The streets of Donovan Territory erupted into chaos. Terrified citizens bolted for shelter, slamming doors and locking windows, their frightened whispers lost beneath the growing roar of battle.
The mercenaries stormed the castle gates, their weapons gleaming under the flickering torchlight. The guards stationed at the entrance stiffened in shock, gripping their spears tightly as they saw who was leading the charge.
The mercenary king, Cahir.
His towering frame was clad in dark, weathered armor, his battle axe slung over his shoulder. His fury radiated like an unrelenting storm.
One of the guards, clearly shaken, stepped forward. "M-Mr. Cahir, what is this madness?! Return to your headquarters before the Marquis orders your execution!"
Cahir's voice was like thunder. "Tell that bastard to come out and face me!"
The guards flinched at the disrespect. "Outrageous! You dare insult your own lord?!"
But Cahir wasn't listening. He lifted his hand in a silent command—
Two mercenaries lunged forward, their blades flashing in the dim torchlight.
The guards barely had time to react before their throats were slashed open, hot blood spraying across the castle gates. With their deaths, the mercenaries surged forward, kicking down the doors and storming the manor.
From within the castle walls, Sir Lewin, the commander of the Donovan military, charged forward with his men. His tall, broad frame was clad in shining silver armor, his white beard and hair stark against the blood-soaked night.
"Cahir!" Lewin bellowed, his voice filled with fury. "I have tolerated your reckless behavior for years, but I will not allow you to disgrace the Marquis in his own home!"
Cahir snarled, his grip tightening around his axe. "I have served this territory faithfully! I have bled for it! I even built my guild headquarters here! And this is how you repay me?! By killing my daughter?!"
Lewin's expression darkened. "You've gone mad, Cahir. Do not blame us for your failures."
"Enough words," Cahir spat. "You've made your choice."
With a single, deadly motion, he swung his axe—
The battle began.
Swords clashed. Arrows whistled through the air. Blood splattered across the pristine castle garden as the once-grand estate became a battlefield.
Screams of agony and rage echoed through the night.
Deep inside the manor, Marquis Kallistar Donovan was seated comfortably in his study, enjoying a glass of aged wine.
The sounds of distant shouting reached his ears.
At first, he ignored it—a minor disturbance, perhaps a squabble among the knights.
But then, the screaming grew louder.
The ground shook as something—**no, multiple things—**exploded outside.
His hand froze mid-sip.
A loud BANG shattered the silence as the door to his study burst open.
A breathless knight stumbled in, his face pale with terror. "M-My lord! The Mercenary Guild has turned against us! They've breached the gates!"
The Marquis rose to his feet, his glass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble floor.
"What did you just say?"
Before the knight could respond, another tremor shook the mansion, followed by the unmistakable ringing of steel clashing.
Then—a voice thundered across the battlefield.
"MARQUIS KALLISTAR DONOVAN! COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"
Donovan's heart sank.
He knew that voice.
Cahir.
Panic gripped his chest.
"Damn it, Bianca!" he cursed under his breath. He knew exactly why this was happening.
Her rash decisions, her arrogance, her cruelty—they had finally caught up to them.
Taking a deep breath, Donovan straightened his posture. The fear in his eyes disappeared, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a noble who had survived countless political betrayals.
He marched out of his study, flanked by his remaining elite knights.
As he stepped onto the balcony overlooking the battlefield, he saw it—a war.
His once-loyal mercenaries now butchered his men in the gardens below. Blood stained the once-pristine white stone. The golden Donovan banners burned, devoured by flames.
And at the center of it all—Cahir, the Mercenary King.
Donovan lifted his chin, masking his unease with authority.
"Cahir! What madness is this?!" he called down. "I welcomed you into my territory! I gave you wealth, power, influence—and this is how you repay me? By leading a rebellion?!"
Cahir, his armor drenched in blood, stepped forward. His voice dripped with venom.
