(Kingdom of Fable)
High King Nalt XVI magically hovered above what used to be kingdom streets, the air holding him like it had forgotten how to let go. Blood tracked along the seams of his fitted king's suit, white ruined into pink and then darker stains, red and gold dulled beneath it all.
The cape flapping on his back dragged like it weighed more than it should, torn and ripped along one side, and slick where it brushed his calf. The crown on his head sat crooked, gold color from the crown pressing into his tangled brown hair that refused to behave even now, beard matted with blood and darkened up because of it, his light brown eyes stuck on the thing ahead of him as if refusing to blink would keep the ground from swallowing what remained of his entire kingdom.
Below, nothing stood the way it once had. Stone cracked open, roofs ruptured, bodies scattered where people had fallen mid step, mid call, mid run, mid-panic, all of it.
Black fire burned everything down, its dark flames licking up walls that no longer cared about anything anymore, staining the air catastrophically.
The sky above everything glowed red as if it had always been this way and everyone had been pretending otherwise, like blood stained the heavens itself.
A mile away from High King Nalt, was the Dragon god of death, named Azhurael, and he filled the space where horizons should have been. A hundred feet of a black scaled god, crowned not by metal but by a ring of black flame that hovered above his many horned heads. Red light burned in each eye, way too focused to be considered wild, watching Nalt the way one inspects a flaw in stone.
Four wings unfolded from Azhunael back, each strung with skulls that clacked softly as he moved, and several spiked tails dragged furrows through broken ground. Black fire leaked from between his scales, embers falling away from him and dying before they reached the rubble.
"How sweet is the sound of eternal rest….? How brutal the voice of damnation…? Fervent prayer to your lands divine beings are considered vanity under the darkened sky…." Azhunael growled with certainty, and a taste of feeble amusement.
Nalt angled his greatsword forward, the singing magic along its length answering him with gold light that clung close to the blade that was outlining every notch and inlay.
Blood from Nalt slid from the guard and dropped into nothing. "You came here looking for an amulet…slaughtering millions of my people instead of communicating without any bloodshed…" The words came out strained and raspy and almost fearful, his breath catching on the last part, his eyes flicking down once, just once, to where a street had collapsed in on itself.
"I grow tired of our battle," Azhurael said as his bulk shifted forward, each step breaking what little still stood. "How long will you defend these…fragile humans? That amulet is here…it is the heart of a god who can create and destroy anything at will. We come from it…so we sense it. But…I sense it in you."
Nalt's mouth pulled back with his teeth bared like a rabid dog, and he raised the blade until his arm trembled from the effort.
"If it's in me, I'd hand it over….but since I don't know what you're talking about or why I should have this amulet you seek…this conversation is pointless then, isn't it? I….shall be the vengeance of my people." Gold magic light began to collect along the sides and middle of his greatsword, crawling up the metal, refusing to spill away from its wielder.
From the ruins, hoarse and broken voices rose, some wounded powerless clutching children who would not look up. "Go, King Nalt!" The shout fractured into coughs and sobs, the hope in their voices blasting louder than the dark flames around them.
King Nalt smiled brightly, embracing the hope placed on him. "Sing…my people who breathe! Victory blesses us this day! Honor the dead with your voices! Shout to their souls, from the dust they hear you, and from heaven they see our vengeance!" Nalt threw the words downward, as if daring them to fall apart before they landed.
His people began to sing, their voices overlapping into something complicated, a song of names and moments and promises.
Azhurael stepped forward again, the ground shuddering under him, black flame spilling off of him wider. "Foolish songs…the curse of the human tongue. Hope against carnage…"
Nalt blasted higher into the air, gold spilling around him until his outline burned against the red sky. His eyes caught the same color, and he moved fast, then around, tracing symbols through open air with the path of his zipping body, lines of light following him, carving a crest shaped like a broken blade beneath a broken crown.
When the magic rune he drew his dashing body was complete, Nalt appeared behind it, driving and stabbing his sword straight through the center of crest.
"RAGHHHHH!" He let out a loud battle cry.
From the large magic crest, as soon as Nalt stabbed it, a massive golden blade burst forward, teeth broken along its edge, racing toward Azhurael as the world held its breath to watch and see what would actually happen.
Could this kill the bastard?
