Chapter 10 - The Bloodstained Crown

In the nation of the angels, at Plava Square of Saint Zagra, the funeral ceremony of King Augustel was being inaugurated. Thousands of angels stood gathered, all dressed in black cloaks as part of the rite. Grief weighed heavily upon them, some sorrowful, others furious, many weeping, each expressing their anguish in different, dramatic ways at the loss of their leader.

Augustel lay within a white coffin, adorned with golden wings upon its lid, and beneath him rested a cross, his body now embarking on its journey toward the three moons. Bouquets of red flowers surrounded him on all four sides. Tarnael, Kaela, and Eliael stood nearest to the body of their father.

Above the ceremony, angels hovered in the air, singing in chorus to honor their fallen king.

(Chorus of Angels)

O Rex stellarum qui primus fulsit,
(O King of stars that first did shine,)
Cui corona caelestis fulgor tulit,
(Who wore the crown of heaven divine,)
Lacrimīs lucis alas nostras plicamus,
(With tears of light, our wings we fold,)
Funus tuum in vocibus fortibus cantamus.
(Your funeral song in voices bold.)

(Lead Angel – Solo)

Terra et caelum amavit ipse,
(He cherished earth and sky above,)
Omnem animam calore implevit nobile,
(Each soul he warmed with boundless love,)
Sed nunc hora discedendi venit,
(But now the hour has come to part,)
Vacuum manet in corde nostro plenit.
(A void remains within our heart.)

(Chorus of Angels)

In aeternitatem evolas altum,
(Into eternity you soar,)
O Rex bonitatis, semper salutem,
(O King of goodness evermore,)
In omni stella lumen tuum fulgebit,
(In every star your light shall gleam,)
In somnio nostro semper splendebit.
(Forever shining in our dream.)

Tempus numquam dormire docuisti,
(You taught that time can never sleep,)
Et libertas animam altam sustulit,
(And freedom lifts the soul so deep,)
Ex dolore surgimus, ad caelum ascendimus,
(From pain we rise, to heaven climb,)
Regnum tuum ultra tempus manet firmum.
(Your kingdom stands beyond all time.)

(Chorus of Angels)

Sanguis tuus ex limo numquam ortus,
(Your blood was never born of clay,)
Sed de caelo, luce illustratus,
(But from the sky, in light's array,)
In armis nostris flammas tuas gerimus,
(In our arms, your flame we bear,0
In throno novo, ultra desperatio remanemus.
(On new throne high, beyond despair.)

(Finale – Voice of the Universe)

O Rex aeternus, spiritus clarus,
(O King eternal, spirit bright,)
Mors numquam lumen tuum obfuscat,
(No death can dim your endless light,)
In pace et gloria domum tuam invenias,
(In peace and glory find your home,)
Angeli tui cantent sine fine et cursu.
(Your angels' song shall never roam.)

"Angels. Inhabitants of this sacred isle.

Today, we honor our immortal King, the one who, for more than 233 years, guided us with justice, wisdom, and divine grace: Augustel Frizina. We are proud to have lived beneath the shadow of such a god, who rose above all as a light that never dimmed. To mortal beings, he was an almighty Lord; to us, he was a leader who illuminated our hearts, a guide of angels who gave wisdom to those who had lost their way.

To every soul, he was a compassionate father, comforting, guiding, and upholding. King Augustel gave us hope when darkness surrounded us. He gave us love that strengthened our wings. He gave us gratitude for every divine gift, and a tomorrow worthy of living. 'He was the good shepherd who never abandoned his flock.' His promises were sacred and unbroken; he never strayed from his word, never faltered in his oath. He was, and remains, the adversary of evil, a sword of justice that severed curses and banished darkness from our path. Be forever King, Augustel Frizina!"

"AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!" cried the choir of angels as one. Tarnael's lips made no sound, Eliael whispered amen under his breath, while Kaela glared at Tarnael with resentment.

"Today, as your spirit journeys into the eternal heavens, your wife, Queen Simoanela Frizina, awaits you with open arms amid the three moons that shine upon this isle. May your spirit shape a new paradise in this world, a paradise where good triumphs over evil, and where the earth is filled with the fruits of love and peace. 'Righteous is our Lord, He who reigns over the living and the dead.' May your memory remain a blessing to us all, and your legacy, a light that shall never be extinguished. Amen! Amen!"

