One thousand disconsolate years had drifted by, floating through the tormented prince's corpsen fingers like ephemeral ashes upon the unforgiving winds of time. Winds that seemed to whisper painfully bitter memories to his bereft and forlorn spirit. They grievously danced through his silky chin-length hair, and fluttered through his regal cloak of shadows.
Valarendrik stood stoically upon one of the many balconies in the royal castle, with his deathly crimson eyes wistfully gazing out over the dark and gloomy oceanwaters. He painfully pressed his sharp black claws into the intricately carved stone railing, causing his equally black blood to pool around his cuticles.
Today was the day of his royal coronation, and also the day that he was to be wed. Soon he would be the king of Tenveriel, an heir to the throne would be conceived, and then he would die. He closed his mournful eyes, taking comfort in knowing that death would finally grace him with the eternal sleep that he so desperately longed for.
Recollections of his invidious life caressed his mind like a sinister whip gently gliding over skin, right before being violently cracked into the flesh. He knew nothing of beauty, nor compassion, nor love. But in the shadow of death, his soul knew relief.
The queen and Elder Graith's deceptions had been cruel and relentless. They'd fed him malicious lies from a silver spoon, enshrouding his fragmented soul in a veil of shame and despair. For even the purest of souls could be broken, and his was shattered.
Their malevolent whispers tirelessly echoed in his mind. They cooed to him that he was a mentally deranged abomination. A weakling unfit to be king. A disgrace to the royal bloodline. That he was only needed to produce a worthy heir, then he would be better off dead... And he truly believed every word.
His face contorted with pain as memories of the queen's torture ripped through his soul. His eyes squeezed tighter closed, as he recalled the gruesome atrocities she'd inflicted upon him over the years, often within the dreary depths of the dungeons. She insured that despite being a prince, he knew just how powerless and weak he was.
Her remorseless assaults were always vicious and unceasing, only ending once the prince closed his eyes from falling into unconsciousness. Because when she looked into her son's sorrowful gaze, she saw her death staring back at her. Consequently, from his decaying prison of beaten and weathered flesh, his spirit longed to depart.
The crown softly twitched upon his head as his thoughts drifted to his failures. He had trained tirelessly to master the sword. Often taking his favorite, although rather ditzy steed, Sagacor, out to the lamenting orchards, where he would passionately practice wielding Aldrinan's twin swords- His twin swords.
Yet, no matter how much dedication and strength he poured into his practice, there was still one swordsman who remained his adversary. The queen's personal body guard, Rhistven. And so, he was unable to fulfill his promise, causing his regret to swallow him whole, just as the serpent had swallowed his brother all those years ago.
The soft pattering of feet began to slowly approach him. His eyes opened and gazed up towards the tempest obsidian clouds like two mournful garnets. His keen senses allowed him to know who was there without even looking. The sound of an undead woman daintily clearing her throat filled his ears, yet he did not turn to face her.
"Why do you disturb me, Moryinia?" His hair danced around his solemn face, as he vacantly spoke to his fiancé in his deep voice.
"The queen has requested that you drink from this cup before our matrimonial ceremony." She held a sinister looking chalice full of stygian goo up towards him, though still, he didn't spare her nor the chalice a glance.
He gripped the stonework even tighter in frustration, causing more blood to pool around his fingertips. He knew the queen was drugging him so he'd be more eager to consummate the marriage. He had not yet known a woman's touch, and she wanted to make sure that he did the job thoroughly.
Moryinia was born to a noble tenverian family, and the queen had hand picked her to be Valarendrik's bride for her unmatched cruelty and guile alone. Although she was very beautiful by undead standards, and he was indeed physically attracted to her, her sordid personality and putrid soul repulsed him. The thought of being intimate with her repulsed his foreign soul.
"Place it on the railing and leave." He coldly ordered.
The dark metal of the chalice clinked against the stonework as she mindfully placed it down. Her ruby gaze fell upon the prince's bloodied fingertips, and anger coursed through her rotten veins. She quickly grabbed one of his hands, pulling it from the railing.
Valarendrik furiously whipped around to face her, taking in the sight of her elegantly styled raven hair, and dark greyish-purple bridal gown adorned with black lace. Her brazen smile did nothing to hide the sadistic glimmer in her big doe eyes.
