Embers of war

The meeting room of Valemarian castle became a crucible.

The Saintess's lightning bolt, a lance of pure, incandescent fury, struck Hellakrion not on his robed torso, but squarely on the upraised, skeletal palm he'd instinctively thrust forward. The impact wasn't a crack of thunder, but a detonation. White light, blinding and searing, swallowed the chamber. The concussive wave pushed King Vladimir, Prince Caelum, and Captain Elena backward almost slamming them into the ornate walls. The ornamented floor was blackened. Tapestries ignited. The heavy oak table splintered.

Hellakrion was unfazed.

For a single, impossible heartbeat, the bone demon king was forced back a step, a low, grating groan escaping his lipless maw. Smoke curled from his scorched palm, and the flames adorning his robe momentarily dimmed. The oppressive Rem-pressure faltered, a suffocating weight lifting just enough for the Valemarians to gasp.

He took a seat at the head of the splintered table.

The Saintess landed lightly before the king, her pristine white robes untouched by debris, her expression serene fury.

A low, grinding chuckle emanated from the Demon King, like stones grinding in a tomb. The white voids of his eyes fixed on the Saintess. "Holy Rem." The words were dry, ancient dust stirred in a crypt. "A spark against the eternal dark. When was the last time this hit me?", he said stroking his chin. "Ah! That would be when I first became a Demon king. Priestess Elysia." He said in fond remembrance.

The Saintess stared in shock as Hellakrion acted like nothing had happened. High mage Serena cast [Fire cyclone] and [Wind cyclone] simultaneously. She shot it at Hellakrion. Both spells combined into one increasing the output and damage. With one bone hand raised, Hellakrion split the searing flame–wind combo into two. The spell hit the wall behind him and turned it molten.

"Attacking someone mimid-conversations rude. And you humans study etiquette."

"Who are you?" Caelum asked

"The Demon king of wrath, Hellakrion," Hellakrion answered.

"What do you want?" King Vladimir asked.

"To see the kingdom that fought us the longest. I have gone round your land and there's nothing special about it. How you insects fought with us for so long still baffles me." Hellakrion said with visible thought on his skull face.

"I'll show you...."

"You humans are always in a hurry to fight. This is why you are still divided," Hellakrion interjected. "I came to give a message. Valemire will fall and your alliance won't be of any help." He rose regal like a king, his robe billowing without wind.

"We will conquer this world and Vortigon said to tell you this,' It isn't a threat, this is a promise, Vladimir'."

He locked eyes with the Saintess, go train yourself more. This is the true power of Holy Rem lightning. He conjures up a more powerful lightning exactly like that of the Saintess. His hand hissed and he winced. Cracks formed subtly on his hand because demons are not compatible with Holy Rem.

He pointed the lightning towards the Saintess. The Saintess reacted instantly. She immediately cast [Holy shield] in front of her but Hellakrion smiled and shot it at Caelum.

Vladimir pushed his son out of the way, entering the path of the lightning. The lightning tore through the King's chest, leaving a ball-sized hole. His blood mixed with some bones and organs splashed on the wall behind him as he fell to the ground. Caelum watched in horror as the Saintess and the high Mage tried to heal his father. Elena grabbed the AR–01 on the floor and opened fire on Hellakrion.

The bullets stopped an inch from his brow – and shattered.

Not deflected, not absorbed. It simply ceased to be, disintegrating against an invisible field of pure, crushing negation. The air cracked with the backlash, a soundless detonation of force that slammed Elena against the wall.

Caelum began hyperventilating, his eyes darting between his dying father and Hellakrion. His Eyes narrowed, focused on Hellakrion. His body burst out Crimson Rem— the Rem of Threner Valerius the First. And like a blur, he lunged at Hellakrion. Hellakrion blocked his fist with the back of his hand and hit Caelum with his own, sending him through the wall.

Riven who was outside the room, saw his lord and quickly rushed to help him.

"It's been fun but it's time for me to take my leave."

He snapped and a portal opened behind him. He turned to leave but noticed a crack on his hand. The spot where he blocked Caelum's punch. He smiled, a thought in his head; Every Royal family has one of these huh, then said, "I'll leave a present for you. Don't disappoint me insects." 

He went through the portal and it closed.

Riven helped Caelum up and walked him to the king. They both knelt by him. Vladimir looked at his son with teary eyes and blood trickling from his mouth. He reached shakily for Caelum's face. Caelum held his father's hand and brought it to his cheek.

"My boy. It seems I am not long for this world."

"No, don't say that. The high mage and the holy warrior will help you. Right?" He turned to them.

The Saintess shook her head. The wound was clearly above her powers. Serena however refused to stop. She kept spamming [Heal], hoping for some kind of miracle. Vladimir grabbed her hand and met her eyes with a soft smile. 

"It's alright Serena."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, "No, no. It is not yet time for you to leave."

"I promised your father I'd look after you. You did grow up to be a fine mage. He would be so proud. Look after Caelum, he's a bit stubborn and lazy but I know he would be a good King."

"Yes, your Majesty." She answers tearfully.