"You were my friend, Donovan. We fought and grew up together. I trusted you."
He pointed his axe at the Marquis, his fury nearly tangible.
"AND YOUR DAUGHTER KILLED MY DAUGHTER!"
A collective gasp rippled through the surviving knights.
Donovan's blood turned to ice.
The weight of Cahir's words crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
His mind raced.
(That idiot! That reckless, power-hungry woman!)
Bianca's hatred for the cursed prince had just doomed them all.
Donovan's grip tightened on the balcony railing. His heart pounded, but he could not show weakness.
If the Mercenary Guild turned against him, he would lose everything.
Taking a deep breath, he forced a composed expression.
"This is a grave misunderstanding," Donovan said smoothly. "I had no knowledge of such a crime. I have always honored our alliance, Cahir."
But Cahir was beyond reason. His rage boiled like molten lava.
"Enough LIES!" he bellowed. "Your daughter thought she could bury this! Thought she could throw my daughter's corpse away like garbage!"
Cahir's aura exploded, shaking the very ground.
"FOR THAT, YOU WILL PAY WITH YOUR LIFE!"
Donovan's calm mask finally cracked.
He turned to his commander, his voice clipped. "Sir Lewin, assemble all remaining forces."
Lewin nodded grimly. "At once, my lord."
As the Donovan army surged forward, the Mercenary King let out a savage war cry.
Meanwhile, hidden within the castle's corridors, Theodore and Belial moved like silent specters.
The clashing steel and dying screams of soldiers echoed through the halls, but neither of them flinched.
They were not here for the battle.
They were here for the Queen.
They followed the panicked footsteps of a fleeing maid—one who was undoubtedly rushing to warn Bianca.
With each turn of the dimly lit halls, they closed in on their target.
Theodore's lips curled into a smirk. "Belial, prepare yourself."
The two vanished into the darkness.
At that same moment, deep within the castle, Queen Bianca ran for her life.
Her heart pounded. Sweat dripped down her face.
(What do I do?! What do I do?!)
"Damn it!" she cursed under her breath. "All because I wanted to teach that brat a lesson!"
She turned a sharp corner—and froze.
A maid stumbled toward her, pale-faced. "Y-Your Highness, you can't be here! The battle—"
A wet slicing sound.
The maid's head rolled to the ground.
Bianca barely had time to scream before the severed head landed in her arms.
She threw it away, her body trembling in horror.
"WHO DID THAT?! WHO KILLED HER?!" Bianca screeched, her voice breaking with hysteria.
Her panicked eyes darted to the end of the hallway.
Two figures stood there.
Silhouetted against the chandelier's golden glow, two cloaked figures loomed in the darkness.
They did not move.
They did not speak.
Yet their very presence suffocated her.
Fear gripped her chest like an iron vice.
Her hands trembled as she tried to assert dominance. "Do you know who I am?! I am Queen Bianca! The king's wife! If you lay a hand on me, the entire kingdom's army will hunt you down! My husband has—"
Laughter.
Not nervous laughter.
Not forced laughter.
But mocking, amused laughter.
The figures stepped forward, and as the flickering light of the chandelier illuminated them, the Queen's breath caught in her throat.
The boy in the front raised a hand.
The magic disguise over his hair and eyes vanished.
Black hair. Crimson eyes.
Bianca's world spun.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she gasped—
"Theodore...?!"
Theodore stepped forward, his crimson eyes gleaming under the dim chandelier light. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting unnaturally as if responding to his presence.
"Enjoying the chaos, stepmother?" he asked, his tone laced with mockery.
The Queen's fear twisted into rage. She straightened, trying to reclaim her composure, but the glint of unease in her eyes betrayed her.
"Curse child! Bastard!" she spat, her voice shaking. "Is this your doing?"
Theodore sighed dramatically, tilting his head. "Of course," he said, inspecting his nails with a bored expression. "Do you like my gift? I tailored it just for you."