"Do not touch me!" He growled, yanking his hand away.
"Forgive me, your highness." She sardonically gritted through her sharp teeth. "But do not do such things. I don't want our child's crown to become damaged."
In that moment, her venom dipped words speared through Valarendrik's heart like nothing else could. They dug into his mind, excavating a gruesome veracity that he had long ago stuffed away into the darkest depths of his consciousness... His fingers were his unborn child's crown...
"You have overstepped your bounds, Moryinia. You are not a queen yet, and even when you are, I'll still be your king. Now leave! Get out of my sight! Or your head will roll, regardless of Cerindier's wishes." He aggressively spat, hiding the fact that bile was suddenly burning in the back of his throat.
She glared up at him with loathing. "You and I both know that you'll never be a true king. You're too weak. I look forward to baring you an heir, because then it will be your head that rolls, and I will joyously partake the consumption of your flesh." With that, she haughtily tossed a lock of her raven hair over her shoulder, and stormed off.
Valarendrik didn't care in the slightest, especially since now he was drowning in crashing waves of anxiety. His heart pounded violently in his chest, as he stared down at his hands in utter distress, imagining his fingerbones being hammered into his child's skull. Fear coursed through his veins, though not for himself, but for his unborn. What if he passed down his mental infliction and they suffered just as he did? How could he knowingly condemn his own young to such a cruel fate?
"What if my child is like me?" He apprehensively thought.
His hands began to tremble as the weighted reality of what he was expected to do for his kingdom clawed at his mind. Now that the time had come, he realized that he couldn't damn his child to the same horrors and abuse that he'd suffered. He was not heartless nor unempathetic like the rest of his kind. And he wanted to protect his unborn child from their atrocities.
He abruptly leapt over the railing and off of the balcony like a madman, knocking over the chalice with his boot. Then, like a shadowy phantom silently gliding through the night, he skillfully navigated his way down the side of the dark ghastly castle, flipping and leaping from over hanging roofs and ledges.
His feet finally landed of the ground's rocky terrain, causing a few strange little bat-like creatures to hastily fly off into the blackened sky. A deranged and manic gleam glimmered in his eyes, as they honed in on a jagged stone.
In either desperation or insanity, he maniacally swooped the stone up, placed his left hand on a larger rock, and began to violently smash his knuckles. His flesh shredded, revealing grey bone, as his blood splattered on the stony surface. Tears of madness began to stream down his cheeks, overflowing from the well of despondency within his heart.
"They will not crown my child!" He psychotically said to himself, while repeating his self inflicted assault.
"You worthless fool... This will not stop them... You will die, and then they will use their magic to restore my vessels..." The crown sibilantly taunted with a malicious laugh, while angrily twitching upon his head.
Valarendrik froze just as he was about to bring the stone back down upon his brutalized hand. The crown was right. What he was doing was useless idiocy. He dropped the stone, causing it to hit the ground with a clank, and turned his head towards the sea. Then a very grievous idea floated into his mind.
With a vacant expression, he stoically stalked over the very edge of the harrowing precipice. The mephitic ocean winds enveloped him with the putrid scent of decay, as he gazed out over the saturnine horizon. He then peered down towards the violently crashing waves and sharp jagged stones below. The dark waters seemed to roar out in anguish, matching his own distress.
"Now, what are you doing?" The crown asked, trying to mask it's panic with apathy. It knew full well what very rash thoughts the prince was thinking.
"I'm going to give my child a gift." The prince calmly replied. "One that I so greatly wish I had been given. The gift of never having to witness this cruel and odious world. The gift of having never been born." The ocean winds misted his face as he stared down at the dark raging sea. It seemed to call out to him, like the call of crows perched on the gallows, with the shadow of the noose eerily swaying beneath them.
Valarendrik lifted his foot, ready to step over the steep edge. "Waitwaitwaitwait, WAIT!" The crown screamed while furiously twitching. "What about your kingdom? Your people need you!"
"My kingdom?" The prince scoffed. "I loath my kingdom, and all it's citizens, with their rampant aischrolatreia and cannibalism. They disgust me."
