A Throne of Bones

Eldermire was his.

The once-great city, with its proud nobles and mighty defenses, had fallen within a single night.

The bodies of its defenders still lay in the streets, their blood painting the cobblestones crimson. The banners of the Velkar Dominion had been ripped down, burned, and replaced with the sigil of the Necrodominion—a black sun with a golden goat's skull in the center.

Ren stood atop the balcony of the castle, looking down at the conquered city. The air was thick with smoke and the lingering scent of death. His forces had secured every district, rounded up the remaining nobles, and ensured absolute control.

Below, thousands of civilians had gathered in the town square, their faces filled with fear and uncertainty.

They had woken up in a world where their rulers were dead and their city was in the hands of a necromancer.

Ren raised a single hand.

Silence fell.

"You are mine now," he said, his voice booming across the square. "Your city belongs to me. Your lives belong to me. But I am not an unjust ruler."

The people remained still, waiting.

"You will work. You will serve. And in return, you will live." His gaze swept over them. "But if you resist?"

He gestured toward a nearby execution platform, where the former nobles of Eldermire had been lined up.

He snapped his fingers.

A single sword stroke sent their heads rolling.

The crowd gasped. Some screamed.

Ren's voice remained calm. "Loyalty or death. The choice is yours."

He turned away, leaving them to process their new reality.

Securing the Dominion

Roderic entered the war chamber with a grim expression. "We have a problem."

Ren looked up from the maps laid out before him. "Of course we do."

"The Velkar Dominion knows what we've done. Their armies are already mobilizing."

Ren smirked. "Let them come."

Roderic hesitated. "This isn't like Durnholde or Eldermire. The Dominion's capital, Velkaris, is guarded by an army of one hundred thousand. Their king is no fool—he's preparing for all-out war."

Ren leaned back. "Then we give him one."

He glanced at Goaty, who was busy chewing on a golden crown he had stolen from the dead nobles.

"How fast do you think you can break a capital city?" Ren asked.

Goaty bleated lazily, then headbutted a nearby stone pillar—which instantly shattered into dust.

Roderic sighed. "Of course."

The Road to Velkaris

They marched within the hour.

Ren left a small force behind to maintain control of Eldermire. The rest—forty thousand strong, undead and living alike—headed for the heart of the Dominion.

The journey took three days.

Along the way, they crushed three villages and a military outpost. Each time, Ren gave the same choice: serve or die. Each time, most of them chose to live.

By the time they reached Velkaris, his army had grown to sixty thousand.

But what stood before them was a fortress city unlike any other.

Velkaris sat atop a mountain, its walls forty feet high and enchanted with divine magic. Towers bristled with archers, siege weapons, and battle-mages ready to incinerate entire legions.

The gates were made of reinforced adamantite, enchanted so heavily that even a dragon's breath wouldn't leave a scratch.

And atop the highest tower, watching them with cold, calculating eyes, was King Darius Velkar.

A warrior king.

A man who had never lost a battle.

A man who did not fear death.

Ren smiled.

"Goaty," he said, pointing at the gates.

"Break them."

The Fall of a Kingdom

What happened next would be spoken of for centuries.

Goaty disappeared.

One second, he was beside Ren. The next, he was inside the city.

A golden streak of light ripped through the walls—not breaking them, but erasing them from existence.

The mighty adamantite gates? Gone.

The divine enchantments protecting the city? Gone.

The battle-mages standing guard? Reduced to ash before they could even cast a spell.

The King's elite knights rushed forward, their armor shining in the sunlight.

Goaty blinked.

Their armor exploded off their bodies.

Their bones shattered as they were sent flying into buildings.

The entire city fell into chaos.

And that was when Ren's army charged in.

The streets ran red with blood. The mighty warriors of Velkaris fought with desperation, but against an army that did not die, against a necromancer who could turn their fallen comrades into more soldiers, and against a goat that could ignore the very laws of reality—

They never stood a chance.

The End of a King

Ren stood in the throne room, the last battlefield of the war.

King Darius Velkar knelt before him, bleeding, broken. His sword had been shattered, his armor ripped apart. His once-proud kingdom had been reduced to ruins.

Ren stared down at him.

"You fought well," he said. "But this was always how it was going to end."

Darius coughed blood, but he still glared up at him with defiance. "You think you've won?" His voice was hoarse but filled with hatred.

"You have no idea what you've started."

Ren raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate."

Darius smiled—a bloody, knowing smile.

"You killed a kingdom," he whispered. "But you've awakened an Empire."

