The New World Order

Markus's Wraiths swept in silently, their ghostly forms materializing amidst the oppressive mists of Crookback Bog. One of the spectral scouts returned with urgent news: Ciri, the Lion Cub of Cintra, bearer of Elder Blood and renowned for her uncanny ability to traverse time and space had been spotted in the murky depths of the bog. Her presence, expected and mysterious, set Markus's heart racing with anticipation, for Ciri was no ordinary wanderer but a key figure whose powers could shift the very balance of the realms.

Without hesitation, Markus activated his Shadow Exchange ability. In an instant, he vanished from his current position and reappeared beside an unconscious Ciri, who lay motionless on a bed of tangled reeds and murky water. Though battered and disoriented, the faint aura of her Elder Blood still pulsed around her. As Markus knelt to examine her, he noted the intricate pattern of wounds and the subtle shimmer that hinted at her innate magical prowess, a reminder of the extraordinary lineage that had shaped her destiny.

As he began to analyze the raw magical data emanating from Ciri, her skills and abilities materialized around her, each detailing her unique skills. One card, labeled "Blink" a rapid teleportation ability allowing her to vanish and reappear almost instantaneously withing a short range and slows the time to attack multiple opponents. This ability will prove useful especially after several evolutions. Another card, "Dimensional Drift," outlined her capacity to cross between parallel realities, with her unruly and sassy character she was not able to control nor willing to learn how to use this amazing ability. Markus will make sure to use it to it's limits. 

Intrigued and eager to harness such formidable powers, Markus initiated his copy ability. His system began assimilating the information encoded in the cards, focusing on her interdimensional and teleportation abilities. Within moments, Markus successfully copied "Blink" and "Dimensional Drift," integrating these skills into his own repertoire. Now, not only could he predict and manipulate fate with his Fate's Edict, but he had also acquired the ability to traverse space as fluidly as Ciri, a game changing enhancement that blurred the boundaries between realities. He will use his ability to copy each of these skills 4 more times. Markus was not interested in her mediocre skills on hunting or swordplay. 

As he stood there, the cool, damp air of Crookback Bog enveloping him, Markus's mind raced with possibilities. With the potent combination of his Soul Forger, Void Rift, and the copied Blink and Dimensional Drift abilities from Ciri, he envisioned strategies that would allow him to manipulate entire battlefields. The prospect of using these skills to both to eliminate thousands or conquer land after land made his pulse quicken, a dark promise of future dominion over both life and death.

Rising from the bog, Markus used telekinesis to carry the unconscious Ciri gently, with a final glance at the cards still shimmering around her, he started to plan. As the mists of Crookback Bog swirled around them, Markus stepped forward into the unknown, his new skills a beacon of dark brilliance guiding him toward his next conquest in a universe where the rules of reality were his to command.

Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon was sleeping peacefully in his bed, Markus started to use his Mind Control skill to "correct" the flaws in her character. She'll be much better and more importantly a useful asset after fixing her punkish ways. Even though the effect was not yet to his liking an unconscious brain was easy to mold. After a day of relentless and delicate work his Mind Control skill reached level 10. It has evolved to: 

"Mind Control Lv.10 evolved to Puppet Master"

Puppet Master Lv.1 Effect:

• Insert suggestions, rewrite memories and effect behavioral patterns through processing the subconscious mind. Effective for 12 hours. Repeating this process may leave permanent changes on target.

• Telepathy and Telempathy skill fused with Puppet Master skill, enabling the surface and deep mind reading. Copying and Inserting experiences and memories. 

• Control minds of targets and keep them under control. Target's INT stat must not surpass half of Markus's INT value.

• Each level up will increase the potency and duration of the effects by 20%. 