"What about Sagacor?" It meekly mentioned, gently tapping his head.
Valarendrik felt his heartstrings being pulled at the thought of that silly old horse. "I will miss him, but I am doomed to die regardless. And this way ensures that I will not pass my suffering onto another."
"Is there nothing in this world worth holding on for?" The crown fearfully asked.
"No." He firmly replied.
"Is there no glimmer of hope left inside of you, as there was when you were still a child?" It cautiously twitched.
The wind grievously hissed through his hair, while his face remained stoic. "My sorrows drowned that glimmer of hope long ago. And now you and I shall both drown within the tides." And with that, Valarendrik jumped.
...Only, he was abruptly yanked right back onto the cliff.
Like a moth in the darkness fluttering to a dying flame, the light of the prince's soul had attracted a mischievous and wicked creature. A beast born of hellfire and evil, who lived for the crimson rivers of bloodshed and erotic pleasures of the flesh. A fearsome being whom had been bound nearly powerless, and cast into the world of eternal darkness to be imprisoned for all eternity. A demon known as Azathoth... and his puppy.
"I wouldn't recommend swimming in there. The water's a bit chilly today." The demon jokingly said with a deep voice, while his tiny undead wolf pup playfully wagged it's tail at his feet.
Valarendrik angrily spun around, grabbing his swords, ready to slaughter whoever this birdbrained imbecile was. However, he immediately froze in shock, stunned completely by the otherworldly sight before him. Two fiery golden eyes, glowing with curiosity, stared back into his wide ruby gaze. It was the first time he'd ever seen anything of that color or that was luminescent. He didn't know what to make of it.
Mesmerized by the unnatural appearance of this peculiar creature, Valarendrik began silently studying him, too stunned to even speak. His eyes raked over the demon's ivory skin, which had no signs of abyssal rot. He noted the two sharp black horns twisting up from his head, and large dragon wings protruding from his back. And the long raven locks which danced across the beast's handsome face, flowing down the length of his muscular bare torso.
"Like what you see?" Azathoth facetiously teased with an amused cocky grin, placing his hands on his hips. "I assure you, I'm very kissable."
The prince was so entranced by the unusual sight, that he forgot all manners and slowly leaned his face in very closely towards the demon's, carefully observing him. Their equally strong bodies were now practically pressed against one another. He slowly lifted his good hand and gently touched the beast's soft and full rosy lips, hypnotized by their strange pink color.
Azathoth awkwardly leaned back, with a weirded out, shifty eyed expression. "Oh fuck... I was only joking." He held both of his hands up, creating space between him and Valarendrik. "Don't you dare even think about actually kissing me."
Valarendrik pinched his brows together in confusion. He had absolutely no idea what this guy was, or what the fuck he was blabbering about. "What are you?" He finally asked, finding the beast before him almost unfathomable.
Azathoth swatted the prince's hand away, since it was still hovering over his mouth, then grinned. "Me? Why, I'm a demon, of course!" He proudly proclaimed. "A fearsome creature from a distant world known as Hell. I specialize in the arts of both violence and pleasuring women." He further boasted, while taking a few steps towards the rocky ledge. He propped his foot up onto a large stone, bending his knee, with his long silky hair elegantly blowing in the ocean winds between his spikey wings. "And this is my ferocious wolf, Belzar." He pointed at the little golden eyed puppy, who was happily prancing around the demon's other leg, wagging his fluffy black tail and yipping.
This was the most bizarre thing the prince had ever come across. He had never heard of Hell, or demons, or even taming wolves. But then again, he knew nothing of life outside of Tenveriel. The queen used her power to keep him chained to the castle like a prisoner. Though, he had always wondered if there were better worlds somewhere out there. In fact, his soul yearned for them. And now, he was seeing evidence of their existence.
"But enough about me." The demon's voice boomed, pulling him from his thoughts. "What I'd like to know is why a crown prince like yourself would want to slumber in the sea?" He dramatically pointed down towards the roaring ocean waves.
Valarendrik opened his mouth to speak, but only shook his head. He was far more reserved with his words than the demon. His personality and voice had been beaten down by a lifetime of abuse, and he didn't really know how to interact with new people. Let alone this unexpected weirdo from another world.
