The1above666

All the best kings are monsters.”

There are stories meant to inspire hope.
There are tales of golden heroes, bright swords, and promises of a better tomorrow.
This is not one of those stories.

This is the story of Vaelen Cross.
A being born not of love, but of hatred.
Not of hope, but of ruin.
Not to save the world… but to own it.

He was not chosen.
He was not destined.
He took.

In a universe that had long since tired of heroes, Vaelen rose — merciless, brilliant, inevitable.
He did not ask for thrones. He claimed them.
He did not court the powerful. He bent them.

And when the gods themselves dared to stand in his way,
he smiled…
and built a kingdom from their bones.

This is the story of the King of Nothing,
the Sovereign of Ash,
the Lord of the Black Garden.

And it begins with ruin.

Crowned Crimson

A fracture, so small the stars barely flinched.A tremor, so faint even the gardens of the Abyss did not stir.

Felt the tug against the weave of loyalty he had spun so perfectly.Felt the tremble of a hand daring to reach for a crown that did not belong to it.

The betrayal had been seeded long ago —buried deep in the heart of a lesser creature who mistook devotion for ambition.

A seraph forged in the earliest fires, wings of pure silver, heart shining with a light that had not yet learned how to die.

Vaelen had taken her during the Hollow War —remade her, reshaped her, bound her.

But some lights do not break.They rot.

And now, from the ruins of her devotion, she reached for what could never be hers.

It happened on the Night of Falling Stars.

The Black Court gathered beneath the great throne —Seris at his right hand, Kaela at his left, Veyla weaving crowns of living roses, Aurelia whispering prayers into the hollow winds.

And Lirael,silent, kneeling,smiling.

In her hand, hidden beneath her robes,a dagger of purest nullstone —a relic from a time before kings, before crowns, before Vaelen.

A weapon that could, perhaps, if wielded by destiny's chosen hand,strike true against the King of All.

She moved as he rose from his throne.

A strike aimed at the heart of sovereignty itself.

And reality collapsed.

Lirael froze mid-strike —body shuddering, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream that would never reach the air.

The dagger fell from her fingers, clattering to the stones.

The entire hall fell still —Seris drawing her wings close with a hiss of fury,Kaela reaching for her blade,Veyla's vines slithering forward with the hunger of wild gods,Aurelia covering her mouth in sorrow, in rage, in devotion.

He placed a hand beneath Lirael's frozen chin, lifting her gaze to meet his.

There was no anger in his eyes.No hatred.

"You were mine," he said softly.

"And you chose the impossible."

His hand slid down her throat —not in affection, not in cruelty —in judgment.

Lirael's body dissolved into ash, her soul unraveled thread by thread,scattered into the void beyond even memory.

No monument would mark her passing.

No whisper would remember her name.

His queens remained kneeling —heads bowed, loyalty radiating from them like heat from a newborn star.

Only Aurelia, ever the purest, whispered softly into the silence:

"Glory to the King.""Glory to the Only."

The words spread through the hall —a litany, a mantra, a chain stronger than any oath.

"Glory to the Abyss Crowned."

Above them, the broken stars shuddered.

Below them, the dead worlds trembled.

Vaelen Cross returned to his throne and sat —his crown burning brighter than ever,his Court of Queens gathered tighter around him,his empire purged of weakness.

And loyalty... loyalty was everything.

Chapter 10 — The Seraph’s Betrayal