Satisfied with the evolved skill Markus started use it with renewed vigor. As he got what he wanted from the Witcher world He decided to make it a Hub world for himself. Determined to purge the corruption of fanatical witch hunts and oppressive religious zealotry, Markus summoned his dark forces. He called forth a staggering 50,000 high-level undead units, meticulously organized into his elite battalions: 5,000 Lich Overlords wielding devastating arcane spells, 10,000 Magus casting elemental destruction, 10,000 Revenants, ferocious melee combatants forged from death's crucible, 10,000 Graveguard Hussars bloodthirsty cavalry, wit the speed of wind, 5,000 Spectral Knights whose ghostly blades struck fear into the hearts of foes, 5,000 Wraith Lords who moved like shadows among the living, and 5,000 Vampire Lords whose predatory prowess made them as elegant as they were deadly. Each unit was summoned with precision, and together they formed an unstoppable legion that would sweep through the lands, enforcing Markus's dark will. 

Markus set his sights first on Temeria, a storied Northern Kingdom steeped in history and now, in his eyes, overrun by the fanatical elements of its past. In Temeria, he unleashed his undead horde to purge the kingdom of its zealot witch hunters and the oppressive churches that sought to hunt and suppress mages. These institutions, steeped in the dogma of the Eternal Fire and other zealously maintained doctrines, had long incited violence against practitioners of magic. As Markus's horde advanced meter by meter starting from one end to the other, they marched though ravaged towns and sprawling country sides, they left behind nothing but ruin and silence, a grim testament to his efficiency in eradicating outdated, oppressive orders. No Bandits, no Rodents in the form of Nekkers, Ghouls and Drowners or anything in between. Strangely he left the trolls alone, the peaceful and deeply philosophical creatures they are, they do not deserve the fate of lesser beings. 

In the chaos of his campaign, Markus's forces decimated the remnants of the witch hunters, brutal enforcers driven by religious fanaticism. Their crude armor and unsophisticated tactics were no match for the precision of undead legions. The churches, once bastions of holy fire and retribution, were reduced to smoldering ruins. Elaborate cathedrals and grim monasteries that had preached persecution now lay in ashes, their stained-glass windows shattered and altars desecrated. This ruthless cleansing not only removed the physical structures of oppression but also symbolically severed the hold of superstition and blind faith over the people of Temeria. 

With Temeria brought to heel, Markus turned to consolidating his newly established domain. He assigned five of his most trusted Lich Generals to oversee strategic military operations and manage local defenses, while ten Vampire Lords were dispatched to govern and secure the major urban centers. These high-ranking undead, imbued with accumulated malice and dark magic, were charged with maintaining order and ensuring that no vestige of the old "oppressive" regime could rise again. Their presence served as a constant reminder that magic. especially the dark, unyielding magic of Markus would rule these lands whether the populace wished it or not. Markus sighed deeply, it was really hard work to liberate and introduce the "new" democracy to people of this world.

The campaign did not stop in Temeria. Markus extended his sweeping purges to the other Northern Kingdoms of the Witcher world, including Redania, Kaedwen, and Aedirn, from there to south, to Rivia as well. In each territory, his forces systematically dismantled local power structures that clung to archaic traditions, witch hunters, fanatical inquisitors, and the clergy that propagated hatred against mages. In the ruined battlements of these kingdoms, old banners fell and new orders were etched in blood. Shadow Legion's peaceful banner was standing proud over the conquered territories. The pervasive scent of decay mingled with the bitter tang of victory as the undead, under Markus's command, turned each region into a canvas of dark transformation.

With the kingdoms cleansed of their regressive and oppressive institutions, Markus established a new order governed by magic and enforced by death. Thousands of Magus units started to sweep and use elemental manipulation to build roads, villages and cities in a logical and hygienic structures. His appointed Lich Generals and Vampire Lords now ruled over these lands, ensuring that every corner of the realm resonated with the power of their master. Markus announced the Sorcerers, Sorceresses, Druids, Witchers and any creature able to use magic including creatures like Godlings and similar forms to report to Governors in his cities. The once oppressive churches and zealous witch hunters were no more than ashes and memories, their relics serving as grim reminders of a failed past. In this brave new world, the only law was the law of magic and Markus, with his vast, undead armies and unparalleled mastery, stood as the supreme arbiter of fate and power. 

