Ruins Kingdom Part 1

As David begins his path toward the Ruins Kingdom, the air around him crackles with a silent, suffocating rage. The kingdom, known far and wide as the pinnacle of artistic grandeur, is often called the Kingdom of Art, a place where sculptures transcend reality, capturing the very essence of legend. Its streets are paved with harmony, its people basking in the luxury of peace and prosperity under the rule of a wise and just king. The kingdom's heroes, champions blessed by the god of thunder, stand as unwavering pillars of protection.

Yet, unbeknownst to them all, their paradise stands on the precipice of ruin.

Deep within the towering spire of the Mage's Tower, the Mage Lord—a woman of wisdom and foresight—stands frozen before an eerie, flickering vision. Her breath stutters as she watches the once-vibrant kingdom engulfed in flames. The cobblestone streets run slick with blood, forming rivers of crimson. Corpses, both young and old, litter the roads, their lifeless bodies twisted in agony. Screams of horror echo through the ghostly haze of destruction. The vision sears itself into her mind, a prophecy drenched in despair.

The Mage Lord gasps, her chest tightening with urgency. Without hesitation, she dashes toward the royal dining hall, her robes billowing behind her as she ascends the stairs two at a time. The grand doors burst open as she stumbles inside, breathless. Before her, the king dines with the three heroes—John, Lung Yun, and Habil, the famed warriors of the realm. The clinking of silverware ceases, and all eyes fall upon her.

"King! We have a problem!" she cries, her voice laced with panic.

The king, a man of composed dignity, raises a calming hand. "Mage Lord, collect yourself," he says, his voice a tranquil balm against the storm of her emotions. He gestures for her to sit and offers her a goblet of water. "Tell me what has shaken you so."

The Mage Lord gulps down the water before meeting the king's gaze. "I had a vision," she begins, her voice trembling. "A vision unlike any I have ever seen in my eighty years. The kingdom—our home—was burning. Blood flooded the streets. Everyone was dead. Every. Single. Soul."

Silence stretches across the chamber, thick and suffocating. The three heroes exchange glances before John leans forward with a reassuring smile. "Master, it is but a vision," he says. "Nothing more than a nightmare."

The Mage Lord grips the armrest of her chair, her nails digging into the wood. "No," she whispers. "It was real."

Habil chuckles, crossing his arms. "Do not worry, Master. As long as we are here, the kingdom will remain unshaken."

The Mage Lord's gaze darkens. "Fools," she mutters under her breath, an unshakable dread clawing at her chest. For they do not realize—the doom she foresaw would come not from the outside, but from within. And the catalyst was already here.

At the kingdom's entrance, David steps forward, his presence unnoticed amidst the bustling crowd. The guards halt him at the gate, their expressions polite yet firm.

"Sir, may we ask who you are?" one of them inquires.

David offers a well-practiced smile, his voice smooth yet hollow. "I am but a traveler, a foreigner who has lost his way."

The guards exchange glances before nodding. "Very well, sir. You may enter. There is a dormitory where you may rest, and you can obtain an identity card from the Mage Tower."

David bows his head in mock gratitude and steps into the kingdom. His eyes sweep across the radiant streets, the joyous laughter of children ringing in his ears like a cruel mockery. A sharp, seething rage coils within him as his gaze locks onto the heroes in the distance. He remembers their faces vividly—their laughter, their mockery, the moment they ridiculed him for his low rank. And now, here they were, worshipped as gods among men.

A shadow stirs beside him, an unseen presence bound to his very soul. "Why do you not strike now?" the voice whispers. "Why let them breathe a moment longer?"

David's smile remains, though his fingers twitch with the desire to tear this kingdom apart. "No," he murmurs. "Death would be too merciful. The heroes alone will not suffer—I will bury this entire kingdom in despair."

The voice hums in amusement. "How poetic. And what of the innocent?"

David chuckles, dark and bitter. "Innocence is an illusion. All humans betray, deceive, and kill for survival. This world is corrupt. I will burn it down and build anew—a world where I alone dictate what is true."

The voice laughs, a sound both delighted and sinister. "Then let the game begin."

David makes his way to the dormitory, where he rests briefly before heading toward the Mage Tower. As he waits in line for his identification card, he senses an overwhelming presence pass by. His gaze flickers to the side, landing on the Mage Lord herself. Her aura is suffocating, radiating sheer, unbridled power. Yet, as she strides past him, her eyes do not waver, unaware that the very disaster she fears is standing before her.

The voice in his head chuckles. "She doesn't even sense you. How ironic."

David steps forward as his turn arrives, placing his hand on the magical identification crystal. A soft glow emits, revealing his rank.

"B-rank," the receptionist announces, handing him his new identity card. She looks up at him, intrigued. "You have incredible mana. Would you consider becoming a magician?"

David smiles, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he answers. "I would like that."

Later, he finds himself standing before the Mage Lord once more. She eyes him curiously, sensing something strange about him but unable to pinpoint the unease gnawing at her instincts.

"What magic are you proficient in?" she asks.

David meets her gaze, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Dark magic."

Silence falls like a hammer. The Mage Lord's lips part slightly in surprise before she regains her composure. "Dark magic has not been mastered in centuries. It is a force unstable and difficult to wield."

David extends his hand, a swirling mass of black mana forming in his palm. The air crackles, the very essence of darkness pulsating within his grasp.

The Mage Lord stares, taken aback by the effortless control he displays. A rare prodigy—no, an anomaly. A dark mage had appeared once again.

She exhales and nods. "Very well. You will train under me in the Mage Tower."

David lowers his hand, a sinister smirk tugging at his lips. The chessboard has been set. The pieces are falling into place.

As he exits the tower, his eyes land on the heroes, surrounded by admirers. The people worship them, blind to the truth. His hands tremble, not with fear, but with the pure, intoxicating anticipation of what was to come.

"No," he murmurs. "I shall not leave a single one of you alive."

And as the sun sets over the peaceful kingdom, the first shadows of its demise take root in the heart of a man consumed by grief, rage, and an insatiable thirst for vengeance.