Her lip curled in disgust. "You vile brat! You've always been a curse to this family. You think you're untouchable now just because you hired a butler to protect you?"
She turned her gaze to Belial, eyeing him like a predator assessing new prey. "You, the so-called butler. You're powerful—I can see it. But why waste your talent on this wretched boy? I can offer you riches beyond measure. Women. Power. Serve me, and I'll make you greater than any lowly servant."
Belial's smirk deepened, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. He placed a hand over his chest and gave a mocking bow. "Fufu, my apologies, but my loyalty remains with my lord. I have no desire to serve rotten fruit."
"YOU DARE MOCK ME?!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the chamber.
Theodore's smirk faded. His gaze turned sharp, his aura pressing down like an invisible force.
"Let's not waste time with insults, Bianca," he said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "I'm here for answers. Why? Why did you try to kill me?"
The Queen tilted her head, her expression twisting into something venomous.
"You really don't know?" she scoffed. "It's simple. You remind me of her. Your wretched mother—Urian Vermin. The north Duke's daughter. That pathetic woman who thought she could compete with me."
Theodore's gaze darkened, but he said nothing.
"So let me get this straight," he said, his tone amused. "You tried to kill me... because you were jealous of my mother? That's kind of sad, really. Imagine a grown woman having a grudge against a ten-year-old."
"SHUT UP!" Bianca screeched, her face contorted in fury. "You don't understand!
"She was too good for this world," she continued, pacing like a caged beast. "So trusting, so naïve. She actually sat across from me, sharing tea, never suspecting that I had poisoned her cup. Watching her choke, watching the life drain from her pathetic blue eyes was... delicious."
She laughed, her tone deranged. "And thanks to that, I became queen. I thought it would be enough. I thought I had finally erased her. But then, you—her child—had to keep existing."
Her laughter died down, replaced by bitter fury. "I've tried poisoning the king's mind against you. I've tried killing you in every possible way. But you keep surviving. Why?!"
Theodore's expression remained calm, almost entertained.
"Ah, so that's it," he mused. "You thought you could kill me just as easily?"
Bianca's smile was cold, sharp. "I should have succeeded.
"You're just like her. A stain on this family. I have spent years trying to rid myself of you. But you're stubborn, aren't you? Like a cockroach that refuses to die."
Theodore took one slow step forward. His aura, once playful, turned suffocating.
"You made a mistake, Bianca," he whispered. "I guess you succeeded then."He clapped his hands together. Slow. Mocking.
Bianca staggered back. "What—What do you mean?"
Theodore's smirk widened into something sinister.
"Oh, I think you already know." His voice was light, almost amused. "You wanted Theodore dead. Well... congratulations. You did it."
Bianca's blood ran cold.
"What... what are you saying?"
Theodore tilted his head, his crimson eyes glowing eerily. "I mean that Theodore is dead. You succeeded. The boy you hated is gone. But unfortunately for you... I took his place."
Bianca's breath caught in her throat.
"You're lying!" she shrieked.
Theodore grinned. "Oh? Then why does it feel like the son you hated so much... isn't the one standing in front of you?"
Bianca took another step back, her hands trembling.
"You... You're not Theodore?WHO THE HELL ARE YOU !"
"No," Theodore replied smoothly, his voice darkening. "I'm the man who will send you to hell."
He raised a hand, and the air shuddered.
"Door, come forth."
A massive black door erupted behind Bianca, its towering frame cracking with eerie purple light. The air turned ice-cold, and shadows poured from the cracks like liquid smoke.
Bianca's confidence shattered. Fear overtook her expression as the unnatural door loomed behind her.
"H-How is this possible?!" she stammered. "You... You awakened?!"
The room darkened, the mist swirling faster, hungry, waiting.
Theodore's smile never wavered.
"Oh, Bianca," he whispered. "You have no idea what you've awakened."
The Queen staggered back. "You wouldn't dare!"
