The soft light of the morning sun was filtering through the stained glass windows of the throne room. Its rays played on the crimson carpet, as if reminding her of spilled blood. Victoria sat in deep thought. Her fingers nervously tapped the armrest of the throne. Words from the past echoed in her mind. It was long ago - when she was just a girl, with dreams of greatness and a carefree smile.
She saw the library of her childhood again. Tall wooden shelves filled with leather-bound books stretched upward, as if reaching for the sky. The space was filled with the smell of old pages and faint smoke from candles. Victoria sat on a fluffy carpet, wrapped in a warm blanket. Her father, Irfan, sat opposite her, holding an old book with a worn cover in his hands.
— …And then the hero raised his sword, and the sun illuminated its blade. It sparkled like a star, and the villain understood that this moment would be his last, — Irfan read, his voice was deep, as if flowing from the very heart of the earth. He closed the book and thoughtfully looked into space, as if this story was something personal for him.
—And what happened to this villain then? — Victoria asked, her voice full of childish curiosity. She looked at her father, waiting for an answer that would fill her imagination.
Irfan hesitated a little, his brows furrowed, and his gaze became detached. It seemed that he was searching for words to convey the idea to his little daughter.
—Every person, Victoria, even the most cruel, wants comfort before death. He wants to return to where his heart once found peace. Where he was happy, at least for a moment. Therefore, the villain will return to his native home to find peace.
The words had sunk into her childish mind, but she had not understood their depth.
"Why? It was the hero who defeated him. Shouldn't the villain have surrendered?" she asked, rising to her knees. Her silver-black hair glistened in the light of the table lamp.
Irfan looked at her, his face soft but sad. He placed his large, warm hand on her head.
"Surrendering to yourself, child, is much harder than to the sword of a hero. Even a villain wants peace, but not at the hands of others. He wants to come to his own end."
These words stayed with her for many years. Even now, sitting in her throne room, she heard them as if Irfan were there. Her fingers tightened on the armrests of the throne, and her gaze was directed to nothing.
Suddenly, reality burst into her thoughts. The rumble of footsteps outside the throne room door brought her back to the present. She took a deep breath and rose from her throne. "Every villain comes home." Those words of her father were her guide now.
Victoria knew what she had to do. Her gaze was cold and calculating. She walked out of the throne room, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Dreydus. His home. She would go there. "If you still exist, I will find you. If not, I will see where you met your end."
Victoria's footsteps echoed through the empty corridors of the palace. The silence here was deceptive - beyond its walls, the war still thundered like a storm, tearing apart everything in its path. She felt the pain in every muscle, her wounds from the fight with Dreydus bleeding under improvised bandages. But she had no time to rest. Time was her only ally, and even that was slipping away.
She moved slowly, but with indomitable determination. Her steps, uneven and heavy, echoed with sharp pain with each step, but her face remained inscrutable. "Dreydus's house," she repeated to herself, like a mantra. Her thoughts returned again and again to Irfan's words, to his lessons hidden in his stories. Even wounded and exhausted, she felt that she had to see the end of her struggle.
As Victoria stepped out into the courtyard, her gaze fell upon the garden that had once been the palace's crowning glory. Now it looked like a battlefield. Broken statues, scorched flowerbeds, broken branches of trees that had once stretched toward the sky, as if trying to catch the sunlight. The garden was a reflection of the state of the kingdom: beautiful, yet vulnerable, torn apart by contradictions and destruction.
In the center of the garden, her gaze caught on a group of people. They stood in a circle, surrounding a figure she recognized at once. Arkin.
His back was straight, his voice loud but calm. He was speaking, his words barely reaching Victoria through the noise of the wind and the hum in her head. The guards who surrounded him held their weapons at the ready, but did not attack yet. Victoria stopped, her gaze cold as steel.
"Your Majesty!" Arkin noticed her first. His face, usually calm and confident, was now a mask of tension. "Tell them they are making a mistake. All this rebellion, all this chaos, it was necessary. This is the cleansing that you yourselves sought to begin. I have merely accelerated the process."
