The Orc chieftain's blood, thick and viscous, clung to my dagger. It wasn't just Orcish blood; it was tainted, corrupted. Demon blood. A foreign substance coursing through his veins, a power he hadn't fully mastered. That explained his sluggishness, his unexpected vulnerability. The demon blood was new to him, a volatile force his body hadn't yet learned to control. Had he lived longer, had he adapted to the infernal power within, he would have become something far more dangerous: an Oni, a creature of immense strength and demonic fury. As it was, he was merely a stepping stone. Hell, I could have even killed an Oni in this state.
I walked towards the back of the shrine, where a raised platform held a magnificent golden throne. It wasn't Orcish craftsmanship; it was far too refined, too elegant. And beside the throne, resting on a velvet cushion, lay a suit of golden armor and a matching sword. The intricate symbols and flowing runes etched into the metal were unmistakably Elven. It was a relic of a bygone era, a testament to a power long lost.
I reached out and touched the armor, the cool metal sending a shiver down my spine. It felt… right. As if it had been waiting for me. I donned the armor, the pieces fitting perfectly, as if they had been tailored to my very form. I then took up the sword, its weight perfectly balanced in my hand. The blade gleamed in the dim light, radiating an almost palpable aura of power.
I stood there, clad in Elven armor, wielding an Elven blade, surrounded by the corpses of Orcs and the remnants of their crude shrine. I looked at my reflection in the polished surface of the sword, my face hardened, my eyes burning with a newfound intensity.
"Today," I declared, my voice echoing through the chamber, "the House of Darius is born."
A wave of pure, unadulterated rage washed over me. It wasn't the blind fury of a berserker; it was a cold, focused hatred, a burning desire to eradicate every non-human presence from the world. Every Orc, every goblin, every elf, every demon… every single pest that dared to defile this world would be erased.
"Every pest," I repeated, my voice a low growl, "I will erase them from the earth."
As I spoke those words, I felt a sensation unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was as if thousands of souls, trapped in some infernal realm, were shouting with joy, celebrating the birth of a hero, a champion of humanity, a Scourge against all that was not human. The feeling was intoxicating, fueling my rage, strengthening my resolve.
I stepped out of the shrine, the golden armor gleaming in the morning light. The villagers, those who remained, stared at me in awe, their faces a mixture of fear and reverence. They saw not Darius, the emotionless doctor, but a figure of divine retribution, a harbinger of destruction. And they were right. The world would tremble before the House of Darius. The cleansing had begun.