Markus had maintained a meticulous regimen throughout the campaign, applying his Puppet Master skill on Ciri every twelve hours to subtly influence her thoughts and actions. Today, however, he deliberately allowed the skill's effect to lapse, watching intently as the magical hold faded away. As the influence dissipated, Ciri blinked several times, her eyes momentarily clearing as if waking from a deep trance. In that brief interlude, Markus focused on her inner monologue, meticulously reading the residual thoughts that still clung to her consciousness.

As their gazes locked, something unexpected happened: Ciri, with the grace and nobility befitting her heritage, slowly bent one knee in a gesture of deference. In that silent moment, her mind echoed with an unwavering conviction, she saw Markus not merely as a powerful mage, but as the savior of the Northern region. Deep within her thoughts, she resolved that he was a figure of utmost respect and authority, destined to guide and protect the lands against all odds.

Markus's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he observed the transformation in her demeanor. The permanent impression of his influence had taken root in her psyche, affirming his dominance and cementing his status as a revered leader. Satisfied by the depth of his control, he resumed his manipulation with renewed intensity, reinforcing his hold with more strict and commanding suggestions. His voice, both persuasive and imperious, echoed in her mind, urging her to recognize and embrace the destiny he envisioned for her, a personal assistant or a maid or a bed warmer, depends on his mood.

For Ciri, the experience was both disconcerting and enlightening. In the aftermath of the skill's withdrawal, she found herself unable to fully shake off the lingering impressions of Markus's influence a profound respect intertwined with a sense of duty. To her, Markus had become more than a mere magician; he was the guiding force, the embodiment of strength and salvation in a world fraught with peril. As his suggestions resonated deeper within her, she accepted, almost instinctively, that her path was now intertwined with his grand design, and that she would obey his will as the true protector of this world.

In the opulent halls of Nilfgaard's imperial palace, the air was thick with tension and disbelief. Emhyr var Emreis, the relentless and calculating Emperor, convened an emergency council meeting with his most trusted advisors. Reports of Markus Tenebris's unprecedented campaign, a swift, one‐month upheaval that had redrawn the political map had reached the highest echelons of Nilfgaard's power. The council chamber, adorned with intricate tapestries and guarded by elite soldiers, echoed with murmurs of shock and apprehension as the advisors relayed the rapid rise of a man who had subjugated vast territories using an army of the undead and potent arcane might.

Emhyr's icy gaze swept over his assembled council as one advisor hesitantly spoke, "My Emperor, this Tenebris has shattered our old order, his sorcery and overwhelming army have reformed entire regions in mere weeks. His forces, governed by immortal undead and elite mages, now dominate with an authority no state can afford to ignore." Emhyr's voice was measured and foreboding, "We cannot afford to let him advance anymore. Relocate the army to the border, do not engage or provoke them, he might start to covet the entire continent any moment." The meeting reached a grim consensus: Nilfgaard must tread carefully, acknowledging that the rise of Markus had rendered traditional power structures obsolete.

Halfway across the continent, in the sunlit splendor of Toussaint's palace—a stark contrast to Nilfgaard's austere halls a parallel meeting unfolded. The nobility of Toussaint, draped in sumptuous fabrics and seated in grand marble corridors, debated the seismic shifts in power that now threatened to upend their centuries-old traditions. "Markus Tenebris has reformed lands of North into a meritocracy where only those of proven might and magical prowess has any statue," declared a prominent noble, his tone a blend of awe, disdain and resignation. The whispers in the gilded halls spoke of his undead governors and elite warriors enforcing a new order, one that left little room for the old ways of feudal entitlement and arbitrary power.

