《Dominion》
Prologue
I took a deep breath.
¡°People of the lowest class, who have had their dreams and desires forcefully ripped away by others. I as a King, who has made a servant his lover, placed a peasant as commander of his armies, and made people with no name into his bodyguards, will listen to you.
What are you?¡±
Silence.
¡°Villagers of the north.
People like you who are weak and powerless; you have grovelled and begged just to get past day by day. Nobles ridiculed and played around with your lives as if they were nothing at all and when they threw your lives away, they had not bothered asking for your names. That is because your names had no meaning; they had nothing to be remembered for, even after death. Until your inevitable fates came, none of your words reached the ears of those who could listen. Since you had no power, your words carried no weight and even when you begged to be spared, they fell on deaf ears. I see that you all do not have a voice and for that, I pity you all.
What are you?¡±
Silence.
¡°Sorcerors.
You have silently received the abuse and hate thrown at you. Soldiers have in the past jeered and belittled you everywhere you walked. It is almost impossible for people to not feel the slightest bit of remorse for hurling hate at someone, but perhaps, you were not people to them. But how could you not be people? They say people who practice magic have sacrificed their souls to do so, but how would they know who has a soul or not? I have seen you bleed the same blood as I had and cry the same tears as I have.
Because you seemed sad, I had given you a shoulder to lean on. The moment I had done so, you understood I had acknowledged you as people and wept. Is this a cruel world where people shed tears when they are acknowledged as being in existence? ¡®I deserve to live¡¯, were even these words, which are considered as one of the most basic instincts upon this world, not allowed to be spoken at all? I see that you too, do not have power, and for that I feel sorry for you all.
What are you?¡±
Silence.
¡°Slaves.
Your lives were ruined because of a single mistake that you could not be blamed for. People ignored and pretended you weren¡¯t there. It was as if your very existence was in question and to continue doing so, shackled you to a cell and took away your freedom. I see since you do not exist wherever you go, desperately trying to leave your body but the world is your prison. I understand that even if you were to love and to give birth, your children will be known as children of a slave and so too, your body is a curse. To you all, I know that your only answer in life is death. However, how can death be the answer if there is no question?If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Because you lived your life in regret, I gave you the key to your prison. The moment I had done so, you took charge and slaughtered your oppressors. Once I had given you power, you were no longer a prisoner, but instead someone who wanted revenge. ¡®I want to be free¡¯, have you lived without saying those words once, words which are the most primal to living? In the end, I see people will not kill you if you have power. I too feel sorrow for you all.
What are you?¡±
Silence.
I took another deep breath.
¡°Are you all such pitiful people? Is that it? Is that why someone has to sympathize with you and take care of you? Will you all turn a blind eye once someone was to do so? Are those really your true selves? When you were raiding and burning, laughing as you did so - is that not your true faces? Was immediately murdering people once you obtained a sliver of power, not a cruel thing to do?¡±
I paused.
¡°Ah, you are all not the kind and gracious people you thought you were. You are the same as I. The same type of person. I am a man of strength, and you are all nothing but people who have yet to obtain power. You must taste the sweet taste of having control, to fully understand the meaning of my words.
However, the nobles have all simply considered you as poor subjects. Will you stand for that? Do you wish to live in naivety the rest of your lives? Do you not have any desire for power? Do you plan to kneel and bow down like your parents and their parents have?¡±
¡°I will regard you all as my equal!¡±
¡°Since I do not consider you as kind and innocent subjects, since I will not look down and tell you how to live, I will not take care of you all. You will stand on your own two feet and you will stand tall and unbroken."
"I will take your lives if I need to, and if you need to, you can take my life as well. That is what I mean by considering you as my equal. If there is something that controls both life and death, then that is only power."
"You all have the rights to desire power and to live for it.
The sight of you all struggling, bleeding, killing and dying for power will be beautiful to me."
I paused again.
"What are you?
You have all been nothing until now.
What will you be?
Everything.¡±
¡°Pierce your swords into the people who have stolen your voice, cut down those who would suppress your very being, and destroy those who dare defy you. Take back everything that was taken from you! By doing so, you will become people. The very thing that you¡¯ve always wanted to be.¡±
¡°Hence, I will tell you this. To all those who can hear me, listen. In the faces of all the kings and gods, I shall bestow upon you a language."
