CHAPTER 1: The Throne of the Fallen
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Far back in the Age of Magic, in a land ruled by kings, fate, and blood, a lone man sat upon a throne.
His hands rested calmly on the pommel of a sword planted before him.
No one could describe the blade, its shape blurred as if refusing to be perceived
but the throne behind him was unmistakable:
A vast obsidian seat, towering above the space, gazing down at everything.
Blood traced the floor.
Scarlet stains clung to the cracked stone walls.
The air was heavy with silence and the smell of iron.
The man did not stare at anything, yet his blue eyes glowed in the darkness,
shining with a presence that felt like it could see through all things
time, fate, destiny itself.
Outside, the chants thundered across the kingdom like rolling storms:
"ALL HAIL OUR SAVIOUR!"
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"
The king rose slowly, prepared to greet his people.
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[BUT AS YOU ALREADY KNOW… THIS WAS NOT THE BEGINNING.]
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Five thousand years earlier
long before the throne, before the chants, before the legend
magic and the supernatural were already woven into existence.
Magic existed before existence learned to exist.
But the contradictions, side-effects, anomalies, and distortions born from it
had never been resolved.
And because of that, the world descended into war.
A war with unknown forces beyond human imagination.
Cities fell.
Countries fractured.
Continents retreated under the overwhelming tide of the enemy.
With no choice left, the rulers of every surviving nation forged a final alliance.
Kings, emperors, chiefs, scholars, and high representatives
united by desperation.
Their plan?
To use the very source of the catastrophe, magic to fight back.
It worked… at first.
But eventually the enemy adapted.
Magic alone could no longer secure victory.
Humanity could only hold the monsters at bay,
stalling the inevitable collapse.
But not for long.
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On the battlefield, amidst the trembling earth and the roar of abominations,
a young man stepped forward.
He stood unshaken, unfazed by the grotesque army stretching across the horizon.
Behind him was a force of ten thousand soldiers,
yet none dared to make the first move.
The young man, no older than his late twenties
with mid-length blond hair and clad in polished British plate armor,
raised one hand.
The command was simple: Hold.
A commander rode up beside him, voice strained with worry.
"Young lord, please do not be reckless…
these creatures are immune to magic."
The man he spoke to was their leader.
The commander himself stood in his late thirties,
dark hair, brown eyes sharp with discipline.
"I hear you, Sir Moratta Stones,"
the young lord replied, eyes still fixed forward.
"But as one who serves directly under the king…
shouldn't you have at least a little faith in me?"
"Young lord," Moratta answered,
"My duty as head knight binds me to protect—"
The young lord cut him off gently.
"We also have other forces watching over us, remember?"
He smiled softly.
"Do not fear. I intend to end this battle quickly."
Then
He launched himself forward like a golden bullet,
the ground cracking under the force of his acceleration.
"…There he goes again," Moratta muttered.
A second knight spoke from atop a horse,
his entire body hidden beneath full armor, face concealed.
"Forget it, General Moratta.
Once the young lord decides something,
not even the gods can stop him."
"He doesn't seem to be listening to a word I say"..Moratta thought to himself.
Moratta sighed.
"Like father, like son… they say."
The masked knight chuckled.
"Exactly."
Moratta gripped his reins tightly.
"Alright then… if that's how the young lord wants to play this—"
The army surged forward.
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"ALL TROOPS! ADVANCE!! ASSIST THE YOUNG LORD!!"
General Moratta's voice thundered across the battlefield.
Where moments ago fear had ruled, courage now surged.
Soldiers, freed from hesitation, roared in unison, their voices shaking the air with raw determination:
"LET IT BURN, MEN!! LET NO MONSTER SURVIVE OUR HANDS!! LET THE YOUNG LORD NOT OUTDO US!! SHOW THEM WHAT HUMANITY IS MADE OF!!"
"LET THE FIELD RUN RED WITH THEIR BLOOD!! LEAVE NO SOUL BEHIND!!"
The army's march erupted into a sprint.
Boots pounded the ground like thunder, the sound echoing across the battlefield,
their resolve unshakable, their fear long forgotten.
---
From the shadows of the enemy lines, a monstrous figure observed.
It sat upon a throne fashioned from human bones, bathed in blood, adorned with skulls.
Darkness seemed to pool around its seat like ink,
masking the horrors beneath it.
Flanking it were two colossal elephants, towering over the tallest human structures, their skin trembling with tension.
The monster itself, humanoid yet utterly demonic stood naked and imposing,
its black, unfeeling eyes opening as it sensed disruption in its army.
The ground trembled beneath its presence.
Explosions ripped through the field.
The giants screamed, unsteady, staggering as their massive legs buckled.
Blood and shattered limbs of monsters sprayed across the battlefield.
Yet not a single human fell.
The demon's black eyes widened in frustration.
It slammed a clawed hand against the armrest of its throne.