In a private audience within the palace, high-ranking Toussaint officials and advisors discussed their limited options. "Our churches and guilds, once pillars of influence, now tremble before his might," confided one advisor, glancing nervously at the ornate ceiling. Another added, "We must either bend to his new order or face the relentless tide of change that he commands." The atmosphere was charged with a mixture of fear and grudging respect, for even the most proud nobles recognized that Markus was not a man to be defied. His relentless campaign had not only transformed battlefields but had reshaped the very fabric of society, leaving no space for dissent.

As these two disparate realms, Nilfgaard and Toussaint, Duchess Anna Henrietta confronted the reality of Markus' dominion, one undeniable truth emerged: the old order was irrevocably broken. Were they still considered a vassal Duchy of Nilfgaard anymore? Whether through reluctant accommodation or outright subjugation, every faction across the continent was forced to reckon with the new meritocracy that Markus had established. The whispers in the corridors, the measured tones of advisors, and the cold, calculating eyes of Emhyr and the Toussaint elite all bore the same message: in this transformed world, Markus Tenebris was an absolute force, not to be crossed. The political landscape had shifted, and the rulers of old now found themselves standing at the threshold of a new era, one where strength, strategy, and the death reigned supreme.

In a secluded chamber within the grand halls of Kaer Morhen Castle, a select group of Witcher veterans and mages gathered to discuss the shifting tides of power. Geralt of Rivia, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir, the seasoned mentor of the Witchers and Yennefer of Vengerberg sat around a polished oak table, their expressions grave. The conversation was hushed, punctuated only by the soft rustle of parchment and the distant echoes of courtly intrigue. Geralt, his voice low and measured, began recounting his encounter with Markus, emphasizing the unsettling aura of raw, unbridled power that emanated from the man. "I've fought monsters that would make lesser men tremble," Geralt said, "but this Markus… he carries an air of inevitability, more powerful than a higher vampire. I couldn't even land a hit on him."

Vesemir leaned forward, his weathered face etched with both concern and curiosity. "You mean to say that he's not just another sorcerer? I heard whispers that he's beyond human, a kind of… higher being landed with the Conjunction of the Spheres?" Geralt nodded slowly, the flicker of remembered battle lights in his eyes. "Exactly. In our brief clash, his skill was unnerving. He disarmed me with ease, and his aura… it's as though even destiny fears him." Yennefer interjected, her tone both incisive and wary. "That's not someone to be trifled with. If his power grows unchecked, we risk destabilizing the entire order of things. His very presence seems to challenge the old balance."

However, in the rugged reaches of Skellige, the ruling jarls held fast to their old ways. Despite Markus's undeniable conquests and the undeniable might of his undead legions, the jarls refused to acknowledge him as anything other than a dangerous, dark sorcerer whose ambitions were best kept at bay. Their voices, gruff and uncompromising, declared that only honor and tradition should guide their lands, dismissing any notion of aligning with one so steeped in magic. Some Jarls declared any unit of this sorcerer will put down on sight of their Islands. 

Meanwhile, an envoy composed of several Vampire Lords, clad in regal attire, embarked on a journey to the secluded lair of the Unseen Elder. This mysterious, ageless vampire, known only through whispered legends, was said to command the ancient blood of the higher vampires. Yet he couldn't even felt the Vampire Lords. The envoy brought news of Markus's ability to breach the boundaries of the Vampire World, a revelation that sent ripples of both hope and trepidation through the nocturnal cabal.

At the Unseen Elder's lair, a cryptic, dark chamber hidden beneath centuries-old ruins—the Vampire envoy relayed their message in hushed, urgent tones. "The Master is able to open a gateway to the Vampire realm," they informed. The Unseen Elder's eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed as he considered the implications, and he agreed that a meeting with Markus was inevitable. With a deafening roar he summoned the higher vampires from all corners of the continent to him. 

Echoes of the summons had barely faded when the skies over the continent darkened with the arrival of higher vampires, summoned by that resounding call. As they traversed the transformed mortal realm, the envoys observed with a mix of awe and trepidation: where once ghoul, nekker, drowner and bandit infested backroads and primitive villages had marred the landscape, now broad, pristine roads of paved stone sprawled across the land, patrolled by undead sentinels silently maintaining order.