"Look at me!"
"I shall be the voice that you need.
If you all are to fight for a cause, then that will be my cause as well.
If you all are to hate someone, then I will be the person that you hate.
If you all are to create a new home, then that will be my home too.
I shall provide you with the weapons to tear down this world.
So scream. Scream with all your might.
Because I understand you all.
I shall be your desires, your fears and your deaths.¡±
I opened my eyes.
Chapter 1
2 years ago
I¡¯m going to die tomorrow morning.
That¡¯s what I get told when the demons come to visit my prison cell every day, but I know this time it¡¯s for sure. I¡¯ve been here for weeks, months probably - I only know because I¡¯ve been counting the amount of times they come to feed me, not that the food they give is any more appetizing.
Monday. Tuesday.
Friday. A week.
Two weeks.
Four.
I stopped counting after that. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, an endless void of nothingness filled only with the quiet trickle of water and the gentle flicker of the torches. The only company I have is the disjointed whispers of my own thoughts, the last remnants of my sanity laid bare in front of me.
But tomorrow, it will be over. I¡¯m to be sacrificed to entertain the lord of this castle for all to see; the method chosen was to burn me alive. They tell me that I should be honoured that it wasn¡¯t something more painful, that I should thank him for giving me this privilege.
I close my eyes. It seems as if I was destined to be powerless in this life as well. It takes me some time to realize that I was laughing, perhaps at how cruel the gods were, perhaps just to fill the silence. I had begun to rock back and forth as well, not wanting to go insane just yet. I try my best to keep warm, creating a rhythm of movement, but my efforts seemed to be in vain as I only felt increasingly more numb after having not moved for a long time. I stop trying.
It¡¯s so cold down here. Light trickles in from the hole in the wall as if to try and provide some reassurance, but it¡¯s not long before it¡¯s engulfed by the darkness. My clothes are torn, and my face is covered in dirt and grime. I want to drench myself in water and scrub myself clean. Is it strange that all I can think about on my last day is how dirty I am? If my older brother were here, he would tell me to stop being weak and start being strong.
As if it was that easy.
I lowered my head into my hands. How did I end up like this?
But I know how, of course. It¡¯s because I had given up on my life.
It happened about half a year ago now, as I was walking home with my brother. We had just finished paying for groceries and were on our way out. It was raining heavily, almost like a flood was coming down from the skies. But even the rain couldn¡¯t drown out the conversations around me. The people around me were talking about me, of course. Everyone¡¯s conversations were always about me.
I was the talk of our neighbourhood. Enzo Laurent? They all said. Oh, he¡¯s the failure in that family. Poor thing. He should have been more like his brother.
No one meant because I wasn¡¯t smart. I¡¯m not trying to be arrogant, only honest. My mother once told me that whoever had seen the success of my father was now waiting to see which of his two sons would follow his footsteps. My older brother, Hans, was fifteen when he won his first international competition and was already the distinguished image of perfection. Unlike me, Hans had inherited our mother¡¯s charm and radiant temperament. He was natural at talking to people, enjoyed going out and exuberated an aura that made people want to be near him. I was the complete opposite, an introvert, who found more enjoyment being absorbed into books and video games than with people. If you needed accolades to prove that you were intelligent, then you weren¡¯t very intelligent, I had thought. I¡¯d often stay inside, reading as much as I could and mastering the hardest strategy games around. It wasn¡¯t long before I had devoured practically hundreds of books, both fiction and non-fiction and had completed every game there was on the market.
We were a family, once.
My father would take Has on trips and they¡¯d enjoy themselves together, just the two of them. He would tell his business friends how proud he was to have a willing and dedicated son. He would buy him anything he wanted, no matter how expensive it was. He would remind him how amazing he was, how he would take over his business once he retired, how he could make his family even more successful than it already was.Hans already had a line of investors waiting to work with him and my father would tell each of them to be patient, that the time wasn¡¯t right yet. What a caring father, everyone thought.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
I was another story. Unlike my brother, blessed with shining blonde hair to complement his bright, blue eyes and pale skin, I was flawed. And by flawed, I mean this: When I was five years old, our house had caught on fire in the middle of the night and everyone in our house was fast asleep. No one was awake. It wasn¡¯t until our house started falling apart did our father wake up. At this point, our mother had already passed away from all the smoke inhalation. Thinking back, I would have liked to go away silently as well.