"It is a better fate than what is awaiting me inside of the castle." He finally answered while mournfully glancing downwards. "I'm supposed to be wed today and-"
The demon abruptly roared with laughter, rudely cutting off the princes forlorn words. "You were seriously going to kill yourself just so you don't have to be bound to some bitch!?" He insensitively asked in amused astonishment.
Valarendrik scowled at him. "No, that is not why." He bitterly scoffed. "My mother plans to kill me once I produce an heir with my new queen." He angrily kicked a worthless stone over the ledge. "Then they'll mercilessly crown my child with my fingerbones, possessing them with the dark spirit. And I'd rather die before condemning my offspring to such a cruel fate."
"...Oh." Azathoth was a bit taken aback by this, but not surprised either. He knew that the tenverians were ruthless monsters, unable to comprehend things like compassion or empathy. What did surprise him though, was that this prince was able to feel such things. The guy's child didn't even exist yet, and he was willing to through himself off of a cliff for it. That was completely unnatural for his species.
"Why does the queen want to kill you?" He asked, yet suspected that he already knew the answer. He tapped his chin while curiously peering into Valarendrik's luminescent soul, studying it like an alien artifact. Because to him it practically was.
A shadow of shame fell over the sorrowful prince. He was embarrassed that he was a weakling with a mental infliction, unfit to be king. "I'd rather not say." He shrugged, then turned away from the demon, thinking it best to not interact with him any longer. He just wanted to parish and be done with it. He didn't need such a distraction.
"Oh come the fuck on! You have to tell me now!" Azathoth energetically kicked off of the rock, practically jumping in front of the prince. "It's your freak soul, isn't it?" He knowingly grinned in Valarendrik's face.
Valarendrik shoved him away. "What? No. I don't even know what the means." He stalked back over to the ledge. "Now be gone with you, demon. Let me parish in solitude." The crown began to twitch on his head, but remained quiet.
Azathoth firmly grabbed his upper arm, demanding his attention. "I'm not going to let you foolishly throw yourself off of this worthless cliff until you tell me. And believe me, I have no problem jumping after you." His flapped his wings once to further make his point.
"As the prince of Tenveriel, I order you to leave me be!" Valarendrik growled, annoyed by this otherworldly creature's audacity.
"I'm not a tenverian." Azathoth retorted, causing the prince to scowl in irritation at him. "Don't jump." He softly added. "You soul is the only genuine light I've seen in the past two thousand years. You're more special than you know."
"It is my desire to sink beneath the waves." Valarendrik wistfully replied, though he was cold and guarded. Everyone in his life had malicious intent for him, wishing him only pain and suffering. Why should he think that this demon was any different?
"I'll tell you what, I saw the look of excitement in your eyes when I mentioned Hell. Tell me why the queen wants you dead, and I'll tell you all about the living worlds." A few wispy strands of the clever demon's hair playfully danced across his slyly smiling face.
Valarendrik furrowed his brows and looked up towards the sky. It was heavy and black like his misery. A swirling void where all starlight had seemingly passed away. Yet, he now knew that there were things beyond it's suffocating clouds of darkness. And so, he considered the demon's tempting offer. "Alright. I'll agree to your terms." He surmised that he could always jump later, and pulled his arm out of the demon's grasp.
Little pebbles crunched beneath his boots, as he took a few steps away from the ledge with a downcast gaze, dreading his next words. "I'm a weakling. I have two marks of power, and yet my shadows never fully developed. I also have an accursed mental infliction which makes me unfit to ever become a true king. That is why she wishes me dead." His deep voice plaintively mumbled.
The demon carefully considered what the prince had said. "That's a bunch of rubbish."
Valarendrik turned to face him, as Azathoth put a clawed hand on his shoulder. "It's not rubbish. It's the truth." He insisted. The wind whipped through their hair, and some godawful abyssal beast screeched in the distance.
"Nope, it's definitely rubbish. You don't have a mental infliction. You have a unique and more evolved soul. In fact, I've never seen anything quite like it, especially not in a tenverian. You may be a weakling, but you're also gifted." Although the demon could see the prince's soul, he was ignorant to the magic used to weaken the prince's shadows. "I think that you should say 'fuck it' and leave this godawful place once and for all!"