His voice was firm, but there was a note of desperation in it. He spoke as if he were trying to convince not only Victoria, but himself as well.
"A cleansing?" Victoria slowly approached, her steps confident despite the pain. Her eyes were fixed on Arkin. "You went behind my back, Arkin." You did not do this for the Demonia, but for your game. I could understand you if you came to me with this plan, but you chose to act in the shadows. Why?
Arkin stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
"Because some things cannot be discussed, Victoria. Sometimes a leader must do what seems wrong for the greater good. You understand that yourself. Haven't your decisions done the same?"
His words caused a brief shadow of doubt in her. But only for a moment.
"Perhaps you are right, Arkin. But there is a difference between sacrifice for the state and betrayal. I can understand your motives, but that does not mean I can forgive them." Her voice was icy.
She glanced at the guards, and they, understanding her silent order, raised their weapons. Arkin noticed their movement and raised his hand.
"Think about it, Victoria! This will make you even more distrustful in the eyes of those who remain close to you. You could lose even your most loyal ones.
She stepped closer, her face impassive, but a shadow of regret flickering in her eyes.
"You overestimate their opinion. No one saw what was happening here. You will remain a hero to them, Arkin. Your name will be remembered. But I cannot allow you to live. Even allies who act in the shadows can turn traitor."
Her voice was even, as if she were speaking of the weather. The guards began to move. Arkin took a final step back, but his voice remained firm.
"Do you truly believe that this will make you stronger? That this will fix everything? Victoria, you are becoming what you swore to destroy.
She turned away from him, so as not to see his gaze. As she began to walk away, the sound of steel was heard, and a moment later Arkin's scream was heard. Victoria did not turn around. Her face was impassive, but a storm raged inside her. She stepped through the garden gate, hearing his scream fade.
"You were right, Father," she thought. "Villains always return home, but sometimes they are helped back there."
Shadaria Veila was drowning in smoke and screams. Victoria walked through the ruined streets, her steps were even, and her face hid any emotion. Her cloak dragged along the ground, collecting dust and dirt, as if reminding her of the traces she left in the destinies of people.
Passing another square, she saw piles of corpses, stacked like shields, from which blood dripped. Burnt houses stood like silent witnesses to the tragedy. There was chaos and destruction, but no one dared to look her in the face. Everyone knew that she was no longer just a queen. She was their fear, their hope, and their doom.
She approached the gates of Dreydus's estate. The gates stood open, as if the estate itself was waiting for her. She stepped inside, her gaze sliding around the corners, as if searching for ghosts of the past. "If he has returned, I will find him."
Victoria entered the central hall, where the demonic blade stood. It was gone, but traces of its power remained in the air, like a suffocating shadow. Her gaze fell on the floor - a strange pattern on the tiles caught her attention. She crouched, running her hand along the floor until her fingers found a barely noticeable crack.
As Victoria pressed it, she heard a faint click. The floor opened, revealing a passageway before her. She descended into a dark tunnel, where the air was thick and heavy. At the very end of the tunnel, she saw something that made her stop.
A misshapen mass of flesh, once human, now morphed into something terrifying. Victoria realized it was Dreydus. "His attempt to survive... His end."
She couldn't help but laugh, her voice echoing around the dark room.
"You wanted to defeat me, but you couldn't even remain yourself. Pathetic, pathetic Dreydus."
She came closer, her gaze falling on the strange, almost black blood dripping from his body. Victoria leaned down, running her finger through the thick liquid. She paused for a moment, then slowly brought her finger to her lips. Her eyes widened.
"Demon blood. Now I know your secret, Dreydus."
Victoria stood up, her gaze falling on the old painting of the archangels. Their faces were majestic, their gestures seemed noble. But to Victoria, it was only a reminder of how they had turned their backs on her people.
Gripping the hilt of her sword, she cut the painting in half with one blow.
"No archangels will help me. Only myself."
Behind the painting, she found a cabinet with test tubes filled with that very blood. Her lips stretched into a cold smile.