There was no time. Our father could only save one of us and who would he choose? The one who had charm and laughed all the time, or the one with cold, calculating eyes and seldom showed expression? He of course, chose the former and without a single look back at me, scooped up my brother and ran out of the house. I was five at the time but I already knew my father had abandoned me. The last thing I remembered then was thinking how beautiful the shape of fire was when you were up close to it.
But fate had different plans for me. It was both a blessing and a curse in disguise. The good news was that I had actually survived the flames. However, I ended up being left with horrific scars all over my face and body, to the point of which you couldn¡¯t recognize who I was before. To me, both of these facts were instead just burdens on trying to live a normal life. No one wanted to work or talk with me. I was an outcast.
So yes. You could say I was flawed.
When my brother eventually recovered from the incident unscathed, I now had a disfigured face, so much so that people avoided trying to look at me. While my brother¡¯s hair remained a luminous yellow, the strands of my hair turned a deep, black color, so that in the night, you would be able to see the reflections of the moonlight in my hair. At least my mother died peacefully. Sometimes I wish that the fire had taken my father instead but that would be too easy of a way out for him.
Hans and I had just made it out of the store and we were on our way home late at night. I tried to brush off the conversations I¡¯d overheard from earlier today and dismiss them as mere gossip like I¡¯d always had, but there was just a couple of nagging thoughts that I couldn¡¯t got rid of. He''s a joke. His father must be so embarrassed of him. He should just kill himself. It wasn¡¯t long before they multiplied, running rampant through my head and I was helpless to stop them from piercing my thoughts.
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I hadn¡¯t noticed the bright lights until it was too late. Instead, I found myself staring up at the night sky and thought to myself, just how magnificent the stars and constellations were and how they were so wonderfully connected to each other. I tried to point at Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, a beacon of light in the sea of darkness, but my arm failed to cooperate. Strange, I had thought. Was I so weak that I couldn¡¯t even move myself?
The rain started to grow more heavily, lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder shook my bones. I kept staring at the star, after all, it was the only thing I could do. I thought about all the things I¡¯d done in my life, all the things I could have done and hadn¡¯t. I thought about my father, how he¡¯d chosen my brother over me and how much I hated him. I thought about so many more things, as I lay there on the pavement, my face a mixed expression, my gaze fixed on that one point in space.
Suddenly, I felt as if I was going to cry. I¡¯d never cried once in my life, not even when I was facing against the world did I ever feel like crying. I believed I just didn¡¯t have the capacity to, but I couldn¡¯t hold myself back this time. My breaths came in ragged sobs, and my head burned in agony. Blood trickled down my face. The smell of iron filled my nose ¨C I was sure it couldn¡¯t have been mine. I waited, uncertain what had happened.
¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whispered, unsure of whom I was talking to. I wanted to move my head, wanting to apologize to Hans, but my head wouldn¡¯t turn, almost as if it wasn¡¯t mine. The storm drowned my words out. I blinked. This was all wrong.
But that was a lie. I knew it, even if I tried to deny it. Do you see how I take after my father? I felt nothing at all. ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± I screamed again, trying to drown out my inner voice. But my words only came out as a thin gargle. ¡°I just wanted to be listened to¡ªI just wanted¡ªsomeone¡ªI didn¡¯t¡ªI don''t¡ª¡±
I had no idea how long I laid there. All I know is that, eventually, I blacked out, and after what seemed like an eternity, woke up here as someone else, imprisoned in a wet dungeon cell with no windows and no hope, without any explanation, without a soul in the world. This is how I first came to my surroundings, how I turned to face the end of my life without any emotion at all. My father¡¯s ghost keeps me company. Every time I wake up from a nightmare, I see him standing in the corner of my cell, laughing at me. You tried to escape from me, he says, but I found you. You have lost and I have won. I tell him I¡¯m glad I¡¯m gone. I tell him to go away. But he stays.
It doesn¡¯t matter, anyway. I¡¯m going to die tomorrow morning.