The golden blade struck Azhurael and the sky cracked open without a sound, light tearing outward in a color too bright to look at directly, pouring across the ruins as if the air itself had been ripped apart by a pair of claws.
Buildings that had already failed were erased entirely, stone turning to dust that vanished before it could fall. The ground buckled, lifted, then collapsed again on itself, and for a moment there was nothing but white, a glare that devoured detail and scale alike, leaving only pressure and heat and the sense that the world had been shoved aside to make room for something even more violent.
Did that do it…?
The light lingered longer than it should have, refusing to fade away like it wanted to stay, stretching the moment even longer, until even the black fire below had been burned out of sight.
When it finally thinned, it did so reluctantly, peeling back in sheets, revealing the ruins again piece by piece, smoke drifting up where the explosion had carved a hole in the air itself.
Nalt, floating still, and tired, said, "No way…."
'Even that wasn't enough?!'
Azhurael remained. His scales scorched, several horns fractured, wings torn and smoking, but of course he was still standing, all of his heads lowering as a sound crawled out of his chest, not quite laughter and not quite pain, and that was the scary part. Nalt didn't know what the hell to expect anymore from this dragon bastard.
"That's it..?" Azhunael's voice dragged across the ruined land, heavy with disbelief.
Nalt dropped from the sky and hit the ground feet first, knees buckling as he caught himself on the sword, breath ripping in through his teeth. Blood slid down his chin and fell in dark spots between broken stones.
Below him, the wounded people recoiled in fear, their emotions hiccuping, hands tightening around children, faces turning away as if looking at him now invited the same end.
Azhurael's wings began to move, slow at first, then stronger, skulls chained along the bone frames knocking together, their empty eyes igniting with black and green fire. The air actually darkened with each beat, red bleeding away until the sky became a solid dark void color, light smothered as if a lid had been pressed over the world.
Azhurael continued, "Throughout Vyrkaldr…the realm of dragons..I am the god of death. I see the end and the beginning of all dragons, of all creatures, and even through the world of mortals, I shall see the end of humanity. I will bring…"
He rose higher, the downdraft from his wings tearing the ground and trees from the forests free from their roots and absolutely launching them into the dark, flame still spilling from him in poisonous colors that chewed through what little remained.
"…Mass extinction…"
The dragon roar that followed did not stay in the ruins; It rolled outward, crossing seas and mountains, ripping through distant kingdoms where people looked up just in time to come apart where they stood. Millions…and millions…of people brutally exploded as soon as the roar touched them, blood splattering all over. Then it turned to billions, no one in the world was safe from this massacre.
Cities of stone collapsed as bodies burst and scattered across streets. Forest settlements vanished under pressure alone, blood misting the air where homes had been seconds before. On cliffs, in deserts, on frozen plains, the sound arrived and death answered it, billions erased in moments, the noise echoing back through a world being emptied and cleaned out.
Nalt watched the last of the singers below him explode, bodies combusting exactly where they had just stood.
His breath caught hard enough to hurt his neck. "You…you bastard….you killed them…."
"Who amongst humanity can conquer death…besides you?" Azhurael's heads lowered a little, his eyes burning brighter. "The wielder of the Creator's heart…the amulet. A relic that creates and destroys…it keeps you alive. I will resurrect humanity as puppets and kill them over and over again until you end yourself with the blade. My power is too vast to consume you and may destroy the relic, you must fall to your own hand."
"…I can't do that…." Nalt's voice scraped out of him as he looked at the empty streets. "They need me. They…needed me. I wouldn't ever fall to my own blade in front of my people…"
"They're dead now…do it."
There was nowhere left to look that did not prove the point. No voices, no movement, no answer waiting anywhere, not a single shred of hope thrown to him from his people at all.
The thought of those bodies rising again, controlled puppets, twisted something behind his eyes. He tasted the burnt air and sighed in weariness. "As a king…I will take your life…then my own."
"Foolish!"
Nalt shifted his stance one last time, lifting the sword again, blood sliding along his arm, when a presence settled behind him, close enough that he felt the air change. A pair of glowing white hands rested on the sides of his crown, their unknown fingers light and steady.
White light filled the space above him, a woman hovering there, hair flowing upward in ocean-like waves, eyes empty of color and pure white, and pale white horns curving over her head. "Shhhh."
Tears broke free from Nalt's eyes, streaking down his face as Azhurael reared back, rage tearing from his throats. "You!!!"