"Now I will do what no one before me could do. Demonia will be reborn, and its rule will be eternal."
Victoria stood before the twisted flesh, her gaze focused. Drops of thick, almost black blood slowly flowed from the shapeless body, leaving ominous patterns on the floor. The test tubes of blood that she held in her hand looked too... light. Too clean.
She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to assess how much power could be contained in these test tubes. Then her lips curved into a cold smile.
"It's not enough. You knew that, Dreydus, didn't you? You knew that one solution like that would only be enough for a weak person who wanted to feel the power but would never become its master."
Her voice echoed through the empty room, cutting through the silence like a dagger. Victoria threw the vial to the floor and it shattered. The thick liquid spread across the stones, but the queen did not even glance at it. Her attention was focused on the source of real power: the pool of blood surrounding the mangled body.
She approached it slowly. Her fingers slid carefully along the edge of the pool, picking up a small drop of thick, almost black liquid. She brought it to her lips, feeling the warm viscosity spread across her tongue. The taste was metallic, with a bitter undertone. But there was more to it than that, a feeling that could not be described in words. It was a feeling of power, like electricity coursing through her veins.
"Real blood," she whispered, her voice filled with a note of awe. "Real power."
She knelt down in front of the puddle. As if in a trance, Victoria ran her hand over its surface, collecting the blood in her palms. Her movements were slow, almost ritualistic. Then, without thinking, she brought her palms to her lips and began to drink.
The warm liquid flowed down her throat, filling her body with a new sensation. Her heart began to beat faster, and her head rang, as if in unison with each sip. The blood was heavy, but at the same time alive. It seemed to have a will of its own, striving to connect with her body. Her hands trembled, but she did not stop herself.
Each new sip was like a hammer hitting an anvil, tempering her from the inside. She felt the blood penetrate every corner of her being. Like a cold wind, it spread through her veins, awakening something ancient and strong.
Suddenly her breathing became intermittent. Victoria leaned back, her hands braced against the cold stone floor. She raised her head to the ceiling, her lips parted, but only a hoarse breath escaped.
A transformation began inside her body. Her pupils narrowed sharply, turning into vertical lines like those of a wild animal. Their crimson hue disappeared, giving way to an icy blue light. Her gaze became cold and piercing, as if winter itself was looking into the souls of those who dared to meet her eyes.
The wounds that had once oozed blood began to heal. The skin around them became smooth, without traces of the previous mutilations. Victoria felt her body becoming stronger. Each muscle filled with strength, and her bones - with impenetrable hardness. She clenched her fist, and her fingers crunched, as if her body was testing its new limits.
She slowly rose, her silhouette casting a shadow on the walls of the room. Her breathing had evened out, but now there was a new power in it, like a being who had crossed the threshold of humanity. She looked at her hands, which were shaking from the excess of power.
Her lips trembled, and words came out, more like a confession than a simple monologue:
"I started this path as a daughter who was protected. As a queen who tried to justify herself. Now I am more than they could have expected."
She looked at her reflection in the pools of blood, her eyes icy.
"Irfan always told me that I had to be strong. But no one told me that strength comes through blood. I didn't ask for this... but isn't this what Demonia wants? A queen who will not break again."
She paused for a moment, her gaze growing even sharper.
"From a conscientious queen to a demonic empress." What a mockery my path will be to those who see it from afar. What glory to those who stand near.
Her voice became a little quieter, but there was a frightening confidence in it.
"They called me weak. But now weakness will be their doom. Demonia will no longer bow its head to anyone.
She turned and headed for the exit of the secret chamber. Her steps were even, like those of a creature who no longer knew doubt. Behind her, the shadows began to thicken, as if the very walls were bowing before her new power.
Victoria stepped over the threshold of Dreydus's estate, her silhouette casting a long, elongated shadow in the sunlight. A cold wind swirled around her figure, but even it seemed submissive to her. Kantor Mortis stood at the gate, dressed in black armor adorned with the crimson symbols of the royal guard. His armor gleamed as if polished by darkness. Kantor, seeing the queen, dropped to one knee, his hand bowed to his chest, as if in a silent vow of fealty.