Chapter 2
Cecilia von Estria
The raven arrives early in the morning. It lands on her outstretched hand, her skin a flawless, pale colour. She turns away from the balcony and brings it inside. There, she picks up a knife, caresses the bird¡¯s neck with one slender hand and slices its stomach open. She does this with unwavering accuracy as the raven¡¯s guttural cries starts and abruptly ends. Her hand roots around inside the bird before pulling out a small parchment stained in its blood. She unfolds the message. It¡¯s written beautifully and with care.
He¡¯s here. Come to Rakshult at once.
Your Ever-Faithful Servant,
Her face remains expressionless, but she carefully folds the parchment and places it inside the smouldering fireplace.
In the light of dawn, her eyes flicker a deep and crystal blue.
Enzo Laurent
I can hear footsteps from above. The sound grows closer, until they stop right outside of my cell and through the bars of the wall; an imp the size of an owl chucks a piece of rotten bread at me. It misses and bounces off the wall, landing into a puddle nearby, splashing my clothes with grimy water.
¡°Your last meal,¡± it sneers at me. If you can call it that. It¡¯s obvious it¡¯s not interested in me as the imp immediately leaves, throwing a final glance at me, ¡°We¡¯ll come for you at the first sign of dusk.¡±
Its footsteps grow distant, then disappear altogether.
From one of the cells next to me, a voice croaks out. ¡°Boy,¡± it murmurs, making me shiver. ¡±Boy.¡± When I don¡¯t reply, he asks, ¡°Are you one of them? One of the gifted?¡±
Silence.
¡°So?¡± he presses. ¡°Are you?¡±
I remain silent.
He laughs, the echoes of a prisoner who¡¯s been here so long that his mind has been broken. ¡°The demons say that you murdered some of them with their shadows. Well did you? Maybe you can get me out.¡± He pauses. ¡°What do you think? Help me out of here?¡± His words dissolve again into giggles of insane laughter.
I try to ignore the sound as best I could. Gifted? The thought was so ridiculous, that I wanted to laugh along with him at the craziness of the suggestion.
Hours pass. Actually, I had no way of knowing how long had passed. All I know is that eventually I hear the pitter-patter of footsteps coming down the long stone stairs. The sounds arrive closer, until there is the turning of a key unlocking my cell door. It¡¯s time.
Three demons around my height enter the cell, their faces grim. I stand up straight, my back creaking in protest, and stare at a gap in the wall ahead. They unlock my shackles, the sound of them dropping to the floor reverberating around the prison.
I let them take me, offering little resistance as they grab hold of each of my arms. It was pointless after all. They drag me up the stairs, a demon in front and two by my side. One floor, two floors, three. That¡¯s how far down I was. Here, the courtyard comes into view ¡ª the flooring changes from damp, broken cobble into smooth obsidian, the walls littered with various trophies and the demon lord¡¯s sigil, a snake eating its tail; the Ouroboros. As I grow closer to the centre square, I can hear the shouting coming from outside. I looked down, unwanting to meet the faces of the demons who would see my demise. One of the demons yank on my arms, making me stumble forwards. ¡°Keep moving, boy,¡± one of them snarls at me, its face a grotesque expression.
Then we step out of the castle and into the courtyard, and for a moment, my world turns a pitch-black and the only thing I could see were the beating hearts of the crowd, so exposed and vulnerable. Hundreds of demons lined up, happily eager to see me executed, expecting an entertaining death. The night sky was clear and beautiful, the stars shimmering in all of their brightness. In the distance, an iron stake stood erected next to a throne made of obsidian, upon which a tall figure sat upon. Standing next to the figure was where a female and a line of demon officers waited. Even from here, I can see their circular emblems shining on their clothing, their black eyes fixated on me. I look away.
Jeers and insults greet me as I am led closer to my death. Some throw rotten food at me, while others spit and curse at my face. They wear thin strips of clothing, dirty shoes or anything else they can find. So many deprived and desperate, come to see me suffer in order to distract themselves from their own sad lives. I keep my head up. The world blurs by as I am dragged further in. Before me, the stake creeps closer and closer until it¡¯s directly in front of me.