He darted forward, wings hammering the ground into powder as he closed the distance quickly. Too damn quick.
The woman spoke before he reached them, and at first Nalt didn't understand what she was saying, speaking syllables that were unknown and alien, a language that walked against the world as if it did not belong here.
As she spoke, Nalt's sword slipped from his fingers and struck the ground. Nalt stood all the way, He held his arm out without knowing why, hand opening as something tore its way into shape above his open palm, a dragon's heart forming in grinding pulses, beautiful in its symmetry but horrifying in its birth. But Nalt just stared at it with a blank face.
Azhurael shrieked, sound fracturing as he fought against an invisible barrier, claws carving trenches that went nowhere.
The woman's voice rose louder. "Restore!"
Nalt crushed the heart with one hand, divine colorful blood of all colors shooting out from his closed hand.
Light shot out again but more broader this time, deeper with a larger scope in mind, filling everything and refusing to let go, washing over the world in waves that rewrote and restored everything that died to Azhurael's magic. The dead began to come back to life.
Moments later, Nalt knelt where the ruins had been, eyes closed, tears of blood tracing down his face. Above him, the woman hovered as the sky cleared into a bright and beautiful blue sky, and across the world, bodies stirred up, people gasping as their breath and souls returned to them, hands flying to chests and voices breaking in disbelief:
"We're alive…?"
"I saw the fire…I died…"
"Mother…?"
Nalt did not move at all.
"The Dragon god of death has vanished, but he will be back," the woman said, her voice carrying without effort. "I have put your king to sleep to preserve the heart of creation, the amulet rests within him. One day, when the need arises, he will awaken, and be the hero once again…."
People fell to their knees, sobbing, laughing through tears, clutching one another as if letting go might undo it all.
"Thank you…"
"All hail King Nalt!"
The people shouted as they gazed upon Nalt's kneeling unconscious body, seeing the blood tears drip from his eyes.
"All hail the King!!!!"
(30 years later)
(Kingdom of Fable)
(Palace of The Golden Pillar)
(King's Resting Hall)
The air inside of this medium-sized room carried old incense and dried blood long since darkened into the stonework. Sunlight filtered through tall windows that had never been replaced, catching dust that had nowhere to go.
The floor remained wood here, worn and scarred the hell up like a war veteran, boards faintly bowed from age, unlike the marble everywhere else in the palace. This room had been sealed from progress on purpose.
High King Nalt lay on a raised bed of white stone, still dressed as he had been on the day the world faced true death and mass extinction and was restored…thanks to that mysterious woman and the amulet.
But even as Nalt laid there asleep, the crown sat embedded into his skull brutally, gold forced past skin and bone, frozen there in a way that made it impossible to forget what preserving the heart of creation had cost him.
His face looked calm, beard trimmed by caretakers who worked quietly and never spoke here, brown hair shorter now, kept from growing wild. He was breathing, yeah, but slow. Real slow, around 20 inhales and exhales every 4 hours.
And kneeling beside the bed was 28 year old King Kaitill, King Nalt's son.
He stood tall even while kneeling, power built into his frame without bulk, his skin marked by raised gold tattoo patterns that caught the light. Muted gold and bronze lines traced across his chest, shoulders, arms, back, and legs, and hands. His long hair spilled down his back, dark brown at the crown, fading into ash blond toward the ends.
Subtle metallic gold wing ornaments rested near his ear. He wore no shirt, only a fitted dark gold garment at his waist and legs, segmented and lined to reveal the markings rather than hide them.
"After so many years since you fell asleep, father…a dragon has been reported to be seen." His voice stayed respectful, measured, though his fingers worried at the fabric near his knee. "Or…a being resembling the appearance of one, I hope and pray it isn't true, but…"
The word lingered longer than intended. His eyes drifted to the crown embedded in Nalt's head, then away.
"I hope they're wrong. It was reported the creature had the same color wings as Azhurael, and black horns, but looked human in a way. Resembling a female. This land is filled with creatures beyond understanding, which scholars and adventurers see new beings all the time, things still being discovered and documented."
His jaw worked once. "But…even if this is really true, I will apprehend it. And in the meantime, I wait for your awakening, father. I will take no chances with this creature."
He stood up all the way, and there were gold and white polished armored knights standing at the door, their presence ceremonial more than being necessary at the time.
