The village of Black Hollow was dying.
Once, it had been a thriving trade stop along the eastern roads. Now, it was little more than a graveyard waiting to be filled. The king's tax collectors bled the people dry, demanding more than they could give. Those who resisted were beaten or dragged away, never to be seen again.
It was here, among the starving and the desperate, that Annabelle Jane made her first move.
She entered the village as a stranger, her long cloak concealing her chitinous arm, her sword hidden beneath dark fabric. The people barely looked at her. They had long since learned not to trust outsiders.
But one man did.
Victor Dain was a blacksmith, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, his hands rough from years of labor. He saw her standing in the village square, watching as the king's men whipped a woman for failing to meet the tax quota. He saw the stillness in her stance, the way her fingers twitched, as if itching for violence.
And when the guards turned to demand coin from him, he saw her move.
The Slaughter Begins.
The first guard barely had time to scream before Annabelle's chitin-covered hand punched through his chest. His body convulsed as shadow tendrils wrapped around his soul, dragging it into the abyss.
The others turned—too slow.
Her sword was unsheathed in a blur of crimson light. The second guard lost his head before he could raise his blade. The third tried to run. A mistake. Annabelle whispered a word of power, and darkness surged from her shadow, coiling around his legs like living chains. He fell, shrieking, as she stepped over him.
"P-please," he begged.
Annabelle knelt beside him, her expression gentle, almost tender. She cupped his cheek with her normal hand, brushing blood from his lips.
"I want you to know something," she said, her voice soft. "Your king does not care for you. He will not mourn you."
Then she pressed her palm against his chest.
Shadow surged.
The guard let out a choked scream as his soul was ripped from his body, devoured by the abyss. His corpse withered into nothingness, leaving only his empty armor behind.
Silence fell over the village square.
The remaining guards dropped their weapons and ran.
Annabelle let them go. She wanted them to spread the word.
She turned to the villagers, their faces filled with shock and fear. She raised her bloodstained sword.
"This village belongs to no king," she declared. "It belongs to me."
No one spoke. No one moved.
Then Victor Dain stepped forward. He met her gaze, unafraid. "And what do you ask in return?"
Annabelle tilted her head. "Loyalty."
A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then you have it."
And so, with blood and shadow, Black Hollow became the first piece of Annabelle's empire.