All the angels spoke in unison, Amen, as they prayed with their hands clasped together. The words of Priest Alsiel had touched every angel present. Above, the angels in the sky resumed their chorus. Then, as tradition demanded, all the angels attending the ceremony took flight over the king's body, casting down branches of oak upon him, falling like a mourning rain. The withered brown leaves settled over the form that no longer held a soul, now an empty vessel.

Priest Alsiel closed his book and addressed the children:

"Which of you will speak? Who wishes to take the word before the king's spirit is consecrated by the flames of oak?" he asked the three.

Without hesitation, Tarnael rose from his seat and began walking toward the priest, signaling that he would speak.

"Tarnael..." Eliael murmured in sorrow.

"What are you plotting, Tarnael?" Kaela wondered to herself.

Eliael gazed at his brother with sadness, for Tarnael had not shed a single tear. He had shown no empathy, no trace of compassion throughout the entire ceremony.

"I believe everyone knows me, but for the sake of formality, I shall introduce myself. My name is Tarnael Frizina. I am the eldest son of King Augustel Frizina and Queen Simonaela Frizina. The loss of my father is not something that one can easily overcome emotionally. Even if you belong to a species devoid of intellect, the absence of a parent is felt as something deeply painful.

My father was an angel of words, generous, wise, courteous," he coughed lightly here, "kind-hearted, magnanimous, loving. He loved our mother dearly, and no one but us truly knows how much he suffered when she was taken from him by a completely unjust execution. He lived with agony in his soul. I cannot even call the life he endured a true life. I felt an unimaginable sorrow every time I saw him in that state. And so, I put an end to his suffering."

At that moment, every angel froze at Tarnael's words. Their faces stiffened in disbelief. The choir of angels that had been singing now stared at him in fear. Others dropped the oak branches they were holding, stunned by the treachery they had just heard.

'S-Son, w-what are you saying?' asked the priest, unable to accept the confession of the young man.

"King Augustel died by my hand. I, Prince Tarnael, and soon to be King Tarnael Frizina."

The angels erupted in outrage at the prince's declaration. They began to shout, to hurl objects in protest, in anger, in hatred. They were consumed by feelings of abhorrence toward him."

"How dare you insult the honor of the angels?"

"Criminal!"

"Wretch!"

"Bastard!"

The angels hurled insults, inflamed by Tarnael's words upon the podium.

"My son, I believe that is enough. You may leave now," the priest said.

"Our nation is in need of reformation. It needs a leader with a cold and steady hand. It needs one who will trample upon those who deserve it. Our mother was burned alive only because humans, beings inferior in intellect, imagined she was weaving a plot against them. It is taboo when we dare to harm them, yet it is not when they choose to harm us? Such madness was crafted by our own compliance.

The sinners must be burned alive in the flames of justice. Our father was far too gentle, far too bound by emotion. In truth, I did him a favor by ending the silent torment he carried within him.

We, the angels, must seize control of the entire divine isle; otherwise, we shall forever be scorned by the inferior species. Father... I will accomplish what you could not in all your life. I will bring peace, a peace that will restore dignity to our nation.

There will be no more tolerance. No more undeserved kindness. The law... shall be me."

"Tarnael..." Eliael whispered under his breath.

"Bastard," Kaela muttered to herself.

The angels fell into silence after Tarnael's speech before the body of King Augustel.

"He's gone mad."

"There's no way he actually said such things."

"Harming mortals? That's absurd."

Murmurs rippled through the assembly, voices doubting Tarnael's declaration.

"My son. What you have just confessed to doing, and the words you have spoken, are themselves a grave condemnation upon you. You will not escape so easily," the priest said to the young man.

"And who are you to judge me?" Tarnael retorted. The priest trembled at the sharpness of the reply.

"If any among you has something to say against me, then speak it. Shout it aloud! Deep within, you know I am right. Angels have no need of kindness. What we need is a higher sense of justice. What we need is authority.

Why do the Dominions hold their fearsome status? Because they wield violence to project their influence. And we? We skulk behind the scenes like cowards.

Priest," he said, turning his gaze back toward him, "burn the leaves."

The priest could hardly believe his ears, nor the dark aura that Tarnael's soul exuded. He could not fathom that such an angel could exist, a true tyrant cloaked in divine beauty.

"B-Burn the leaves!" the priest commanded, his voice trembling with fear.

A great flame engulfed the central square. In that instant, the angels' hearts turned, their opinion of Tarnael shifting as though bewitched. They chanted his name, each cry sealed with a fervent Amen.

"King Tarnael! Amen! King Tarnael! Amen!" the angels cried, like puppets dancing under the presence of their newly self-proclaimed sovereign.