As Kaitill turned, a faint creak sounded behind him.
His eyes went wide, and his eye twitched.
He spun and dashed back to the bed, grabbing Nalt by the shoulders, shaking him. "Father?! Did you move?! Did you move?!"
Nothing.
The creak came again but quieter this time. Kaitill froze, then glanced down. His own foot pressed against one of the older boards. The wood complained softly under his weight. He let go of his father and straightened, color creeping up his neck.
The knights at the door failed to contain themselves from laughter and smirking.
"Your majesty…"
"Hmph." Kaitill sat back on his heels and exhaled. "Not a word to anyone. I'm not crazy…I'm not going crazy. Let's just go. If there's a dragon to apprehend based on reports from the Haint Village, we must not waste time. Bring forth the prisoners."
"Y-Yes sir…" the knights continued to smirk.
"S-shut up!" he squealed, voice cracking like a girls. "I'm your king, dammit! No laughing at me! Knight Captain Krellim wouldn't laugh at me. I'm gonna tell him you're picking at your king, and he's gonna punish you."
"No! No! Anyone but him!"
Kaitill nodded once, satisfied. "Good. We have work to do."
The throne room stood in deliberate contrast to the King's Hall, gold and white dominating the space, accented by red banners and grey stone pillars that climbed toward a ceiling painted with old victories.
Sunlight poured through high colorful windows, reflecting off polished floors. Statues of High King Nalt lined the walls, carved in different moments of his reign, sword raised, crown held steady, gaze forward. Knights stood in aligned rows along both sides, feet stationary and eyes front.
And Kaitill sat upon the throne.
Before him knelt thirty prisoners, dressed in rough brown sackcloth, feet wrapped in cloth strips, arms bound by glowing grey magic chains. The chains crackled with restrained threat. Any attempt to use magic power would cause the links to erupt with spikes forming and piercing the one wearing them. And no one dared to test it out.
Of course this was used to keep prisoners from using magic.
Knight Captain Krellim stood beside the throne with his posture rigid. His white beard was neatly trimmed, hair cut short, wrinkles on his face deep by years of command.
His brown eyes watched everything, and his scars crossed his face. His armor marked him clearly, reinforced at the shoulders, red and gold detailing along the chest, a cape falling straight behind him. A gold and red axe rested across his back.
"You're gonna send this group, your majesty?" Krellim asked, voice clipped. "All of them?"
"Yes," Kaitill replied. "You will accompany them to the 'dragon' sighting. I would go, but I do not think I am mentally ready. Not yet at least. I want to spend as much time here in the palace as possible anyway. Just in case anything happens."
Krellim looked at him, then at the prisoners. "Understood, your majesty."
Murmurs rose from the prisoners, concerned and confused as to why they were brought here out of nowhere.
"What are we doing here?"
"Yeah, what's up? Gonna give us our freedom now?"
"I've been that hellhole for too long!"
"Gonna make us go work or kill something for our freedom? I'm all in!"
"A…similar being who shades the same wings and similar horns as Azhurael has been reported near the Haint Village," Kaitill said. "I'm sending all of you there to investigate. As everyone knows I'm in the pursuit of trying to wake my father up, as he's been asleep for way too long."
'And I'm overwhelmed about a lot of this king stuff. I need his voice, and his advice here with me. I hate this lost feeling like I'm wandering around in circles. As the youngest king to ever sit on Fable's throne, trying to be like my father is a pain in the ass.'
"All of you are criminals," he continued. "Men and women who have caused havoc. Some of you—well one of you—-are barbaric vagabonds who kill kings and queens, commanders, generals, captains, for coin."
His eyes settled on one of them, the one who he was truly talking to.
Judess.
Judess Taladin. Nineteen, long blond hair messy and falling into his face, burn scars marking the right side of his skin, other scars crossing his cheek. Dark red eyes stared back without flinching at all.
Judess noticed the silence first, then the weight of it. Heads peered toward him, some wary and some curious, and a few outright hostile, standing on guard.
Judess turned left, then right, slow enough to be annoying with his eyes half lidded. "Huh?" His voice dragged like this was already exhausting. "What are you all staring at?"
Whispers amongst the prisoners broke loose:
"Vagabond…that means he's.."
"Judess?!"
"They say he swears no fealty to anyone, just whoever pays him more gets his blade."
