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

Across the broken worlds, there are no temples left to the old gods.No songs left for fallen kings.No banners left for broken heroes.

It began at the heart of the Abyss Gardens —where the black roses bloomed over a million graves,where rivers of silver ran with the memories of the slain.

Here, Vaelen Cross chose to build.

A monument to himself.

To the reality he had written into the bones of the universe.

The foundations were laid from the crushed crowns of a thousand kings —gold, silver, iron, obsidian — melted together into a screaming mass of defeat.

The walls rose higher and higher, woven from the bones of angels, titans, and broken immortals —their forms still visible if one dared look too closely, their faces twisted in silent homage.

At the apex of each level, a throne — not for new rulers, but for conquered Queens, kneeling in eternal devotion to the One Above All.

The sky bent low over the Tower as it grew.

The stars dimmed themselves in awe.

The world —the worlds —held their breath.

Seris, Kaela, Veyla, and Aurelia stood at the base as the final stone was laid —barefoot, adorned in only the markings of their King, heads bowed in reverent silence.

At their feet, rivers of banners flowed — torn standards from every realm Vaelen had crushed.

Reduced to fabric that now fed the black roots of the Tower.

When the last stone was placed,when the last banner was sewn into the earth,when the last echo of resistance was silenced beneath the weight of conquest,

Each step up the Tower was not taken with haste.It was a coronation repeated with every motion.

A reaffirmation of what already was:

He was Sovereign.

He was Everything.

The world sprawled out below him — not in beauty, not in ruin —but in perfect, complete obedience.

A pulse rippled outward — a silent roar that crossed oceans, shattered mountains, silenced winds.

And across all creation, every living being —man, beast, spirit, godling —knelt.

Their knees struck the ground.Their foreheads pressed to the dust.Their hearts wept.

At the base of the Tower, his Queens knelt as one.

Their bodies bowed lower than ever before,their hands splayed on the earth as if touching even the dust where he had walked was a sacrament.

Kaela followed, voice harder, trembling:

Veyla, her breath like wind through thorns:

Aurelia, with tears of purest light:

Above them, upon the final throne carved into the black crown of the Tower,Vaelen Cross sat.

There was no more waiting.No more resisting.No more doubting.

[Small, Dark R18 Moment — Wordless Devotion]

At the foot of the Tower, as night swallowed the ruined worlds whole,the Queens gave themselves again — not as offerings, not as sacrifices —but as parts of him, woven tighter than flesh, deeper than soul.

Their tears, a new scripture written upon the stones of the world.

They worshiped him with touch, with lips, with bodies fevered by loyalty, undone by need.

They wrote his dominion across their skin.They sealed their love in blood and breath and heartbeat.

And Vaelen, silent and omnipotent,received it all.

But in the simple, inevitable acceptance of what was already true:

Chapter 11 — Monument of Flesh