Valarendrik raised a curious brow. "What exactly are you saying?" The idea of leaving Tenveriel greatly intrigued the prince, though he didn't dare allow any rays of hope to slip into his heart.
"I'm saying, flee the kingdom, and become a wanderer like me." Azathoth pointed to himself with his thumb, then he roughly placed an arm across Valarendrik's shoulders, jarring the prince. "Just think about it. We could go on all sorts of adventures together, kill some things, and I don't know, maybe even just hang out from time to time." He excitedly waved a hand out in front of them. "I don't doubt that you have a wonderful personality hidden beneath that stony exterior of yours, and once it's cracked, we'll become the best of buds!"
The demon was correct. The prince did in fact have a wonderful personality hidden within him. It was like a tiny seed ready to sprout and push it's way up through the rocky blackened soil, where it would grow and blossom uninhibited.
"You will never be able to leave..." The crown mocked. "Don't forget that the power of the queen's orb keeps you chained here. But do forget about this abhorrent demon, and go back into the castle. There is no other good option for you." The crown had remained silent in hopes that this demon would talk the prince out of his suicidal intentions, but now it felt threatened by the horned beast.
Valarendrik frowned. Once again, the crown was right. "I... I cannot leave." He reluctantly said. "I wish that I could, I truly do, but the queen keeps me imprisoned here using her ophidian orb of power. As long as she has it, I'm too weak to go against her." His deep voice was soft and hopeless sounding.
The demon laughed. "Then let's steal the orb!" He mischievously suggested with a grin. "That bony old bitch will never see it coming. And just imagine how gloriously pissed off she'll be!" He beamed with excitement.
"That's impossible, it's heavily-."
"Stop being such a negative nancy. It is possible, and I'm going to help you do it!" Azathoth's clawed finger poked at Valarendrik's chest. "Belzar, get back over here!" He hollered over to his little wolf who had wandered off, and was busily sniffing some apparently very interesting rocks. The demon was very protective of his puppy.
"It's inside of the queens private study, which is heavily guarded. We won't even be able to get near it." Valarendrik held his palm up while shaking his head, trying to explain how impossible such a task would be.
"Well, good thing I can teleport." Azathoth enthusiastically grabbed both of Valarendrik's shoulders, then black mist surrounded them.
They instantly reappeared in the queen's private study, right in front of the plinth which held the orb. Belzar poofed in beside them. The room was incredibly dark and macabre, with ancient books and magical trinkets littered all about. Unfortunate creatures wailed and hissed, imprisoned in small cages for cruel experiments. The orb rested in the center of a crimson pillow on top of the plinth. It seemed to glimmer with darkness, as if it were alive and watching them.
Valarendrik looked around in startlement, befuddled by their sudden change of location. "What the!? How did you do that!?" He asked in both awe and disbelief.
"I'm a demon. I can do a lot of stuff." Azathoth mischievously gestured towards the orb. "Now then, there's the orb, ripe for the taking." He nudged the prince with his elbow.
Valarendrik shifted his wary crimson gaze from the demon's maniacal face, and stared at the orbs entrancing image, seemingly becoming hypnotized by it's strange power. Never before had he been granted access to it, and now there it was before him, unguarded like a sitting duck. He appeared stuck in a mystical trance, indifferent to the sounds of cute puppy growls and Azathoth's irritated voice saying, "Hey, quit chewing on my boot... Stop that! Stop that right now!"
Thoughts of uncertainty and the fear of getting caught began to creep into his mind. Was he really about to do this? Could breaking Cerindier's power over him really be so simple? Was this actually a chance to finally escape her oppressive clutches? It was all so sudden, and seemed so surreal.
"Take it." Azathoth eagerly danced his clawed fingers on the prince's upper arm as he spoke into his ear, like a little devil whispering temptations upon his shoulder.
"Leave it be..." The crown hissed, contradicting the demon, yet only further encouraging the prince's rebellion.
Valarendrik slowly reached up, ultimately deciding that the possibility of a better life outside of the kingdom was worth the risk. Anything to escape this miserable place. And if he was caught, what more could that rotten queen do to him that hadn't already been done before?