"Those red eyes, Helsong clan too?"
The name of that clan carried some kind of weight. Even prisoners who had been half asleep lifted their heads. There was only a small percentage of people who didn't recognize that name.
The Helsong clan was spoken of in odd tones for a reason; No magic in their blood, not even a flicker of it, no inherited spark or latent gift, none of that crap.
What they had instead was refinement of the body taken to an extreme that stopped just short of myth. Strength honed through generations of labor and war, speed earned rather than gifted, endurance trained until pain became background noise to them, like it was just another day.
The clan isn't considered monsters or legends or anything, they were just humans pushed to the edge of what a human body could manage, but they were terrifying for it.
Krellim's eyes squinted as he studied Judess. "Hmm. Many Helsong Clan members helped Nalt with wars back then, and did an outstanding job against armies and monsters. Their chief from many years ago said they would vow and swear an oath to help those in need and will help defend the kingdom they rest their heads at. Never killing without reason, and they upheld the protocols of justice and honor."
His mouth pulled thin. "But this member…Judess…he's a liability to them, and us. I say we kill him here. If he'll turn on his clan, he's not dependable for this. " Krellim finished.
—The chains around Judess broke apart in an instant.
Judess was moving before the sound registered, feet hammering against stone as he shot toward the throne. Kaitill barely had time to register a shape rushing him before Krellim gasped and swung.
The axe from Krellim came down in a clean slash, and Judess snapped his head into the blade instead of dodging, and chomped down on the ax blade, metal screaming as it shattered its fragments and pieces falling like rain.
Judess caught a sharp broken piece midair, twisted his wrist, and jabbed it quickly towards Krellim's throat.
Then, a magic gold serpent snapped into existence, wrapping Judess from chest to ankle, pinning his arms hard against his sides.
The shattered axe reformed in Krellim's hands as if it had never broken, and he raised it without pausing. "He tried to attack the king! That's an immediate death warrant!"
Judess tilted his head as much as the bindings allowed, expression bored. "Ahh. I was only kidding. It was a prank. Why are you guys so sensitive?"
Kaitill walked forward and grabbed the center of the axe haft with both hands, saying to Krellim. "Hey, don't kill him! You murderer!"
Krellim stared at him. "Huh?! He's the murderer, not me!"
Kaitill looked at Judess. "You…you tried to touch me!" Kaitill pointed accusingly at Judess. "Bind him! Bind him forever!" Kaitill squealed to his mages.
Mages along the walls did not hesitate to use binding magic on him. Magic runes and crests formed into the air, bands of light wrapped around Judess.
Then more, then more again. Chains, sigils, glowing cords stacking until only a mess of bindings remained as they reinforced one another.
Then, ten minutes passed. No one told them to stop. By the end, Judess was barely visible, his head sticking out at an awkward angle, his hair mashed flat.
Prisoners muttered.
"Shit…"
"He's done for…."
"He actually tried to attaxk the king…"
"And he's leaving Judess alive?"
"Oh wow," Judess said, blinking. "I gotta piss all of a sudden."
Kaitill cleared his throat and straightened. "Excuse me. Judess Taladin. The vagabond who has killed kings and queens and other high ranking officials in other provinces since he was a mere boy."
Kaitill paused, saying, "What we're hoping to accomplish? I was thinking I could work something out with you, maybe use your skills to help me and you gain gold from it, since my father has worked with your clan members before. But perhaps that was a small mistake. Either way, I would've killed you if you actually ended up touching me. My magic is as strong as Nalt's, as our entire lineage wields Golden Visage, so don't think it would've been an easy kill."
Judess tilted his head, "Duh I can't beat you. Why do you think I played that funny prank earlier? Use your brain.."
Kaitill said, "Use Judess for bait if you have to against the creature. I don't care." He turned his attention to the rest of the prisoners. "So, Krellim, you and your knights will escort the prisoners to the village, and unchain them so they can take on the creature if the situation calls for it. Those who survive, depending on the severity of your crime, will be freed. But that's up to the royal judges."
Cheers erupted.
"Hell yeah..!"
"Let's go then! Enough fucking waiting!"
"I finally get to go home and screw my wife! Sick of looking at men all day!"
"Why are you even looking at us?"
"No one wants to hear all of that."
Krellim's eyes locked with Judess'.