Theodore's laughter echoed through the grand hallway, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the Queen's spine. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, his smirk widening as he stepped closer.
"Wouldn't I?" he whispered mockingly. "You keep getting in my way. Assassins, spies, poison—you tried everything. Now it's time for you to sleep forever." His voice dropped lower, a cruel edge slicing through every word. "Become one of my shadows."
Bianca's eyes widened. "No!" she screamed, turning to flee, but the shadows erupted from the ground like living chains, slithering around her ankles and tightening like iron shackles. She thrashed, clawing at the walls, but it was useless. The darkness was merciless.
"Theodore!" she shrieked, her voice shrill with terror. "You can't do this! I'll tell the King—I'll expose you! You're a monster! The child of disaster! The prophecy spoke of you! I should have skinned you alive with my bare hands!"
Theodore crouched, his face inches from hers, his smirk never fading. "Blah, blah, blah... Child of this, child of that. You nobles really love your dramatic titles, don't you?" His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Let them know. Tell them whatever you like." His smirk turned into a grin, sharp and cruel. "But you'll be telling them from the depths of my underworld."
The shadows jerked her backward, and she screamed as she was dragged into the abyss. The last thing she saw was Theodore's expression—casual, as if he were watching a boring play.
Bianca landed hard on jagged black stone, the impact sending sharp pain through her body. The air was thick, suffocating, laced with the stench of decay and rot. The sky above was not a sky at all—a swirling mass of crimson and obsidian, lightning cracking violently across the void.
Around her, the shadows stirred. Hollow-eyed figures loomed in the distance, their movements slow but deliberate. They watched her. Studied her.
She tried to push herself up, but the very air around her weighed her down. Her limbs trembled. Her chest felt like it was being crushed. A deep, unnatural whispering began, soft at first, but rising into a terrible chorus.
"You are nothing..."
"Worthless..."
"A parasite..."
"Rotten fruit..."
Bianca clutched her head, shrieking, as the voices tore into her mind, each word slicing through her sanity like a hot blade.
"NO! SHUT UP! I AM THE QUEEN!" she screamed.
The shadows laughed, their voices twisting together into something unnatural.
Then—pain.
A clawed hand plunged into her shoulder, the icy burn searing into her very soul. Bianca screamed, thrashing, but more hands grabbed her, more claws tore into her flesh.
The shadows descended upon her, tearing, breaking, consuming. Her skin was peeled away, her bones snapped, her very existence unraveled. And yet—she did not die.
The torment looped, over and over, each time more vivid, more excruciating. She could feel her own lungs being punctured, her spine twisting, her throat filling with blood. And yet—she lived.
Through the haze of agony, she saw him.
Theodore.
He stood on a distant ledge, watching. His expression was unreadable. Cold. Detached.
Her broken voice barely formed words. "Please!" she begged. "Theodore! Have mercy!"
The boy tilted his head. Considering.
Then he smiled.
"Mercy?" he said. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, stepmother. I don't believe in mercy."
With a wave of his hand, the shadows devoured her completely.
Her screams echoed and echoed, growing fainter until they were swallowed by the eternal darkness.
Moments later, the writhing mass of shadows reassembled. From the abyss, a perfect replica of Bianca stepped forward.
She looked the same. Her eyes, her face, her voice—identical to the original. But something was off. Her movements were too fluid, too smooth. And when she knelt before Theodore, her gaze held no soul.
"My lord," she spoke, her tone eerily even. "What are your orders?"
Theodore regarded her for a moment before speaking. "You will return to the castle and continue as if nothing has happened. Play your role perfectly. Ensure that no one suspects a thing."
The Shadow Queen bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."
With a flick of his wrist, she vanished—returning to the world above.
Theodore turned to Belial, who had watched the entire scene with gleeful fascination.
Belial clapped slowly, grinning. "My lord... you truly are a master of theatrics."
Theodore's smirk returned, colder than ever.
"This is just the beginning, Belial," he said. "The Queen's end was necessary.