"Your Majesty," his voice was quiet but firm. "The capital is under our control. The remnants of the rebels have locked themselves in several fortifications. Their leaders... are already fleeing or preparing to fight to the last. But victory is near. It's only a matter of time.
Victoria stopped in front of him, her icy blue eyes, now even more frightening, staring at Kantor. She looked at her loyal guard in silence, assessing his words, his steadfastness. Then a barely noticeable smile touched her lips, but there was no joy in it. Only cold sarcasm.
"Near... Victory is already in my hands, Kantor," her voice sounded low and commanding, like an echo of the darkness itself. "These rebels were so desperate to bring me to my knees that they even invented an entire war. And what happened? In an attempt to break my power, they only strengthened it. Their courage is just an illusion, behind which fear hides.
She stepped closer, looking Kantor straight in the eyes. Her shadow covered his figure, as if the queen herself emphasized her superiority.
— You know what the irony is, Kantor? Their attempts to humiliate me turned me into what they feared most. With their own hands, they raised the throne even higher. Now, when I look upon these ruins and ashes, I see not a failure... but a new era.
Her gaze turned to the horizon, where plumes of smoke from the destroyed parts of the city still rose against the morning sky.
— They bow to me without even realizing it. Every step they take, every mistake they make, is a bow. They tried to turn me into a weak, hesitant figure. Instead... they created me. I am more than just a queen now. I am the embodiment of their fear.
Kantor, still kneeling, raised his head. His face was a mixture of admiration and silent agreement. He saw that this was more than just a ruler. She was a force to which one could only bow.
— What are your commands, Your Majesty? — he asked, his voice ringing with determination.
Victoria turned to him, her cloak rustling softly in the wind.
— Complete the purge. Let the rebels know that no one will save them from my will. Kill those who will not surrender. And those who do... bring them in chains to the throne room. I want to look them in the eyes before I pass sentence.
She paused for a moment, then looked up at the crimson sky.
— Today, they will learn what it means to be broken. And tomorrow... Demonia will see the dawn of a new era. An era where my will is law, and my strength is their protection.
Kantor stood, his armor creaking in the night. He saluted, his voice firm.
— Yes, Your Majesty. Your enemy is my enemy.
Victoria nodded, watching him turn and walk away, disappearing into the shadows of the nearby wall. She was alone, but she did not feel alone. There was a strength in her veins that she had never felt before. Her mind was full of plans, her heart full of determination.
She turned to the manor, which was now only a ruin, a symbol of her victory over her enemies.
"Enemy after enemy, defeat after defeat... Until there is no one left who dares even think of betrayal."
Victoria returned to the royal palace to the sound of barely fading battle coming from the distant quarters of Shadaria Veila. The stairs, the corridors, the doors - all of it seemed empty and silent, as if the darkness of the palace itself had decided to bow before its queen. Her footsteps echoed in the strategic planning room. The space, once alive with the voices of advisers, generals and ministers, was now dead.
Every time Victoria entered here before, she was met with faces filled with distrust and hidden aggression. Someone raised their voice, accusing her of weakness, someone carefully hinted at mistakes. These walls remembered how she had to listen to criticism, how every gesture or look was full of condemnation. Today there was only silence.
She stopped at a huge oval table on which old maps and scrolls still lay. Victoria slowly ran her fingers along the edge of the table, remembering the endless arguments that had sounded here. Those who expressed their doubts were no more. They either fell in battle or were destroyed by her own will.
She sat down in a massive chair in the center, her figure seemed to dissolve in the gloom of the room. For a moment, her gaze fell on the empty chairs once occupied by advisers. She allowed herself a dark smile.
"So many words, so many accusations. It was all... meaningless," she said, as if to herself. — Now I am not just the law. I am its embodiment. The only one who has the right to decide the fate of this country. And, as it turned out, no one else is needed.
Morgana stood behind Victoria, her figure merging with the semi-darkness. She was silent, watching her queen, her gaze remaining as dispassionate and devoted as always. The only person whose words could still break this moment of loneliness said nothing. And Victoria knew it.