Upon reaching Vizima, the group was met with the shocking sight of the renewed Royal Palace a forbidding, dark Gothic fortress rising from the heart of the city. Towering spires pierced the sky, and high battlements lined the walls, while intricately carved gargoyle sculptures, seemingly alive with malevolent intent, guarded every corner. Doom Knights, clad in grim armor and emanating an aura of death, stood vigil at every entrance, their presence a stark reminder of the new order that had taken hold of the realm.

Two Vampire Lords and two Lich Generals, resplendent in their dark regalia, greeted the arrival of the higher vampires at the palace gates. Their expressions, a mix of surprise and subdued admiration, spoke of a world in flux a realm where even the most ancient of beings were forced to acknowledge a rising power. They escorted the emissaries through shadowed corridors and into a cavernous, dimly lit meeting room where Markus Tenebris awaited at one end and the Unseen Elder sat at the opposite.

As the two ancient figures locked eyes across the table, Markus activated his copying ability. In that charged moment, he absorbed the intricate nuances of Vampire Language and the rich, arcane cultural knowledge of the Gharasham as emanated by the Unseen Elder's memories. With a smooth, deliberate tone, Markus greeted the assembly in their native tongue, his voice resonating with both respect and defiant superiority a being other than themselves had mastered the language of this eternal guests.

The display left the other higher vampires visibly shocked. Never before had they witnessed a being of another race command such fluency in the ancient, tongue of their kind. The Unseen Elder, in a gesture of reluctant acknowledgment, bowed his head slightly, silently conceding that Markus held a higher position in the food chain.

In a measured, cordial tone, the Unseen Elder spoke first, his voice carrying centuries of gravitas. "What is the cost, Markus Tenebris, for the gate to the Old World, to Gharasham?" he inquired, the question imbued with both curiosity and subtle challenge. Markus's response was cold and calculated: "The cost is simple, you shall remain within the Vizima Royal Palace for seven days." He claimed that he needed to absorb the ambient energy waves to open the portal, though in truth, he planned to use those seven days to copy various abilities from the gathered group, ensuring his he milks each and every useful skill from this immortal race.

As the discussion reached its crescendo, Markus's eyes glittered with dark ambition. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent understanding that alliances could be forged or broken in a heartbeat. With his final words echoing in the gloom, Markus left the meeting with a decisive nod, fully aware that the next seven days would cement his dominance and further redefine the balance of power in this transformed world.

Envoy of 13 Lich Generals on top of their dragons was a scene not to be forgotten by the Nilfgaardians. The message was clear remove the army from my border. Markus's ultimatum echoed like a death knell along the Nilfgaardian border. With cold authority, he transmitted an order demanding the withdrawal of Nilfgaard's forces, if they persisted, they would soon face the full wrath of his dominion. The message carried not only the threat of a devastating confrontation but also a promise: Markus, the self-proclaimed Emperor of Death, would not tolerate any encroachment on his newly forged realm.

Meanwhile, as the political landscape shifted, magical practitioners from across the continent and even the remote isles of Skellige began arriving, drawn by the chaotic ripple Markus's presence had sent through the realms. In the sprawling coastal settlements of Skellige, some druids heeded the call of unity and gathered to discuss alliances, while a few obstinate traditionalists stubbornly clung to their old ways, unconvinced that change was necessary. Their resistance, however, mattered little to Markus, who had plans far beyond the petty squabbles of mortal men.

Determined to shatter the complacency and hubris that had long insulated the Skellige Jarls, Markus issued a command that reverberated across the turbulent seas: he called forth his formidable army of Dragons he resurrected from the Solo Leveling world. Hundreds of dragons to awaken the Jarls of Skellige from their idiocy and show the results of rebellion. These dragons, symbols of raw and unyielding power, were summoned not just as instruments of war but as harbingers of a new order. The small stretch of water that had once served as a natural barrier would soon become as meaningless to people of Skellige as it was to him. 

