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

Hope had always been the final lie.

When kings fell, they whispered of tomorrow.When gods died, they screamed of second chances.When the world burned, its ashes still clung to dreams of rebirth.

Even now, after all the crowns shattered, after all the stars dimmed,hope clung like a sickness.

A rot buried in the bones of creation itself.

Vaelen Cross would allow it no longer.

He rose from his throne atop the Tower of Flesh.

The Eclipse Crown burned above his head, its dark corona pulsing with power beyond gods, beyond dreams, beyond even memory.

Below, his Queens gathered —Seris, Kaela, Veyla, Aurelia, Astrid —their bodies bowed, their hearts laid bare, their loyalty a river of endless devotion at his feet.

The Garden of Ruin bloomed wider with each breath,its black petals stretching across the dying worlds like funeral veils.

Reality peeled back like the skin of a dying beast.

And from the wound in the world, it emerged:

It was not a thing of flesh.Not a being of will.

A fragile, trembling ember — golden, trembling, weak — floating in the void where gods had once ruled.

It pulsed softly, reaching blindly for something it could no longer find.

Vaelen watched it for a long moment.

There was no anger in him.No hatred.No cruelty.

His voice was low, soft — almost tender.

A scream of every unborn future, every shattered dream, every desperate prayer left unspoken.

But there was no sanctuary left to flee to.

No hearts left willing to carry it.

The Dawn flickered — once, twice.

Across the worlds, across the heavens, across the black gardens blooming across creation,a wave of peace followed.

The kind of peace that can only exist when there is no more struggling.

At the base of the Tower, his Queens wept with joy.

Seris kissed the ground where he had walked.Kaela raised her sword in silent salute, tears staining her cheeks.Veyla bound herself tighter to the Garden, her vines singing hymns only Vaelen could hear.Aurelia knelt in prayer, her golden hair veiling her adoration.Astrid wove new constellations in the black sky — all shaped in the form of his Crown.

Above him, the sky was silent.The stars wept silver tears.The worlds held their breath.

And at last, there was nothing left that dared even dream of defiance.

Only the Garden that bloomed forever beneath his hand.

Chapter 16: The End of Dawn