¡°Monster!¡±, ¡°You deserve to die!¡±, ¡°Your death will be painful!¡±, ¡°Abomination!¡±
I close my eyes. Ironic. Everyone in the courtyard sounds like my father. I can almost hear his voice talking down to me. I hate you all. I imagine my hands at their throats, choking them, silencing them, one by one. I imagine twisting a sword through their hearts, their limp bodies dropping like flies as I do so. Something stirs inside of me, but I ignore it as they shove me against the stake, clamping shackles on to my wrists and ankles and tying me to the pole. The stake was made of white cast iron and was a thick as the trunk of a tree. Piles of wood were thrown at my feet, rapidly stacking up until they reached the height of my knee.
As I look at the people lined up in front of me, my gaze settles on the tall figure rising from the throne. He stands and walks towards me, his shoulders are squared and his hands are folded behind his back. His eyes glow a pale gold, but his unruly hair almost makes him seem human.
¡°Lord Raphael Gruelle,¡± the female standing in front of the officers announces with a formal poise. ¡°Arch demon of fire and fury.¡±
Arch demon? I look at him again. Such a thing exists? And it has come to see me die?This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Raphael approaches me now with long, confident strides. I shrink away, now uneager to meet someone with such a status. The cold metal of my shackles begin to cut into my skin as he lowers his head to meet my gaze. His black coat is lined in gold as opposed to red in colour and is embellished with various decorations, much more than the other officers. His face is thin and as if chiselled from marble, impressively regal, and his eyes are pale yellow. Very pale yellow. So pale they seemed to be devoid of life. Something about them makes me shiver in response. There is insanity in those eyes, something uncontrolled and destructive.
He uses one hand to lift my chin and studies my face. The edges of his mouth tilt up, becoming a strange and almost sympathetic smile.
¡°Such a pity,¡± he says. ¡°You would have fit perfectly into my ranks.¡±
I jerk my chin away and look at him with all the hate I can muster.
¡°A vengeful one too.¡± His words are laced with venom. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. It¡¯ll be quick.¡± Then quietly, so that only I would be able to hear, ¡°You will find your redemption in the underworld.¡±
He steps away and turns to face the crowd, raising his hand to call for silence. ¡°Quiet now, my fellow demons. I know we¡¯re all excited.¡± Once the audience quietens, he clears his throat, and claps his hands together. His words echo across the courtyard. ¡°A beautiful sight we will have here today for you. Some of you may have heard that there has been an increase in the deaths of our officers recently, deaths solely caused by this human here.¡± He points at me. ¡°Let me reassure you: When we find these vigilantes, we bring them to justice. Blood must be paid in blood.¡± He scans the crowd. ¡°The order is here to protect you. Let this be a warning to you all.¡±
I try to struggle against my shackles. My legs are shivering violently from the cold, the wind like a knife, cutting into my skin. I look up towards the night sky. It¡¯s such a beautiful night ¨C how can the sky be this clear?
Raphael takes a lit torch from one of his officers. The sight of the fire sparks a terror through my mind and my eyes widen in horror as I recall a memory. I had screamed in agony when the flames had touched my face as my house burnt down. What kind of pain must you feel when you let fire consume your entire body?
He puts his hand over his heart in a mocking gesture of farewell. Then he bends over and lights the piles of wood at my feet with the torch. The dry wood immediately catches on fire and the crowd roars in approval.
As the flames flicker at my feet, my mind goes into a state of panic at having to let fire touch my body once again. I remembered the pain, the cries for help, and the cruel realization that I was alone in a world of fire, that I had been abandoned. Rage surges through me, coursing through my veins.
God, give me strength. I am not dying here today.
I close my eyes. I reach deep inside me and finally grasp this strange feeling lying in my mind. My heart desperately closes around it, knowing it will be the only thing that might save me.
Time stops.
The flames become motionless, their trails of fire paralysed and void of colour, streaks of black and white left lying in the air. The stars in the night sky slowly turn a crimson red, almost as if they were bleeding, and the cold wind dies against my skin. Raphael¡¯s smile falters as he turns to look at me. The crowd turns silent, confused at what was happening.
Then something inside of me erupts and I know now that it was too late to stop. The world unfreezes ¡ª the fire flickering against the wood once again. But overhead, the crimson stars multiply until they fill up the sky in its entirety.
