The night sky above Cadris was split in two, the moon hanging low and red, its unnatural glow casting a shadow over the city like a harbinger of blood. Beneath its ominous gaze, the streets churned with chaos. The people of Cadris, uncertain in the wake of the Mage Lords' fall, were now left with a single undeniable truth: the city was Kaelen's, and he would have it soaked in blood if necessary.
Kaelen strode through the grand halls of the Mage Tower, his footsteps echoing in the hollow silence left by the destruction of the Mage Lords. The dark magic they had succumbed to still pulsed faintly through the air, an unsettling hum that vibrated against his skin. He could feel their power—waning and lost—and he knew it would not take long for them to succumb completely. But even in their twisted forms, they were still dangerous. And Kaelen had no intention of letting their rage go unpunished.
"Kaelen..." Lord Clyden rasped from where he lay crumpled against the floor, his eyes burning with a hateful, unearthly fire. His voice was a low growl, his form barely recognizable as a human anymore. "You think you've won... but you've only set the stage for something worse."
Kaelen's lips twisted into a smile, cold and mocking. "You misunderstand, Clyden," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "This isn't about winning. This is about control. You were always pawns—blinded by ambition, too foolish to see the truth."
Before Clyden could reply, Kaelen raised his hand. The magic in the air crackled, responding to his will. A surge of force blasted through the chamber, sending the broken Mage Lord tumbling across the floor. His form slammed into the far wall, a sickening crack echoing as his body crumpled.
Seraphine, who had been standing silently at Kaelen's side, watched with a cold gleam in her eyes as the last vestiges of Clyden's defiance crumbled. The once-powerful Mage Lord could barely move now, his body shaking as though the magic had consumed him from the inside out.
"Is it not beautiful?" Seraphine asked softly, her voice almost reverent. "The way they fall... so easily."
Kaelen turned his gaze toward her, a spark of approval in his eyes. "Yes. The illusion of power is always so fragile. But in the end, they serve their purpose—like all tools."
---
The throne room of the Mage Tower was vast, its marble floors and towering columns now cracked and stained with the remnants of a violent storm that had passed through it. Kaelen stood before the grand throne, his fingers brushing against the cold stone, the power he held in his grasp suffusing the room with a palpable intensity.
Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, its eerie glow casting long shadows across the city. The people of Cadris had gathered once more, whispers spreading like wildfire in the streets. The blood-red moon had stirred something primal within them, a thirst for power, for chaos. Kaelen could sense it. The rebellion was in the air, thick with violence, ripe for the taking.
"Let them come," Kaelen muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as the thought of what was to come filled him with dark anticipation. "Let them come, and we shall see how far their desperation drives them."
---
Suddenly, the doors of the throne room burst open with a deafening crash, splinters of wood flying in all directions as a group of rebels, hungry for revenge, stormed in. Their leader—a tall man with a scar running down his left cheek—roared as he led the charge, his sword raised high.
"Kaelen!" he bellowed, his voice thick with rage. "You think you've won? We will tear you down, you bastard!"
Without hesitation, the rebel leader swung his sword, aiming for Kaelen's neck with all the fury of a man who had nothing left to lose.
Kaelen didn't move. He didn't need to.
With a flick of his wrist, the air shimmered, and the rebel's sword was deflected, the edge of the blade bending violently as if the very air had turned against it. Before the man could react, Kaelen's hand shot out, a whip of black tendrils of magic snaking toward him. They wrapped around the rebel's body, pulling him into the air, his feet dangling inches from the floor.
The leader struggled, his face contorted in terror as he tried to break free. "W-What sorcery is this?"
"Not sorcery," Kaelen replied, his voice a whisper of cold indifference. "Just a little persuasion."
With a snap of his fingers, the tendrils constricted, crushing the man's ribs with an audible crack. Blood poured from his mouth as Kaelen tightened his grip, his eyes glinting with malice.
With another sharp twist, Kaelen flung the man across the room, slamming him into a column with such force that the stone shattered on impact. The rebel leader crumpled to the floor, his body broken and unmoving.
"Anyone else?" Kaelen asked, his voice a low growl as he surveyed the remaining rebels, who hesitated, their courage faltering in the wake of their leader's brutal end.
But before they could answer, the remaining rebels rushed at him, their swords raised in a frenzied attack. They were desperate, too many to ignore, too hungry for blood to retreat.
The first attacker, a burly man with a cruel grin, swung his sword in a wide arc. Kaelen barely flinched.
In an instant, Kaelen's form blurred as he moved, his hand raised toward the rebel. With a flick of his wrist, the air around the man seemed to freeze, the temperature plummeting to an impossible degree. The man's sword shattered in his hands, and with a terrible, bone-crushing crack, his arms were encased in ice, freezing mid-swing. His body, unable to move, fell to the ground with a sickening thud.
Another rebel lunged at Kaelen, but Kaelen didn't even need to move. A blast of dark energy shot from his outstretched palm, the air warping with the force of the magic. The rebel was hit square in the chest, and his body erupted in a spray of blood as he was thrown backward, his scream lost in the explosion of violence.
And still, more came.
Seraphine, standing by Kaelen's side, raised her hand, and the floor beneath the rebels began to crack and splinter. Massive stone spikes erupted from the ground, impaling the remaining attackers with brutal precision. A chorus of screams filled the air, and Kaelen's lips curled into a dark smile as he surveyed the carnage.
---
The throne room was now silent, save for the ragged breathing of the last few survivors, pinned to the walls by the sheer force of the magic Kaelen had unleashed. They were nothing but broken shells of men, their weapons useless in the face of true power.
Kaelen stepped forward, his gaze cold and calculating as he surveyed the carnage. "This city will burn," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "But it will be my fire that consumes it. And those who stand in my way will be nothing but ash."
He turned to Seraphine, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation. "The blood moon has risen. Let the reckoning begin."
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