Before it could roar, a massive head crashed down behind it.
One of its eyes alone was larger than the demon itself.
It recoiled, horror and disbelief flooding its expression.
"W-what… what kind of monster have the humans summoned?"
The remaining giant elephants panicked, fleeing the battlefield.
Then the demon heard it, a voice.
"The human kind," the young lord's calm voice carried across the battlefield.
The demon snapped its gaze to the source.
The young lord stood alone, unscathed, untouched, unarmed, yet emanating an overwhelming presence.
The demon could sense the bodies of its allies sliced, destroyed but no sign of fatigue or damage on the human.
"You… you are responsible for this?" the demon spat, fury and disbelief mixing in its growl.
The young lord remained silent, unmoving, unaffected by the chaos around him.
"Instant-death magic isn't working…?" the demon thought, dread creeping in.
The demon rose from its throne.
Its towering frame cast a shadow over the battlefield, dwarfing the young lord.
"Then… let us see," it hissed.
Dark energy pooled in the palm of its clawed hand, twisting the very shadows into a black sword that dripped with ominous aura.
Still, the young lord did not flinch.
The demon vanished.
Time itself seemed to reject its presence.
Its strike would be untraceable, unstoppable, beyond space itself.
It reappeared instantly, blade descending in a strike meant to obliterate the young lord.
But with a subtle shift of the young lord's hand, the attack was stopped not by armor, not by steel, but by something unknown.
A calm, imperceptible defiance against the monster's wrath.
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The battlefield shook violently.
The demon's attack collided with nothing,
Yet the impact shattered the ground, sending shockwaves rolling across the battlefield.
Stone fractured. Dust erupted. Sparks danced in the air as the demon struggled to force its dark sword through.an attack meant to destroy everything in its path.
The young lord stepped forward, an unshakable force, and the demon faltered.
It stumbled back under the invisible weight of his attack.
Focusing, the demon realized something impossible.
The stance of the young lord was that of a weapon wielder.
He held something in his right hand… yet there was nothing visible.
"What… what is this?" the demon muttered, bewildered.
It tried appraisal magic, again and again, but nothing could pierce the mystery.
"This doesn't make any sense, in what logic is he doing this?"..the demon thought.
The young lord's voice cut through the chaos, calm, almost playful:
"Scared?"
The demon hissed.
"Don't be. You should have known not everything goes as planned on a battlefield."
"In this scenario, you underestimated human strength.
You underestimated how far we are willing to go."
For a moment, he turned, blue eyes blazing, scanning the battlefield behind him.
Distance, space, all irrelevant.
The war was turning in their favor.
The enemy's remnants were already retreating.
"I should finish this quickly… as promised," he murmured.
"YOU IMMIGRANT!!" the demon roared in bitter fury.
But the young lord did not pause, striking at a speed that blurred perception.
The demon dodged to the left, gaining ground.
"Clo—" it began, distracted by the perfectly clean cut along its arm.
Blood spilled, staining the ground black.
Yet the demon's nature, its regeneration, its immunity to pain, its demonic resilience refused to respond.
For the first time, it felt fear.
"This is… bad," it thought.
"I can't see his weapon… can't predict its reach, its shape…"
"I didn't see the attack either… my universal sense skill… couldn't detect a thing."
Fear shook the demon, unrelenting, as blue eyes bore into its soul, an emptiness, a void, yet alive with resolve.
Then it blinked.
In the fraction of a moment, the demon's saw it's own body, headless.
It's body neck blood spilling across the battlefield.
Shock froze the demon.
The demon froze, incapable of thought for a second.
"Eh? What… what is this…?"
"This cannot be… I… I cannot die here… not now…"
Blood streamed from its mouth, nostrils, and ears as the young lord held the head aloft.
The demon stared at it's own body falling down to the ground, blood pooling around it.
"No! NO!!"
It screamed, voice cracking, primal and broken.
"This… this was not supposed to happen!!"
"I cannot… die like this! No!!"
It thrashed like a child betrayed, a tantrum of fury and despair.
"He?" the young lord asked casually, curiosity in his tone.
"Who's he?"
The demon continued its tirade, then fell silent.
---
"Anything else, Young Lord?"
General Moratta stepped forward with a few knights.
The young lord dropped the head beside the corpse, a final punctuation.
"It's over," he said, voice calm.
"It sure is, Young Lord," Moratta replied, raising his sword high.
The troops erupted, a wave of cheer and relief washing over the battlefield:
"THE YOUNG LORD HAS GRANTED US VICTORY!!"
"ALL HAIL THE YOUNG LORD!!"
"ALL HAIL OUR FUTURE KING!!"
The chants repeated, growing louder with every passing second, filling the air with triumph.
And with the war won, the young lord began his journey home.
A hero, a savior, a ruler the protector of his kingdom and all allied nations,
standing as a beacon of hope after the darkness.
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To Be Continued...
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