The grand throne room of the Kingdom of Sparta was a sight to behold. It was made of huge stone walls that reached high up to the ceiling. Golden torches lined the sides, their flames dancing and casting warm light everywhere. In the center sat the massive throne, carved from dark wood and decorated with gold and jewels. The king of Sparta ruled from there, and everyone in the kingdom knew his power.
Suddenly, the heavy doors at the end of the room burst open with a loud bang. A kingsguard named Chris came running in. He was out of breath, his face red from hurry. His golden armor shone brightly as he moved, reflecting little sparks of light from the torches. He ran straight down the long red carpet that led to the throne.
"My king! My king!" Chris shouted with a loud voice that echoed off the walls. "I bring urgent news from the kingdom of Aslan!"
The king sat proudly on his throne. He was a giant of a man, with a massive frame that made him look like a mountain. His body was eight feet tall when he stood, but even seated, he towered over everyone. His voice was icy cold, like the wind from a frozen lake. "What news do you bring for me this time?" he asked. His words boomed through the entire throne room, making the air feel heavy.
Chris stopped right in front of the throne and dropped to one knee. His head bowed low. "The kingdom of Aslan is gone, my king," he said, his voice steady but full of worry.
The king leaned forward, his eyes wide with shock. "That's impossible! I don't believe this news, Chris," he exclaimed. He slammed his huge hand against the armrest of the throne. The sound was like thunder, and it made the whole room shake a little.
Chris kept his knee on the ground. He did not look up. "I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, my king," he replied. "It happened a week ago. A monstrosity they call the 'Horde' destroyed everything."
The king narrowed his eyes, studying Chris closely. His gaze was intense, like a hawk watching its prey. "The Horde—what is that?" he asked, his voice still cold and sharp.
Chris swallowed hard, but he kept his eyes on the floor. He dared not look at the king's face without permission. "Monsters, demons, and beasts—that is what the Horde is, my king," he explained slowly. "They are not like us. They come in huge numbers, tearing everything apart. And currently, as we speak, they will be at our kingdom's gates in two days' time."
The king sat back in his throne, thinking deeply. He remembered the old days. "It's hard to believe that Aslan fell so easily to this Horde," he said. His voice was quieter now, but still strong. "I knew their king, Lucifer. He was a powerful swordsman. Back in our youthful days, he bested me in a fight. He was always itching for the battlefield. His blood burned for war. I guess old age really does affect a man. After all, we are mortals. We grow weak with time."
Chris stayed kneeling, but sweat began to form on his forehead. It trickled down his face. "What should we do now, my king?" he asked. "According to the information from the unit we sent out to investigate, their numbers far surpass that of our military—fifty times over. I humbly suggest we evacuate the entire Kingdom of Sparta."
The king's face turned red with anger. His eyes flashed like fire. "Have you forgotten who you are, Chris?" he boomed. "Have you also forgotten where it is you are?" His voice was powerful, like the roar of a god. Suddenly, a golden aura surged through his body. It glowed bright and warm, filling the room with light. His crimson eyes—deep red like blood—stared intently at Chris. Slowly, the throne room began to tremble. The ground shook under their feet. The walls rattled. But the king still remained seated on his throne, calm and unmoving.
Chris's body started to tremble. He felt the power pressing down on him. "N... no, my king," he stammered. "I remember very well." His gaze dropped even lower to the ground, submitting completely.
The king leaned forward again. His golden aura grew brighter. "Then tell me," he demanded, "WHO ARE YOU!"
The aura surged higher now, like a wave of gold. Servants who were standing outside the throne room doors began to feel it. They had weak bodies and minds. One by one, they slowly fell to the ground, fainting from the pressure.
Chris felt the power lift him up inside. His own golden aura started to surge from his body. It matched the king's, though not as strong. He stood up from the ground, his legs steady now. But his face and eyes still did not dare to gaze at the king's own without permission. "I AM CHRIS, A SPARTA WARRIOR!" he shouted with all his might. "I FEAR NOTHING, NOT EVEN DEATH, NOR THE GODS THEMSELVES! THE BATTLEFIELD IS MY ONLY DUTY, AND NO MATTER THE FOE I FACE, NO MERCY, NO RETREAT!"
