BLACKROSE

Northern Ireland | Belfast | Kragalta Family Villa

The evening light hangs heavy over the long wooden table. Embroidered velvet curtains swallow the light while soft rustling comes from the fireplace. The air is filled with the spicy scent of cigar smoke, worn leather and the dry aura of old magical parchments that smell like yellowed paper.

At the head of the table sits James Kragalta. His tailored suit fits flawlessly. Besides him lies a half-filled glass of brandy and his fedora - carefully placed, almost reverently. A massive smile on his lips, balancing somewhere between arrogant self-assurance and charming power.

Next to him sits Jesse, his daughter.

Her violet hair falls gently over her shoulder, her reddish-brown eyes shimmering in the twilight. Around her wrist is an etched magic circle band with the name Dunmeer burned into it. Her deep-dark robe is crested with silver symbols for protection and attack - stylish and functional at the same time.

James casts her a brief glance.

"How is your study going, Jesse?" he asks calmly.

"Good, Father." Jesse's tone is formal but with a faint smile. "The arts of Dunmeer are astonishingly extensive."

At the other end of the table sits Janette, Kragalta's wife.

Her blonde hair is tied in a strict bun, her face seemingly carved out of marble - cool, elegant. A simple black eyepatch covers her left eye; the right sparkles in deep brown. Her clothes don't fit into the picture: an oversized sweater, sweatpants - cozy, almost defiantly against the aristocratic setting.

She looks at James and speaks softly with a trace of concern.

"Are you sure that you want to compete in this trail, darling?"

"If we want to finally anchor our bloodline in the Mage Tower… " answers James with casual self-understanding "... I need the Avatar Ritual. And Behemoth… will accompany me."

Jesse looks up. Her eyes narrow slightly - there's something unspoken, a hint of fear.

"A pact with Behemoth binds your life to his", she says. "His essence fuses with yours. If he dies… then you die too, Father."

James leans back. His smile remains untouched.

"I am an Archmage, Jesse. No ritual has ever brought me down."

Janette takes a step closer and her voice becomes more insistent.

"James… this is a duel to the death. Only one of you can survive. We don't know who your opponent will be. Maybe it's someone who can actually oppose your magic."

James looks at her - calm, almost poetic as if already writing his own inheritance.

"If I fail then it's my price to pay. I don't just want to summon him - I want to defeat him because if I cannot kill him I don't deserve him. And besides that: no force will stop me. After all, I'm not weak."

Jesse lowers her gaze. Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

"Please…take care of you."

Deeper within the Estate | Ritual Chamber

Soft jazz music hums from the record player; the vinyl crackles unnaturally compared to the crackling magic in the ritual chamber.

The walls are lined with ancient ban signs. Runes in shimmering blue and violet pulsing in rhythm with the magic which hangs in the air like electric smoke. In the middle of the room a complex multi-layered circle twines across the floor. At its center glows the Seal of Behemoth - an ominous monogram of fangs, horns and endless chains.

A heavy smell of frankincense hangs in the air, dulling the senses. The jazz sounds far away, almost surreal - a final sound from the world that James Kragalta is about to leave behind.

He stands at the center of the glowing ritual circle. Relaxed almost casual with an elegance only possessed by those who truly know what they're doing. Beside him: Jesse with a steady gaze, resolute and silent. And Janette - motionless like a statue but with an immense strength in her silence.

James raises his voice dignified.

"Behemoth, my companion... soon you will become my Avatar and we will enter the Mage Tower. May our family receive the glory it deserves."

He extends his hand calling out with calm clarity.

"Dunmeer. Knira."

A sharp hiss slices through the air. A black blade materializes before him - born out of pure shadow. Without hesitation James slices the palm of his hand with the blade. His thick almost black blood drips onto the center of the seal.

His eyes begin to glow - deep, bottomless darkness.

The circle beneath him flares up. Light in endless motion, magic, that pulses like a second heart. James closes his eyes - and sinks into a trance-like state.

Jesse lowers her head. Her voice is barely more than a trembling whisper.

"Father… come forth victorious."

Janette nods slowly with a dignified calm that feels like a blessing.

"The Mage Tower awaits you. Triumphantly."

Behemoth's Domain – The In-Between

A dark, endless forest. The trees bear black leaves, their tips stretching like claws towards the sky. No sounds, no wind - only the sensation of ancient, lurking power. The world feels lifeless, frozen in a moment of eternal twilight.

At the center of the forest stands a statue. Colossal. Carved from black stone, it shows a creature with horns, claws and a bowed head. The mass seems to breathe even if seemingly fully motionless. It's as if the stone beast could awaken at any moment.

Kragalta stands before it. His breath steams in the cold, unreal air. His lips are bluey, his skin tensing from the cost the interworld already demands.