Her hand reached for the old map of Demonia, spread out on the table. It was covered with marks and notes made even before the uprising began. Red lines indicating the routes of troops, green dots indicating allied settlements. All this seemed unimportant now. This map is a relic of the past, evidence of the times when royal power was shared with someone else.
— Morgana, — Victoria looked up, but her eyes did not express either anger or fatigue. — Do you know what this means? This table, this room, these cards?
Morgana nodded slowly.
— The fate of Demonia was decided here, Your Majesty. And now it lies in your hands.
Victoria nodded, her gaze falling on the spot where Dreydus had once sat. His voice, his arrogance, his sharp words—all of it was but an echo of the past. His place, like the others, was empty.
— These chairs no longer matter, Morgana, — Victoria said, her voice even and calm, but with steel in it. — There are no longer those here who dare tell me what to do. Command, ministries, religion, all power... they are mere shadows now, and these shadows have vanished in crimson flame. They dared to challenge me, but their insolence was short-lived.
She stood up, her figure towering over the table, as if demonstrating superiority over the entire system she had destroyed.
"I am everything now. Power, strength, decision. This country no longer needs intermediaries. Demonia knows only one name: Victoria de Luna."
Morgana did not answer, only bowed her head in agreement. She knew that this was not the moment for words. The Queen was completing her path of becoming.
Silence reigned in the hall again. Victoria took a step toward the window through which the ruined city was visible. Smoke from the fires still hung over the rooftops, as if a reminder of the price of her victory. But she did not look away, did not allow herself to doubt. She looked forward, to the future she was building with her own hands.
"Soon..." she whispered. "Soon everything will fall into place. But until then, I must finish what I started. And no one will stand in my way.
Victoria sat at her massive desk, made of ebony inlaid with crimson inlays. The lamps on the walls cast a soft light, painting her face in shadows and reflections. Her pen glided quickly across the paper, leaving behind graceful but unyielding lines. Her first decree, the first inviolable law of the new order. Every word was weighty, every sentence filled with the steel of her will.
"All who raised a hand against the crown will be destroyed. No one will escape retribution. The actions of these traitors will not go unpunished. Anyone who shelters them or expresses sympathy for their ideas will share their fate. This is my decree. This is my will."
She signed her name, her handwriting smooth, almost mechanically precise. This was not just an order. It was a symbol of her absolute power, a demonstration of her determination.
A wave of her hand, and demonic birds, created from thick darkness, formed a tight ring around her. Their scarlet eyes glowed, awaiting the order. Victoria raised the sheet with the decree, and as one, the birds soared into the air, carrying her words across Demonia. They were her messengers, her heralds of a new world.
"Now," she whispered, her voice cold and calm. "Now they will know what it means to be a queen.
At the same time, deep in the Demonia mountain range, the fortress of the Order of the Demon Blade towered. Its walls were carved directly into the rock, black spires seemed to pierce the sky. Inside, on the training field, where hundreds of Ephernites honed their deadly skills, a cry rang out:
"Blade up! Sharper! Your strikes are a reflection of your loyalty!"
The hum of training was almost deafening. Shields clashed with swords, battle cries merged with echoes. However, in the very center of this chaos stood a girl. She looked very young, but her presence was impossible to ignore. Tall, with flawless white hair tied in a high ponytail and eyes like liquid blood. In her hands she held the decree that had just arrived with the demonic birds.
Her lips curved into a mocking smile as she finished reading the text.
"Interesting, Queen Victoria de Luna," she said cheerfully, not taking her eyes off the paper. Her voice sounded like a melody, but there was steel in every word.
She paused for a moment, her gaze turning serious, and then she tore the decree in half, letting the scraps of paper fall to the ground. They slowly swirled in the air until they touched the black stone of the fortress.
"So be it, you have earned my praise," she added, her smile growing even wider.
Isabella Rubravides, the leader of the Order of the Demon Blade, turned to the training field. Her voice, suddenly becoming commanding, echoed throughout the fortress:
"Enough rest, Ephernites! Stop training! It's time for real work. Prepare to purge the rebels!"