He turned to Riven, "Ser Riven, your family has been the royal family guard for ages. It's a shame you are the last of your line. Keep Caelum out of trouble and find a good girl to settle down with."

"I will your grace." Ser Riven replied.

"And you Caelum," he said turning to his son. "I know you hate everything that would be a pain to you but I urge you, to listen to Serena and Riven. They are your family now. Get along with Elena's people. If the other demons are like Hellakrion...."

Vladimir coughed and sputtered blood. When he settled, he continued. "If they are anything like Hellakrion, Valemire would need all the allies it can get. Never doubt yourself, you'd make a great King. Take care of Valemire and its people."

"Yes...Father." Caelum replied holding back tears.

" You look a lot like him. I'll miss seeing that face of...."

His hands dropped. King Vladimir Valerius is dead.

Caelum arched over the body, tears falling from his cheeks onto it. But there was no time to mourn. A shriek of sundered reality cut through the air with furious winds. The Saintess stood up and said, "Ser Riven, take the Prince to safety..."

"No," Caelum interrupted. "Astralis is my home, Valemire is my Kingdom and I'll be damned if the demons destroy my legacy."

He stood and led them outside.

Outside, the clash was visible – a roiling dome of white light containing a raging crimson inferno, visible even through the palace windows. The Sanctums were face to face with countless skeletons riding on two-headed dogs. And far in the back was a lich— a skeleton mage skilled in summoning magic and flame magic.

"Holy warrior, High mage, take care of the skeletons, Riven and I are going after the lich"

His Crimson Rem burst out and he was gone in a flash, taking Riven with him.

Back at Leon's Hellcamp...

The harsh clang of practice swords echoed across the dusty training ground. Ghilaine's critique hung in the air: "Rigid. Predictable." Allen lay sprawled on the ground, his borrowed sword several feet away, the phantom sting of her Rem-enhanced strike vibrating through his arms. Purple energy, thick and turbulent like storm clouds, still clung to his fists, slowly dissipating.

Ghilaine didn't gloat. She looked down at him, her white Rem receding like mist. "Control is paramount, Allen. Rem is an extension of your will, not a cage for it. You fight like you're shackled. Break free." She offered a hand. Hesitantly, he took it. Her grip was surprisingly strong, hauling him up effortlessly. "Again tomorrow. Focus on fluidity. Feel the fight, don't just execute it."

As Ghilaine turned to address the other sparring pairs, Leon materialized beside Allen, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a thoughtful frown. He'd watched the entire exchange. "Tough break, champ. Ghilaine doesn't pull punches, even the practice ones." He nudged Allen's shoulder. "She's right, though. You fight like someone programmed you. Loosen up. What's got you so wound? Besides the obvious end-of-the-world stuff?"

Allen flexed his hand, the echo of Ghilaine's strike still there. He didn't meet Leon's gaze, staring instead at the fading purple wisps around his knuckles. "Just focusing on the form," he muttered, the lie tasting stale. The orphanage walls crumbling, the children's terrified faces, Matthew – those were the shackles Ghilaine sensed. That was the rigidity.

Leon snorted. "Uh-huh. Well, whatever it is, it's making you predictable. And predictable gets dead fast out there." He glanced towards the barracks. "Speaking of focused... Mia's already putting in extra time. Again." He gestured to the distant firing range, where the sharp, rhythmic crack of a pistol echoed even from here.

Mia stood alone at the farthest lane, silhouetted against the setting sun. Ash-grey Rem pulsed faintly around her hand as she smoothly ejected a spent magazine and slammed in a fresh one. Her movements were economical, precise, almost mechanical. She raised the pistol, exhaled slowly, and fired. The distant target's center vanished in a small eruption of black smoke and glowing embers. She didn't flinch. She simply reset, her face an impassive mask.

Leon watched her, a flicker of concern beneath his usual gruffness. "She's got power, no doubt. Ghilaine's practically drooling. But that darkness she carries..." He shook his head. "It's a fuel, Allen. Powerful stuff. But if you let it burn uncontrolled..." He trailed off, the unspoken warning hanging heavy: It burns you out.

Allen followed Leon's gaze. He saw the precision, the control, the lethal efficiency. He also saw the slight tremor in her shoulders as she lowered the gun for a moment, the way her knuckles whitened on the grip before she raised it again. He saw the memory of a tragedy reflected in the flat, hard look in her eyes. Hatred, yes. But also the crushing weight of hollow grief, a chasm threatening to swallow her whole. She wasn't just fighting targets. She was fighting the images seared into her mind.

Leon clapped Allen on the back, the force jolting him. "Alright, enough staring. Hit the showers. Dinner's in twenty, and if you're late, you're running laps. With Ghilaine." He walked off, whistling a tuneless melody, leaving Allen standing in the dust, the echoes of clashing swords and gunfire mingling with the phantom screams from two different battlefields – one in a distant palace throne room, the other deep within Mia's haunted mind. The embers of war were glowing hotter, and the rigid walls holding Allen's darkness were starting to feel dangerously thin.

His gauntlet pulsed faintly.