Garden of Rotten Petals

The air in Verdantia was different now—heavier, sweeter… almost intoxicating.

The city, once the jewel of the Western Empire, was blooming in strange ways. Flowers that had never existed before were sprouting between ancient stones; vines curled around guard towers like lovers clinging to dying men. It looked beautiful—but only from afar.

Because the closer one got, the clearer the corruption became.

Beneath those petals were bones.

And in the heart of it all, Priyanshu stood atop the highest spire of Verdantia's ruined cathedral, the wind playing with his black robes. His eyes glowed faintly—silver laced with red—and in that moment, even the heavens hesitated to watch.

"They still think this city is savable," he whispered, lips curled in a wicked smirk. "How cute."

Behind him, a shadow rippled. From it emerged Elira—the flower priestess of Verdantia, now corrupted into something else. Her once golden skin had dulled to a pale moonlight shade, her eyes glowed green with madness, and vines sprouted from her back like wings.

"Master… the roots have reached the noble quarters," she whispered, almost singing. "Should I let them bloom?"

Priyanshu didn't answer immediately. His gaze stretched across the horizon, watching knights gather like ants, paladins pray to gods that had long gone deaf, and nobles prepare their private carriages to flee.

He chuckled.

"No," he finally said, voice smooth like silk over steel. "Let them suffer. Let them watch their paradise rot from inside out. Pain makes faith stronger… and I want them faithful."

Elira bowed, her smile spreading unnaturally wide. "As you command."

She vanished into the roots, like a snake slithering back into a garden it once owned.

—

Down below, inside the Sacred Garden of the Royal Temple, chaos was starting to bloom—literally.

Priests were coughing up petals. Their skin turned green-veined as they collapsed one after another, clutching at their throats. The holy water in the basin had turned crimson. Acolytes screamed, praying to their gods, but no answer came.

And standing silently in the center of the blood-red garden was a girl no older than twelve. Her dress was made of thorned roses, and wherever she stepped, the ground cracked with black roots.

"I… I am the Bloom," she whispered, staring at her hands. "He made me… into this."

Her voice was broken, lost between innocence and madness. But in her eyes burned devotion.

Priyanshu had chosen her as the seed.

—

In the council chambers of the Empire, nobles were in chaos.

"How did Verdantia fall in a single week?!"

"This is sorcery! Someone has used forbidden rites!"

"We should send the Holy Knights—no, the entire Third Army!"

But in one dark corner, a man in grey robes sipped his wine, uninterested in the panic.

He already knew who was behind it.

And he was smiling.

Because he had served Priyanshu once… and was now watching the birth of something divine.

"The villain blooms… in blood and faith," he whispered.

—

Back in the city, Elira returned to Priyanshu with an offering—a soul gem, red and pulsing.

"The Cardinal resisted purification," she said with a pout, handing it to him.

Priyanshu accepted it, closing his palm around the gem. A heartbeat passed, and it shattered into dust, feeding his core.

He sighed in satisfaction.

"Good. The more they resist, the more they feed me."

He turned toward the cathedral's altar. There, chains of black ivy held a dozen sacred relics—holy swords, divine staves, crowns once kissed by saints. Now, they were mere trophies.

He walked past them, toward a statue of Verdantia's founding goddess.

Once made of marble and gold, now cracked and weeping black nectar.

He placed his palm on her cheek.

"You watched this city die… and did nothing."

The statue trembled.

And then shattered into a thousand cursed petals.

—

In a distant land, deep in a forgotten mountain temple, an ancient monk opened his eyes.

"The hidden one has moved," he murmured. "Verdantia is the first garden. There will be more."

He reached for a scroll sealed with thirteen bloodstains.

"It begins again… The Bloom of Corruption."

—

Meanwhile, Priyanshu descended into the crypt below the cathedral—a place sealed even from time.

There, in a cage of light and bones, was a prisoner.

A man who looked like a prince and a god at once, his body glowing with divine runes, eyes shut in eternal sleep.

Priyanshu approached.

"You forgot who you were, didn't you?" he asked softly. "They made you a god, but broke your mind."

He touched the cage.

The man stirred.

And Priyanshu whispered, "Wake up, old friend. You were always mine."

The cage cracked.

And a single black rose bloomed at its base.