The ashen skin of his clawed hand was a stark contrast to the orbs glossy obsidian depths, as he carefully gripped it's cool smooth surface. Anxiety squeezed in his chest as he plucked it from the pillow, feeling it's energies immediately shift. It's power coursed into his hand, filling the prince's veins with a strange liquid warmth energy. He felt Cerindier's malevolent enchantments over himself and the castle crumble and fall away. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he had control over his own destiny.
"Alright, I've got it." Valarendrik stated, unable to pry his gaze away from the sphere's hypnotizing void. "Shall we teleport away now?" He asked, still somewhat skeptical that the demon might up and betray him.
A wide wicked grin stretched across Azathoth's face. He relished the chaos that this was going to bring Tenveriel. "Excellent." He began to swiftly walk towards the door. "And no, if I teleported with that thing, every lloigor in the area would be swarming us like flies to fruit." The devilish gleam in his eyes changed from wicked to down right bloodthirsty. "We're going to slaughter our way out of here."
Valarendrik stared at Azathoth with an odd feeling of appreciation. This random and bizarre creature was helping change his fate forever. He wondered what the demon would request in exchange for his help? And what if he couldn't repay his debts to the demon?
"Wait!" He yelled, right as Azathoth was about to kick down the door. "You are helping me escape, but have not told me your price? What will you be requiring in return?"
The demon smiled almost sympathetically. "Just be my friend."
Valarendrik was astounded by the demon's terms, yet his soul sang with excitement, and for the first time ever, joy. "Thank you, my friend." He awkwardly tried to smile back, but wasn't exactly sure how to do it. "My name is Valarendrik, by the way."
Azathoth chuckled, amused by the prince's dorkiness. "Alright Valarendrik, my friend, you can call me, Azathoth. Now, let's go kill those guards!" He abruptly kicked down the door, startling the guards on the other side. With an ear-piercing demonic roar, he burst into the hallway, and began a violent onslaught.
Valarendrik held the orb in his injured hand, and one of his swords in the other. He ran out of the room to join Azathoth in killing the guards. They left a macabre trail of death in their wake, painting the walls and floors with black abyssal blood. Pained screams and dying gurgles filled the castle, as body parts and bloody armor were littered all around the ghastly halls.
Both otherworldly men were impressed with the other's fighting abilities, and together they were like a whirlwind of destruction. Even little Belzar tried to help by attacking some of the already fallen men, earning words of praise from the demon such as, "That's right, my boy, show no mercy!"
Meanwhile, The queen, Elder Graith, and Moryinia were all angrily waiting for Valarendrik in the sumptuous yet ghastly throne room. The three undead beings wore scowls on their ashen faces, matching the dark and ominous atmosphere of the place. Noble citizens, draped in ebony robes, were all lined along the main isle, impatiently awaiting their tardy prince.
The queen's heeled shoes clicked on the polished obsidian floor, as she restlessly paced back and forth. "Where the fuck is Valarendrik!?" She hissed, completely unaware that her son was now in the stables, soaked in the blood of her guards, and mounting his favorite steed to make his grand escape with the stolen orb.
Sagacor swiftly galloped out of the kingdom like a thunderbolt booming across the stormy skies, with Valarendrik ecstatically riding upon his corpsen back. Azathoth flew above and beside them, with a wide smile on his face. Belzar rested in his hand, with his tongue dopily hanging out. Valarendrik looked up at Azathoth with gratefulness blooming in his heart, and excitedly smiled back. And together the two newly acquainted friends journeyed deep into the forsaken and shadow engulfed wilderness, where they had many abyssal adventures awaiting them.
When Cerindier learned of what the prince had done, her explosive fury rippled through the kingdom in waves of death. Tenverian blood flowed like rivers through the grim and grisly streets in order to appease her anger fueled bloodlust. Not only had Valarendrik escaped without a trace, but he had also stolen the ophidian orb, reminding her that she was, in fact, the weakling. And killing peasants fed her precious illusion that she was powerful.
Now that the prince was no longer under their control, the queen and Elder Graith both greatly feared the possibility of Valarendrik's shadows awakening. He was now a precarious threat to them.
One thing was certain, Prince Valarendrik had to die.