Her words cut through the hum of training, causing the warriors to instantly gather themselves. The Ephernites stopped moving, their faces serious. They quickly formed into ranks, ready for any order. Isabella raised her hand, her bloody eyes flashing.
"The Queen has given the order. We will carry it out with such precision that Demonia will remember this day forever. Those who tried to destroy our country will find no shadow, no salvation."
Her voice was loud, but there was a hidden mockery in it, as if she was enjoying this moment. The Ephernites, as a whole, bowed their heads, acknowledging her leadership.
"For the Queen, for Demonia, forward!" she thundered.
Isabella watched her warriors leave the training field, her eyes flashing with determination. Her figure seemed small against the massive walls of the fortress, but her presence eclipsed everything. Plans were already forming in her head. Queen Victoria was the one who deserved her attention.
Far from the continent of Askerion, beyond the known worlds, in the endless void where time destroyed and recreated itself, a figure hovered. Its outlines were constantly changing, as if reality itself was afraid to record its true form. Darkness, thick and alive, like inky vines, wrapped around its body, twisting and forming patterns reminiscent of ancient runes. But suddenly the figure moved. The darkness, as if obeying a command, loosened its bonds, partially revealing its form.
Scarlet hair, smoothly flowing like blood flowing down a blade. Eyes brighter than the setting sun, two scarlet torches in which millions of stars blazed. Her face was young, perfect, but in her eyes one could read ancient wisdom, beyond the minds of mortals.
She bit her lip, her teeth sank into it with such disdain that the very space around her trembled. Her voice, when she spoke, was not a scream, but a whisper that echoed through the void, making it vibrate.
"Heretics who dare to forget their creators, lost in their vanity... Your insolence, your insignificance, is an insult. The true gods, the true creators of the world, watch as you tear apart the fabric of destiny, as you build your illusion of power on chaos that is not yours."
Her eyes flashed, and the darkness around her wavered, as if afraid to anger its mistress.
"This queen... This Victoria de Luna... She is a mistake. She does not understand that her power is a shadow of what she could have been. She chose pride over humility, rebellion over submission. She brought changes to the world that contradict its original harmony. And change is my essence, my blood.
The figure raised her hand, her fingers, graceful and slender, fluttering, and the darkness obediently parted, revealing before her an endless horizon of emptiness. Her voice grew louder, filling the void, becoming a symphony of power.
"The world has forgotten its gods. It has lost its reverence, it has turned away from the true powers that created it from nothingness. But you, Victoria, you... you have chosen not only to turn away. You have chosen to challenge. You have chosen a heretical path, and for it you will be damned. Your realm, your crown, your people, all will be reduced to ashes, all will be consumed by the chaos you dared to usurp."
Her gaze fell downwards, into the void, where shadows were beginning to form, like the malformed creations of her wrath. They twisted and writhed, taking forms that no mortal mind could bear.
"My children, my creations... Go." Bring chaos to her heart. Destroy her kingdom. Exterminate everyone who stands behind her name. Leave only fear, only ashes, only the memory of what happens to those who forget their creators.
The shadows froze, and then, obeying her will, they tore from their place, heading deep into the void. Their presence left only fragments of reality in their wake, crooked, distorted fragments of order.
Morinfael watched them go. Her face expressed neither joy nor anger, only an absolute understanding of her purpose. She, the Archangel of Chaos, was created to bring change, to destroy stability, to remind the world that no power lasts forever. But now her chaos was turned against her. She, bound by endless darkness, was forced to watch as her creation became a symbol of rebellion against the true order.
"Chaos always wins," she whispered. - But this time he will come with the punishment you deserve. Prepare yourself, Victoria de Luna. I am coming for you, even if it means destroying the entire world.
Her eyes flashed once more, and everything disappeared. The void swallowed her voice, but the meaning of her words had already begun its destructive march.
Thus began the story of a new threat, a story that threatened to engulf Demonia in crimson flames.