In a room carved of stone, seven pillars carved with runes held up the dome-like ceiling. Soft moonlight shone down through several crimson stained glass panes embedded in the roof, creating a mystical air. They depicted various images of past times, telling a tale without words.
A war between the people of the world and the layers of hell.
The promise of the saviour that would end the war.
The arrival of the saviour alongside his allies who helped turn the tide of the war for humanity's relief.
The Hero of Light.
The Saintess of Stars.
The Sword Sovereign.
And the Monarch of Black Flames.
Alongside the Hero of Light, the heroes from beyond grew powerful enough to combat the layers of Hell and won the war after a long arduous campaign.
Eventually the Demon Lords were slain but at a great cost.
The life of the Monarch of Black Flames as well as thousands of valiant soldiers.
"All hail the Dark Monarch!" A sharp, high voice called out under the pale light of the moon.
"All hail the Dark Monarch!" The voice of an army responded in sync.
A woman with jet black hair and blazing crimson eyes looked down upon the army of black haired warriors surrounding the hill. She floated high above the ancient ruin, overlooking the legions of veteran warriors, forged in flame and blood all kneeling, not in mindless submission but reverence at the event that was to unfold. Among them were also important members of the clan, branch family heads and even some youths of the clan who had proven their worth.
At the forefront stood the main family. The matriarch stood quietly, her eyes cold as she faced forward with her sword raised before her. Behind her stood the clan heirs, children yet carrying the unmistakable black flame of the family.
"Tonight, we restore our honour of our great lineage! We, the Ashborn of divine flame shall return to our former glory!Tonight, the Monarch of darkest flames rises again!"
SHING~
The sound of swords being unsheathed rang out as the soldiers raised their swords towards the stone monolith in respect.
Each blade suddenly ignited with a dark luminosity, becoming engulfed in dark flames. From the elite warriors to the youngest trainee present.
"All hail the Dark Monarch! All hail the Dark Monarch! All hail the Dark Monarch!"
"AAAARRRGGHHHH!" A loud, soul-wrenching scream tore out from the temple on the top of the hill, washing over the army.
"ALL HAIL THE DARK MONARCH!!!"
BANG!
A blazing black flame suddenly erupted from the temple, shattering the glassed roof and rising towards the sky before dissipating. All the soldiers froze in shock as they saw the flames flare intensely, casting an ominous glow over the gathered army.
The woman turned and widened her eyes as she noticed an smouldering aura from within.
"The patriarch...?"
She quickly rushed in, shivering from the overwhelming aura of barely supressed rage oozing out of him.
As she landed at the entrance, she saw the figure of a man walk out unhurriedly through the stone archs leading into it.
As he stepped out from beneath the dark monolith, the light of the full moon shone brightly upon him, revealing his form.
He looked to be in his forties though the sheer amount of aura swirling around him betrayed the undeniable power within him. Long dark hair streaked with red framed his face, flowing lightly with the wind. He was clad in the black and crimson colours of the clan. An impeccable black suit hugged his form with a red cape to complete the fit. By his side hung an unassuming black claymore, yet she felt the underlying sharpness from where she stood.
Lord Azrael Ashborn.
She instantly dropped down to one knee as he came into view.
"My Lord."
She noticed that he was alone, causing her voice to shake slightly in fear.
"What about Lady Margaret? Is the child...alright?"
There was silence for a moment before the man spoke. When he did, it was cold and detached, as if mentioning an insignificant occurrence.
"The manifestation was a failure. Margaret is dead."
Then he simply walked past her shocked figure as she remained rooted to the spot, frozen in shock.
But right before he descended from the hill, he stopped. His voice dipped as he added without turning his head.
"What you do with it is none of my concern, but if I were to ever lay my eyes on that 'thing', I will kill it."
Then he left.
It took a moment before she regained her senses, then she lifted her eyes towards the black monolith. Her heart hammered within her chest as she recalled the look on her Lord's eyes.
She had only ever seen such rage in his eyes once and when that happened...
She mechanically stood up, taking a moment to steel herself before she entered the ruin.
She heard the faint sound of breathing coming from up ahead and walked towards it.
Entering the moonlit room supported by the seven pillars, she gasped at it's state. The entire room was covered in soot, charred black by the raging flames of the partiach. In the centre of the room stood a white stone slab. Her breath hitched slightly as she saw what lay on it.
A breathtakingly beautiful woman with long blonde hair lay motionless on the cold stone. Her hair contained a few strands of the vivid black of the clan, showing her possession of the Ashborn bloodline. Clutched in her lifeless hands was a newborn baby gasping desperately for air.
She watched with a complicated look on her face as the child struggled to hold on to life
Sighing, she walked up to the stone slab and gently took the newborn out of his dead mother's hands and held him in her arms.
The baby looked so weak and sickly, his skin was pale and thinner than you'd expect from a newborn. But worst of all...
His hair was white.
She bit her lower lip, understanding the implications.
Even by simply looking at him, she could see the damage hidden in his body. His bones were frail
The child had absolutely no mana, not even a single drop. It would have been unbelievable to hear of a being with absolutely no mana at all but here she was, holding him in her hands.
And even worse...
"He doesn't have the bloodline."
The very bloodline that the patriarch had tried to awaken, was simply not there. It looked like forcing the procedure onto the newborn has done more than crippled him, the child might as well have been dead because even the weakest soldier of the clan would be able to kill him easily.
"My Lord, what have you done?" She said through gritted teeth, her heart overcome by a profound sadness.
She looked down at the child who had his fate sealed from birth, his breath evening out as he fell asleep in her hands, then at the unfortunate mother whose life had been lost needlessly.
"My Lady, don't worry. I shall take care of the young master. Rest easy."
Then she walked out of the ruin, watching the clan leave awkwardly, immediately trying to forget the shame of disappointment.
...
"..."
"And that's how I became the trash, powerless exiled fifth child of the clan leader. Any questions?"
A young girl, maybe six years old, looked at him with pitying eyes. She was dressed in a simple green dress and sat across the table from her master and friend.
"But...master, why do you cover your eyes?"
The boy sitting across from her chuckled darkly.
"Because of a particular bet I regret very much." The boy said, picking up a rook piece and using it to swat away a king piece off the board.
"Checkmate."