Tarnael gazed upon the fire consuming the coffin, his eyes alight with boundless malice. They mirrored his soul, corrupted, twisted by pain, yet burning with the resolve to unleash his vision of freedom upon the world, a freedom bound to his own ideals.

"Your desires, your sorrows, share them all with me, my angels. I shall bear the burden of your fate, of our fate as absolute beings. AMEN!" declared Tarnael, as he soared above the flames in majestic triumph, stretching wide his arms like a god worthy of the power he had seized.

The angels continued to chant his name. Some sang, others filled the heavens with the sweep of their divine wings. Tarnael could not restrain the proud smile that spread across his face as the fire scorched the square.

"Brother..." Eliael murmured in confusion.

"Foolishness. Let him be king, let him do as he pleases. I will have my own plans, Tarnael. Your reign will not be a meadow of flowers. I will make certain it is filled with thorns," Kaela said, the firelight casting shadows across her face as she looked upon Tarnael with utter contempt.

The great blaze roared, the crowds of angels sang and chanted Tarnael's name, but to his eyes and ears, the spectacle grew darker and heavier with each moment. He looked upward from his newfound podium of power, yet something stirred unease within his soul. "We did not come to speak of this mortal, Eliael." The phrase echoed in his mind, stronger than the fire, grander than the sight before him.

"What do you think you're doing, Tarnael?" came the moment when Tarnael found himself standing behind the king, his sword ready to carry out the murder he had long planned.

"What should have been done long ago, Father," Tarnael replied, his voice calm and cold.

"You sound far too indifferent, given the weight of this moment. So I am nothing more than an obstacle to you, is that it? Nothing else binds you to me?" the king continued, speaking without turning his head.

"You're right. You are the wall that keeps me from the treasure," Tarnael answered.

"Hahahahahaha! I never knew I had raised a psychopath like you. I don't know whether to feel proud of you or utterly disappointed, Tarnael. You are my most perfect child. You have no weaknesses. You always take the right course of action. And yet now, I no longer know what to feel. And that sword you've pressed against my throat... do you really think you can kill me?" the king asked mockingly, turning his head toward the blade, now only millimeters from his neck, as he fixed his son with an intimidating stare.

"At the very least, I'll try to put an end to your worthless reign, in the only way I know how. And—"

Tarnael broke off mid-sentence when, without warning, he saw a black scythe, razor-sharp, racing toward the king with terrifying speed.

"Hm?! NHHHOOOUUKK!!!"

The tip of the scythe plunged into the king's chest, forcing blood to spurt from his mouth as a crimson waterfall burst from the wound.

"What the!?" Tarnael muttered, shaken and caught off guard, his shell of cold indifference cracking beneath the weight of raw emotion.

"YOU BASTARD! KHHOOUKK!! You will pa—what is this?!" The king's voice faltered as he noticed the strange energy coating the scythe, dark crimson streaked with black. The weapon pulled free, leaving him unable to recover from the fatal blow.

He tumbled from his throne, rolling helplessly down its steps in a pitiful fall. He struggled for breath, his eyes fixed on Tarnael, who now stood wide-eyed in shock. The king raised his right hand toward his son, but it was futile. His hand fell lifelessly to the ground. Augustel was dead.

Tarnael drew deep, unsteady breaths. He could not understand what he was feeling, shock, sorrow, betrayal, fear, pity, even empathy. He lifted his gaze toward the direction of the scythe and saw it gripped in Glauk's hands. The weapon radiated an energy unlike anything he had ever seen. It had slain the king as if it were nothing... and then, just as suddenly, the aura faded from the blade.

"W-Who are you? What have you done?" Tarnael demanded of Glauk, whom he did not recognize in that moment.

The figure gave no reply, only glanced at Tarnael from the corner of his eye. That single right eye sent a shiver crawling through Tarnael's being, a sensation unlike anything he had felt before. It was eerily similar to the feeling he experienced when he first encountered the woman in the crimson gown.

Then, without a word, Glauk made the scythe vanish into nothingness and began to walk calmly out of the chamber.

"What was that? Why did he kill him?" Tarnael muttered to himself, shaken to the core by what he had just witnessed.

"It's what you wanted, isn't it? Tarnael..."

"HAH!? The woman?!" he gasped as her voice curled through his ears.

"The death of your father... Rejoice. Take the crown, still dripping with his blood... Place it upon your head... You are king now..." whispered the woman's voice, both seductive and terrifying, resonating in his mind.

And so he sat upon the throne, the bloodstained crown resting upon his brow...