, fair skin that almost seemed to glow from underneath, and an almost otherworldly beauty.
Not charming. Not handsome. And neither feminine.
Just beautiful.
Sir Alister Light Sinclair. The chosen Hero.
He stood tall at the entrance, donning enchanted white-and-gold armour, and a single magnificent broadsword glinted with holy light in his hand.
The symbol of a scale was carved from the guard halfway along the sword's full length. And the long, broad blade was made of a mysterious white metal that bounced light despite the heavy darkness of the chamber.
Shadows retreated before the Hero and the Judgment, but Alister's whole beautiful appearance was worn with the scars of countless, brutal battles—sacrifices that led his way here. Yet none of it could make his visage any less stunning.
Blood and grime stained his armour; nevertheless, the Hero of Light stood tall in all that stood against the forces of darkness.
"Monarch of Shadows," slowly, his lips parted.
Alister's grip on the holy sword tightened, causing the very blade to vibrate and hum in resonance.
He took a step forward, illusory radiance burning from underneath his skin, forcing the shadows to retreat and the darkness to scatter.
Before Alister could speak again, the voice of the enigmatic figure rippled through the darkness as He slowly rose.
"Brave Hero… we finally meet." The voice was heavy and forlorn, like it held the weight of countless eons. It was empty—ancient, but powerful.
Hearing the infamous Shadow Monarch directly speak, Alister found it hard to breathe. And this was just from hearing only his voice without intent—up until now, the Hero could barely sense anything but cold and silence from where the Monarch stood at his throne.
It was almost as if the Dark Lord wasn't even there if he hadn't spoken.
The Sword of Judgment, one of the Ten Commandments, vibrated in his hands, the blade singing as it offset the effects of dread from its wielder.
As if none of it concerned him, the Shadow Monarch stepped forward from the darkness slowly as he approached the stairs leading down from his throne.
"I commend you, truly. You're the first among your predecessors to make it this far and stand before me. But, do you…"
As the overbearing Monarch of Shadows—the Lord of Darkness and all that was Dead and Forgotten—spoke, the first rows of dusty candle lamps lit up silently.
Small tongues of ghostly blue flames burned from their sticks, licking the air.
"Have what it takes to accomplish what those before you couldn't?"
With every slow, deliberate step the Shadow Monarch took downward, every single candle and torch hung along the walls and robust pillars throughout the archaic audience chamber came to life, bringing a pale, ghostly radiance to the throne room.
As a result, albeit ominously, the appearance of the Monarch of Shadows was revealed.
A daunting figure of nearly two meters in height, donning an ancient dark mantle with lustreless runes and accents. The features of the Dark Lord were hidden behind an ominous helm with empty, lightless slits for eyes.
A thick black cloak flowed down from his shoulders, ebbing slowly and wrapping around His figure like midnight's embrace. He was like the shadow of an ancient and regal, corrupted Emperor.
A fallen Monarch in his fortress. It was fitting.
"To succeed where they have failed?"
The Shadow Monarch gestured an arm out from underneath his smooth black cloak just slightly as he slowly approached. It was a casual gesture, yet one that spoke with ominous majesty and grace.
The armoured fingers of his gauntlets ended in sharp claws, and the sound of his steps against the carpet was deliberate.
Alister held on to his sword, his heart set aflame with burning will and resolve to remain unshaken as he confronted him directly.
"I am here, aren't I?"
The Shadow Monarch paused on his way down the stairs and regarded the young Hero silently, his face hidden behind the mysterious helm of his mantle.
"Indeed. But merely the first out of many."
Alister brandished his broadsword as if severing the Monarch's oppression.
"This is the end. We have your fortress surrounded, and even your Shadows… your Generals have fallen to my cohort. And while your Shades may still persist outside, the brave soldiers of the Alliance shall never falter."
His amber eyes steeled with golden resolve, beholding the Dark Lord in all of his ruinous grace. Alister's expression twisted, and he spat.
"Where there is a will, there is a way. You're all that's left, you Tyrant."
The flames from the torches flickered ominously.
"Tyrant?" A low sound escaped the Monarch—not laughter. Something older. "I'm as much a Hero as you and those before you are praised to be."
"You know how many heroes have stood where you stand now?"
The Monarch gestured at one of the mural windows along the walls.
"Look outside. You said so yourself; the 'Alliance' still stands strong in flame and in will. Decade upon decades of warring nations between races, all now united beneath one banner, finally till this day."
The Monarch took a step forward.
"I did that."
"Humans. Elves. Dwarves. Orcs. After countless years of war between and within these races, I unified them finally. Up until decades before even you were born, a sight like the Global Alliance of Estan'te would never be conceivable."
He descended the final step.
"Yet I am hailed as the Villain. And you the sword and the Hero to strike me down."
Standing at the edge before the stairs, the Shadow Monarch deeply regarded the Hero like something old, tired and ancient.
"Tell me, Alister Light Sinclair — what is it you fight for? Not as the Hero. Nor as the Alliance."
"A world where people no longer live in fear," Alister calmly responded, " A world Where no race rules another by blood or shadow. Where children aren't born into war they didn't choose."
His voice hardened.
"A world without you."
He raised his sword slightly, light spilling from its magnificent blade into the chamber and silence followed.
Then—
"... Interesting."
The Shadow Monarch stepped to the side, a steady gaze at the Hero, or at least Alister thought so. It was hard to tell if there was really anything underneath that helm.
"That world you speak of?"
"I forged a path to it."
The Shadow Monarch's voice hardened, finally betraying its usual calm cadence.
Alister's brows furrowed.
"You call this slaughter a path?" Alister raised a finger and pointed outside through the walls.
"Unity born of fear is not unity!"
The Shadow Monarch tilted its head slightly, calmly.
"And peace born of war is?"
A beat.
The Sword of Judgment vibrated sharply. Alister seemed baffled at that response, lost for words.
"Wh- wha..."
The Shadow Monarch continued calmly.
"You're no different from me, Alister."
Alister flared up again.
"Don't you dare tell me that. You ruled through death!"
"I controlled it. There already was Death," the Monarch refuted sternly. "Before me they slaughtered each other for banners, gods and crowns. I gave them a single enemy."
The shadows deepened around the chamber edges, the flames of the torches flickering ominously.
"...Me."
Alister showed a soured expression. "And so you crowned yourself the villain."
"No." The Monarch paused.
"History did."
"And you're its latest correction."