The king smiled for the first time. It was a small smile, but it showed pride. "Good, good," he said. "I like that look in your eyes. Now go and send out my decree to everyone in the entire Sparta kingdom." He paused, his voice turning icy again. "Tell them this: 'The Horde of hell is coming. They are not humans, but they bleed. They hunger for our destruction and flesh. We hunger for the same.'
"In two days' time, the Horde will appear, marching their way into our kingdom, our home. We do not run from a battle of death. We do not fear a battle of death. We will battle the Horde and win, or battle and die a glorious death. Those who wish to flee, do it now. And those who choose to fight, prepare for a glorious battle and death."
Chris bowed his head low. "Your decree shall be passed through, my king," he said. Then he turned and left the throne room, his steps quick and sure.
As the doors closed behind Chris, a voice came from behind the shadows of the throne. It was beautiful and calm, like a soft wind on a summer day. "Don't you think he was right, my king?" the voice asked. "Numbers and strength that far surpass our own—fifty times over. We do not stand a chance."
The king did not turn around at first. His fists trembled on the armrests—not from fear, but from the weight of legacy. He thought of his father, who had ruled before him. "My father never ran... nor will I," he replied firmly. He rose up from his throne slowly. His massive frame filled the space. "We win or we die trying."
The voice belonged to the queen. She stepped out from the shadows and knelt down. Her eyes met the ground in respect. "If you have made your choice, then let me and Leo stand with you, even in death," she asked softly.
The king looked at her with kindness in his eyes. "Rise, my wife," he ordered gently. He stood in front of his throne now, waiting.
The queen rose up slowly. She wore a beautiful white dress that flowed like water. It was faintly seen in the dim light behind the throne. She walked to him and wrapped her hands tightly around his waist from behind. He could feel her warmth.
"Take Leo and leave the kingdom," the king said. "Go to the west and search for my brother. He lives in a little village called Normon. Give him this message: 'The kingdom died a glorious death.'" A little smile appeared across his face as he said it.
The queen held him tighter. "I will carry out your order, my king," she whispered. "But first, your queen requests of you in her bed chamber. Don't take too much time now, my king." She let go and disappeared into the shadows again, her footsteps soft and quiet.
Meanwhile, far beneath the ruined kingdom of Aslan, things were very different. The once-great kingdom was now nothing but rubble and ash above ground. But deep below, in dark tunnels, two figures moved quickly.
Alucard was riding on the back of his friend Jacob. The tunnels were narrow and wet, with water dripping from the ceiling. The air was thick and smelly, like rotten eggs mixed with dead animals.
"Eek, this place stinks more than the corpses up on the ground," Alucard complained. He wrinkled his nose and held on tight to Jacob's shoulders as they walked.
Jacob smiled, even in the darkness. His face was calm, but his eyes scanned the tunnels carefully. He turned his head a little to look at Alucard, then back to the path ahead. "Haven't you been down here before, Alucard?" he asked with a friendly tease in his voice.
"I have, but it didn't stink this much," Alucard replied. He pulled the sleeve of his cloth up over his nose to block the smell. "How long do we have to walk through here before arriving at the Kingdom of Sparta?"
Jacob kept walking steadily. His boots splashed in small puddles. "Just two more days, Alucard," he said. "I just hope we get there on time. Our new ally will be the king of Sparta. He's very strong and never runs away from a battle."
Alucard glanced at Jacob. Even with his sleeve over his nose, he could talk. "I think we both have the same thoughts right now," he said.
Jacob nodded seriously. His eyes looked ahead into the dark. "Yeah, he's going to fight against the Horde, knowing he and the kingdom will still be crushed. I guess Sparta warriors are like that. They call it a glorious death."
Alucard sighed, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, they are. This will be a rough journey."
Jacob heard something. "Did you say something, Alucard?" he asked.
"Nothing, Jacob," Alucard replied quickly.
"Alright, now let's make haste," Jacob said. The two of them started to sprint forward quickly. Their feet echoed in the tunnels as they ran toward Sparta, hoping to arrive before the Horde.