The room fell silent.

And then—he laughed.

A mad, triumphant laugh that echoed through the ruined throne room.

Ren watched him for a moment.

Then he sighed.

And with one swift stroke, he ended the last king of Velkaris.

The war was over.

---

Velkaris had fallen.

Its mighty walls lay in ruins. Its warriors had been slaughtered. Its king was dead.

Ren stood on the steps of the shattered palace, overlooking his city. Smoke still rose from the lower districts, and the streets were littered with the remains of those who had dared to resist.

His army had begun the process of rebuilding, but there was no mistaking it—this was a conquered land.

The banners of the Velkar Dominion had been torn down and burned, replaced with the sigil of the Necrodominion.

Ren had won.

But there was still much to do.

The Aftermath

Roderic approached, his armor still stained with blood. "We've secured the city," he reported. "The remaining nobles have surrendered, and the surviving officers have been executed."

Ren nodded. "Casualties?"

"Minimal," Roderic said. "Most of our undead forces remain intact, and our living soldiers only suffered a few hundred losses. The enemy, however… well, they didn't have that luxury."

Ren's gaze swept over the battlefield. Thousands of bodies lay in heaps, waiting to be raised into his ever-growing army.

"The civilians?" Ren asked.

Roderic hesitated. "Many have chosen to surrender. Some… would rather die than serve."

Ren sighed. He had expected as much.

"Give them the same choice as before," he said. "Serve or die."

Roderic nodded. "And the former king's treasury?"

At this, Ren's eyes gleamed. "Tell me we found something useful."

Roderic grinned. "More than you can imagine."

The Vault of Kings

The treasury of Velkaris was legendary.

It was said that the wealth stored within could fund an empire for generations.

And now, it was Ren's.

The doors to the royal vault were massive—crafted from blacksteel and enchanted with layers upon layers of protective magic.

Or, at least, they had been.

The doors now lay in pieces, shattered by Goaty. The golden goat stood nearby, happily chewing on a pile of platinum coins.

Ren stepped inside, and his breath caught.

Mountains of gold, silver, and jewels sparkled beneath the torchlight. Chests overflowing with rare artifacts lined the walls. Scrolls of ancient magic, legendary weapons, and forbidden tomes lay scattered across the chamber.

It was a king's ransom—no, it was more than that.

It was enough wealth to reshape the world.

Roderic let out a low whistle. "With this, we could fund an army ten times the size of our current forces."

Ren smirked. "Or build an empire that will never fall."

His fingers traced over the hilt of a blackened sword resting atop a marble pedestal. The runes along its blade pulsed with an eerie glow.

"This," Ren said, lifting the weapon, "will do nicely."

Roderic raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Ren smiled. "A king's sword."

And now, it belonged to him.

The Coronation of a Conqueror

Three days later, the crowning ceremony took place.

The people of Velkaris—those who had survived—had been gathered in the main square. Soldiers, both living and undead, formed a silent wall around them.

The air was heavy with tension.

Ren stepped forward, clad in black armor trimmed with gold. The crown of the fallen king—now reforged with his own sigil—rested atop a crimson pillow.

Roderic stood beside him, his voice carrying across the square.

"On this day, we witness the dawn of a new era. The Velkar Dominion is no more."

He turned to Ren.

"Kneel."

Ren did.

Roderic lifted the crown. "By the right of conquest, by the blood spilled in battle, and by the will of the people—" his eyes flickered with amusement at that last part, "—I crown you Emperor Ren, ruler of the Necrodominion."

He placed the crown on Ren's head.

The city held its breath.

Then—a roar.

His soldiers, both living and dead, cheered.

The civilians remained silent.

It didn't matter.

Ren stood, his golden eyes gleaming.

This was his throne now.

And he would never let it go.

A Warning from the North

That night, as Ren sat in his newly claimed throne room, a messenger arrived.

The man was wounded, his armor torn, his face pale with exhaustion.

He knelt before Ren, gasping for breath. "My lord," he rasped. "I bring news from the north."

Ren leaned forward. "Speak."

The messenger swallowed hard. "The Empire of Xendria has declared war."

Silence.

Roderic stiffened. "Already?"

Ren exhaled slowly.

He had known this would happen. The fall of Velkaris had created a power vacuum—one that the surrounding nations would either fear or seek to fill.

And the Xendrians…

They had chosen war.

Ren smiled.

"Good," he murmured. "Let them come."

His throne had been built on blood and bone.

And he would defend it the same way.