In the bustling coastal villages and rugged settlements of Skellige, the local civilians watched in horror as the sky darkened with the silhouettes of massive dragons. Families huddled together, their eyes wide with fear, as the rumble of dragon wings and the roar of unleashed fury signaled that their once-proud lands were about to be remade in blood and fire. The normally defiant and rugged folk of Skellige now found themselves facing an enemy of overwhelming power, their voices rising in desperate pleas to the gods they once revered.

Within the stone-walled corridors of the Jarls' palaces, the palace guards, traditionally fierce and unyielding exhibited a rare, palpable tremor of fear. Clad in the ancient armors of their forefathers, their faces were etched with lines of worry as they exchanged grim glances. They had long believed themselves impervious behind the natural and magical defenses of their homeland, but the advent of Markus's dragons and the ensuing storm of devastation shattered that illusion of security.

At the very heart of Skellige's ruling council, the Jarls themselves, leaders such as Crach an Craite, known for his indomitable spirit and battle-hardened wisdom were roused from their slumber. Their initial reaction was a mixture of shock, indignation, and reluctant acceptance. The commanding presence of Markus, whose dark might had altered the fate of entire nations, forced them to confront an inevitable truth: the old order was crumbling. With heavy hearts and gritted teeth, they realized that the future of Skellige might well be written in charred ruins if they did not yield to the new power ascending from the shadows.

As the dragons circled overhead, casting ominous shadows across the frost-bitten isles, the leadership of Skellige was left with a stark choice: resist and suffer devastating losses, or bend to the unyielding will of Markus Tenebris. The halls of the Jarls, once echoing with the triumphant songs of victory and the clamor of warrior oaths, now resounded with the murmurs of fear and regret. It was a moment of profound reckoning a final testament to the fact that even the most storied realms of myth and legend could be reduced to charred soil under the relentless assault of a new, dark emperor.

Markus sat imperiously atop Kamish, his gaze scanning the desolate horizon as his voice resonated directly into the minds of every islander across the isles. "Name the Jarls who defy my command," he intoned, his words carrying an omnipotent weight that demanded absolute obedience. For several long, agonizing minutes, only silence answered him, a silence heavy with dread and unspoken fear. The stillness of the air was soon shattered by the thunderous roar of fifty dragons emerging in a majestic, horizontal formation, their massive wings slicing through the sky.

In unison, the dragons began to unleash torrents of multicolored flames. Fiery streaks of crimson, cobalt, emerald, and violet erupted from their jaws, painting the heavens with a surreal, apocalyptic brilliance. The dragons, gliding slowly in perfect formation, turned their wrath upon the islands below. The ferocious fire, a chaotic symphony of destruction, rained down in sweeping arcs, setting the very earth ablaze in a cascade of light and molten fury.

As the inferno advanced, the names of the defiant jarls were whispered in terror by the trembling winds: Madman Lugos, Holger Black Hand, and Udalryk. These names, once symbols of indomitable will, now fell from the lips of the fearful as the reality of their defiance became clear. Their domains, their legacy, and all remnants of their authority were doomed to be consumed by the relentless, searing flames.

Markus watched with cold satisfaction as his dragons systematically scorched every inch of the islands. The flames danced across the landscape in a mesmerizing, yet horrifying display each burst of fire meticulously obliterating the structures, the forests, and even the soil. Nothing was spared from the all-consuming blaze; every trace of life, every vestige of opposition, was incinerated in a single, unyielding sweep of destruction.

The epic spectacle reached its climax as the horizon was transformed into a hellish panorama of smoldering ruins and glowing embers. In that final, apocalyptic moment, the isles lay silent and barren, a testament to Markus's absolute command. His dragons, still gliding in formation, continued to spew their vibrant, deadly fire, ensuring that not a single stone or leaf remained unburned. A stark proclamation that those who defied him would be erased without mercy.