He speaks roughly with a trace of reverence.

"Will you become my Avatar… my companion?"

For a moment silence hangs over everything. Then as if from the marrow of the world itself, a deep, primeval roar rings out. The ground trembles and the shadows begin to flicker erratically.

The statue shatters. A thousand black shards shoot in all directions.

From the heart of the darkness rises Behemoth.

A walking nightmare - constantly in motion, constantly in change. Claws, teeth, armor, wings, shadows - an endless play of forms. No part of its body stays the same for long, no shape repeats itself. And yet its presence is overwhelming.

Interworld | Domain of the Behemoth

A faint smile flickers across Kragalta's lips. He looks relieved.

"Thank you, Behemoth."

He steps beside the beast.

But then… something is wrong.

A noise that does not come from shadows but from light and color:

Rose petals drift across the dark ground. A high-pitched dragon's roar tears through the eternal night like a shrill lightning.

Kragalta spins around sharply. His eyes scanning the border of the domain every fiber of his body tensing up.

"Behemoth… do you think we've grown?"

The Behemoth - humanoid for a slight second before reverting to a massive beast again - nods slowly.

Then he starts moving. Determined. Directly toward the direction of the scream.

Kragalta pulls his jacket tighter. The black blade appears again in his hand - bloody, glowing.

He raises his voice, speaking into the storm of the interworld.

"Only one can live, challenger."

And he follows.

Present | Rose Temple

The scream of impact slices through the air.

Kragalta's sword crashes down like a guillotined comet - full of force, full of desperation.

Lucil blocks his attack as both blades clash with a clang. Shadow and rose blades intertwining.

A collision of light and steel.

Dust swirls up as the impact shakes the field but Lucil smiles.

Not mocking or arrogant but calm, clearly enjoying it.

With fluid movement he deflects the sword to the side. The blade slides effortlessly past him - in the same motion putting his right foot forward.

Thud.

A kick lands straight into Kragalta's stomach.

Kragalta gets pushed back to his starting position. His sword still drawn, staring sharply at Lucil. Mana streams through his body like liquid fire.

"I'll show you what my magic is capable of. Survive... I won't anyway."

Before him Lucil walks forward slowly.

In his right hand: a rose blade. Raw. Forged from pure aura, pulsing with every step.

The air around him shimmers. Every move of his weapon sweeps like heat through the field - red mist spreads out like blood in the water. And where Lucil walks roses begin to bloom.

"You have earned my respect." Lucil says with a firm voice.

"That's exactly why… you get a glimpse of my blade. For the first time I see a human - not a possessed one but someone with emotion and with resolve."

Another step.

The roses trailing his body like a second shadow.

In Kragalta's eyes Lucil no longer looks like a mere opponent. He looks like an executioner. Like a warrior who has come to pay him the last honor.

"A warrior then…" Kragalta murmurs with a rough voice. "I don't see that every day. And then someone who moves through magic."

He sets himself in motion.

His own haze - black, ethereal, heavy - starts to blend with Lucil's red mist. Two forces circling around one another like rival gods.

Lucil speaks with a voice that sounds both weary and relentless.

"I wish I were still a warrior but you can see it for yourself… Fairness doesn't exist. Who tries to kill me, dies - even if their intention is pure. In the end only two things matter: life or death."

Kragalta nods. He knows what comes now.

His next word can prelude everything - or end everything.

"Dunmeer - Apocalytic - Utias!"

A rift tears through the air as his sword begins to glow.

It grows while reshaping itself from a single-handed shortsword into a gigantic two-handed blade.

The handle is made of pale bone. The blade is split by pulsating runes each vibrating with raw energy.

Blood spills from Kragalta's mouth. He spits it on the ground and before it can even reach it all of it turns into rose petals.

Then he leaps. Spins. Whirls.

With every swing of his sword more power gathers. The air itself seems to tremble - as if the world is ducking for what is about to follow.

Then: the impact.

The blade strikes Lucil with full force.

The earth quakes. The surrounding area is torn apart. Shockwaves erupt from the center, splitting the ground, turning the rose carpet into withered dust.

But Lucil still stands.

Unmoving. Calm.

The sword struck him - mighty, unrelenting. And yet…

Only the ground beneath his feet remains untouched.

"As long as one rose lives… nothing happens to me."

Lucil's voice is cunning.

Kragalta looks up. And he sees it.

The corpse of his Behemoth. It's been taken as a shield for the damage. Bleeding infinitely into a waterfall of roses.

"Fairness…?"

Lucil's tone is cold.

Kragalta lets out a scream. Pushing more and more against Lucil.

This was the final straw for Lucil. He counters and delivers an overpowering strike with the back of his sword to Kragalta's stomach.

"You want it all? Then listen closely to me. From the moment I found out that you work with mist I knew your weakness!"