The stars begin to join together, forming a single massive entity. The outline of which, take on horrifying, unknown shape, and throughout all of this, the moon still shines, a spectator, watching the event unfold. The crowd screams, a mismatch of cries of help and escape, and the officers arm themselves, their heads tilted upward like the rest of the crowd.
In the midst of all the panic and screaming, the moon also begins to turn a dark shade of red. And just like that, the single mass of stars moves¡ªit scatters into millions of specks that swirl and then fall down, down, down on to all of us. It was like it was raining blood, except that it wasn¡¯t blood. It was a swarm, a nightmare, of locusts. They descend rapidly, their scarlet shapes falling mercilessly, their buzzing drowning out the screams of the crowd. The officers flail their weapons uselessly at them.
However, I noticed the strangest thing. As the locusts came near me, they didn¡¯t devour me as I thought they would. Instead, they passed straight through my body. Almost like they didn¡¯t exist at all. I observed the scene in front of me, and surely enough, the insects went straight through the officers and the demon crowd as well.
Then it clicked. This was all fake. They weren¡¯t real at all, it was all a trick.
All of a sudden¡ª
The temperature drops. Demons drop all around me. Specks of blue and white dart across my vision.
The flames below me were instantly put out, turning into wisps of smoke. Someone stands between me and Raphael, landing with deadly elegance. It¡¯s a girl, I think. Who is she? This girl isn¡¯t fake ¡ªI can sense her presence, something that the locusts didn¡¯t have. She is clothed in a blindingly white uniform and a shining silver mask covers her entire face. She faces the arch demon, her focus entirely on her opponent. A long, thin rapier glimmers in her right hand.
Raphael stares at her, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. ¡°Move aside,¡± he snarls at the stranger.
The masked girl tilts her head to one side. ¡°How rude,¡± she mocks, her voice regal and unwavering. Even in the sounds of chaos, I can hear her clearly.
Raphael lunges at her with his drawn sword, but the girl dances out of his patch, gracefully and beautifully, and thrusts with her rapier. It pierces deep inside his body. A penetrating cry sounds out from the battlefield, as the female demon that was standing at my execution sees and dashes over towards him. Something in me sparks with delight.
Officers see their fallen commander and rush to the scene to help. They draw their swords at the girl. She just smirks, her smile a gesture of taunt for them to come closer. When they do, she twirls through them like it was a performance, her figure a blur of movement, her rapier cutting them like butter. One of the officers almost stabs her, but the girl merely cuts the demon¡¯s hand clean off. The sword falls to the ground. The girl kicks the fallen sword up in to the air with a flick of her knee-high boots, then catches it and points it at the other demons.
When I analyse what was transpiring in front of me harder, I noticed there were also similarly masked figures ¡ª people dressed in the same white uniform as the girl. It seems she didn¡¯t come here alone.
More officers arrive at the battle. The girl stops for an instant to look at them, her rapier dyed with the colour of demon blood. Then she stands still, points at the ground with her weapon and stabs the tip of her rapier, drawing a circle into the floor.
A circular wall of ice erupts from the ground, separating the demons between us with a column of frost going high into the night sky. The sounds of the battle are muffled behind the icy wall, leaving only the sounds of our breathing alone inside the circle.
The girl approaches me. I stare in awe at her pure white hair and silver mask, her figure almost like a ghost. The only part of her face not hidden by her mask are her eyes ¡ªcold, brilliant, blue.
She doesn¡¯t say a word but instead, kneels and grabs at my chains. The shackles in her hand turn blue, then white. They shatter, freeing me from the stake and straight away I collapse, too weak to stand, but she catches me effortlessly and props me up against her exposed shoulder. I¡¯m half afraid she¡¯s also going to turn me into ice and shatter me into a million pieces. Her skin is electric, the coolness of it feels like a cold winter¡¯s day.
¡°I can walk on my own,¡± I murmur, but my words come out as a collection of nonsense.
She glances at me, and brings herself close towards me. ¡°Stay still,¡± She whispers into my ear.
Splecks of darkness grow across my vision as I struggle to stay awake. The last thing I remember is the emblem etched on to her gloved hand.
A white rose.