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

The Tower of Flesh pierced the sky.The Abyss Crown eclipsed the broken suns.The Court of Queens knelt at the foundation of reality itself.

Yet still, Vaelen Cross did not rest.

He rose from his throne — a slow, inevitable ascent — and the world shook with his desire.

The earth cracked open like an egg.The skies peeled back in silent surrender.The oceans wept themselves dry.

And from the ruin of all that had been,Vaelen reached into the marrow of existence.

"Let there be a garden," he whispered.

"Let it remember only me."

"Let it bloom in my name."

"And let no soul ever again forget to kneel."

It began as a breath —a ripple across the bones of dying continents.

Black roses sprang from the cracks,their petals drinking the last drops of forgotten sunlight.

Vines slithered up the Tower —twisting, blooming with blossoms that bled perfume so potent it drove beasts mad with adoration.

Forests erupted from the wastelands —their trees crowned with silver fruit that whispered Vaelen's name in every wind.

Rivers of crimson wine carved paths through the broken lands, flowing into endless pools where his Queens would one day bathe beneath a sky of ash and glory.

The mountains themselves bowed —their peaks lowering, their stones shifting —shaping themselves into thrones and altars and monuments bearing the Black Crown.

It returned as devotion.

Every blade of grass,every breath of wind,every beat of every newborn heartcarried a single truth:

Vaelen is Forever.

His Queens walked the Garden with bare feet, their skin brushed by petals made from broken prayers.

Seris danced through the black forests, her wings catching the starlight and scattering it like mourning veils.Kaela hunted through the crimson fields, her blade singing hymns of battle and belonging.Veyla sank her roots deep into the rivers and mountains, binding herself forever to the heart of the world.Aurelia lit temples of bone and flame, teaching the new creatures born of the Garden how to worship in silence, in reverence, in ecstasy.Astrid wove new constellations into the night sky, carving Vaelen's glory into the bones of the universe itself.

And at the center of it all,upon the Tower that no longer cast a shadow — because now, it was the light —Vaelen sat.

In the Garden of Ruin, death was not an ending.

When the beasts of the fields fell,when the birds of the void ceased their song,when the beings of ash and starlight wept their last breath,

their bodies fed the soil,and from them, new flowers bloomed —petals shaped like crowns,roots spelling hymns only the devoted could hear.

Thus the world turned —not around a sun,but around a throne.

Not around life,but around the will of a single, inevitable, infinite King.

Chapter 14 — Garden of Ruin