Chapter VI

Darkness consumed every corner of Enevol.

Within the cavern cities of both Great Houses, millions of Commoners held their breath in terrified anticipation. Parents clutched their children. Husbands reached blindly for their wives. Even the machinery within the mines had fallen silent, leaving the entire realm suspended within an unnatural stillness.

Then—

A sharp, piercing hum split the dark.

The sound resonated through stone, flesh, and bone before vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Silence returned.

The hum sounded again.

Then a third time.

After the final pulse faded, a distant roll of thunder traveled across the subterranean world. Its low growl seemed to pass beneath every city simultaneously, as though Enevol itself had drawn one vast breath.

Then all became quiet once more.

Across the territories of House Galan and House Erembaur, six random locations ignited simultaneously, two at a time.

At each point, a pillar of crimson energy erupted from the earth and pierced the darkness above.

The red glow illuminated the horrified faces of every witness nearby.

Within each beam stood one chosen Commoner.

Six in total.

Three from each Great House.

Their bodies rose slowly into the air, suspended within the light as if held by invisible hands. Their eyes remained open, yet empty. Their limbs hung loosely at their sides as they entered a trance deeper than sleep.

Families screamed their names.

Mothers reached toward their children.

Fathers attempted to force their way through the crowds.

Friends and siblings pleaded with the chosen to awaken.

None received an answer.

Then—

All six beams erupted.

Red, orange, and golden flames engulfed the chosen Commoners at once.

Their bodies twisted within the inferno as the ancient metamorphosis began.

Bone cracked.

Flesh reshaped itself.

Human cries distorted into something no longer human.

The sacrificial flames expanded beyond the beams, consuming anyone unfortunate enough to stand too close. Parents, siblings, friends, and neighbors were reduced to ash around those they had desperately tried to save.

The birth of every Demon Lord demanded tribute.

And the Great Houses had never cared who paid it.

For one hour, the six chosen burned.

When the transformation flames finally subsided, each candidate remained suspended within a shimmering black cocoon.

The surrounding fires were extinguished.

Royal servants and Administrators entered the devastated areas to collect the charred remains of the dead. What could be recovered was carried to a sacred burial ground reserved exclusively for those who had perished during the creation of Demon Lords throughout Enevol’s history.

Names would be recorded.

Families would be expected to feel honored.

The Great Houses would call their deaths necessary.

But Enevol had not yet escaped the Hexturnal Irregular.

The cavern cities continued to tremble beneath violent aftershocks.

The final stage had begun.

It was known as the March of the Demon Lords.

The March served as the culmination of both the traditional Hexturnal Enlistment and the far rarer Hexturnal Irregular. Once the newly created Demon Lords completed their transformations, they would break free from their cocoons with explosive force.

One by one, they rose into the sky.

Beneath them, the Commoners marched toward the royal courts, singing sacred hymns while following the ascending figures of their newly born fiery deities.

Only after the March would the identities of the chosen be revealed.

“So…”

King Victorian Galan spoke softly as he looked toward the distant horizon.

“It is done.”

Hearing this on their shared communication line, King Donte Erembaur stood upon the neighboring royal platform overlooking his own territory.

“It is done,” the elderly monarch answered.

His expression remained solemn.

For several moments, neither King spoke.

Below them, distant red pillars continued to glow across the lands of their respective Houses.

Donte placed one hand against the fine ocean-blue silk covering his chest.

“I have lived a long life, young King,” Victorian said.

Donte’s eyes remained fixed upon the horizon.

“And something deep within my heart tells me that a shift in the wind is approaching.”

Victorian’s midnight gaze narrowed.

“Ah…”

A quiet understanding passed over his face.

“You sense it as well, old King.”

The Silent One raised his head and drew in a long breath.

The crimson sky above Enevol appeared unchanged, yet an unfamiliar pressure moved through the air.

“Since we are alone,” Victorian continued, “and presently awaiting the arrival of our new weapons…”

He paused.

“I shall confess something to you in secrecy.”

Donte said nothing.

He merely listened.

“Last night, I dreamt that I was lying peacefully among the lavender fields of House Galan.”

Victorian’s normally cold expression softened beneath the memory.

“As I rested, a whisper entered my mind.”

The young King closed his eyes.

Then he recited the words exactly as he had heard them.

One stood before seven crowns,
Beyond the covenant of Enevol and skies.
Their shadow bore the Calamity to be,
Enevol then witnessed what none could see.

Silence settled between the monarchs.

King Donte savored the prophecy as though Victorian had placed a royal feast before him. He repeated each line within his thoughts, weighing every word and searching for a meaning hidden beneath its strange construction.

One stood before seven crowns.

A Calamity yet to be.

Something beyond Enevol and the skies.

Something the realm had never seen.

Before either King could offer their interpretation, the heavens erupted.

The first black cocoon shattered.

A newly born Demon Lord launched into the sky within an explosion of fire.

Then came another.

And another.

Across Enevol, five trails of infernal light lifted high toward the Royal platforms.

Millions of Commoners poured out from their cavern cities, marching beneath the fiery weapons. Men, women, and children raised their voices in sacred hymns filled equally with hope and sorrow.

They praised the new Demon Lords.

They mourned the lives consumed during their birth.

They celebrated for the Great Houses commanded so.

From his vantage above the immense territories of House Galan, Victorian identified the origins of his three approaching weapons.

The first had emerged from the deep south.

The second streaked from the southwestern coast, a region the Silent One regarded with great favor for its vast concentration of productive gold-mining cities.

The third rose from the central territories near the Great Galan reservoir.

Three Demon Lords.

As expected.

Victorian watched their distant flames converge upon his position.

King Donte surveyed the skies above House Erembaur.

His expression began to slowly change.

One Demon Lord approached from the most remote western reaches of his kingdom.

A second ascended from a cavern city just north of the Great Cape of Enevol.

Donte waited.

No third flame appeared.

“Hm…”

His eyes searched the northeastern sky.

“Where is the third?”

His whisper traveled farther than he intended.

For King Victorian heard his words.

The younger King shifted his attention from the approaching Galan Demon Lords toward the lands below House Erembaur’s platform using binoculars.

“It seems something has captured the attention of your Commoners, old King.”

Far below, the March had begun to fracture.

The Commoners were no longer proceeding toward their King in orderly formation.

They were gathering elsewhere.

“Look,” Victorian continued. “They are swarming toward some spectacle.”

Millions of people suddenly surged in the same direction.

Men, women, and children abandoned the ceremonial path and rushed toward an unseen location beyond the Kings’ line of sight.

They shouted.

Pointed.

Wept.

Some danced in hysterical wonder.

Others pushed desperately through the crowds, kicking up vast cyclones of dust as the human tide continued to swell.

Victorian’s expression hardened.

“Something has stirred them.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I have never witnessed Commoners behave in such a manner.”

Royal guards moved in to protect their Kings.

Moments later, an Administrator from House Erembaur hurried toward the platform.

The young woman wore the ocean-blue colors of his House. Her long, brilliant blonde hair streamed behind her, her left eye was golden brown, while her right eye light green identifying her heterochromia mutation that separated her from ordinary Commoners.

The guards of House Erembaur searched her before allowing her to approach.

She leaned close to King Donte, her full red lips near his ear.

“Something has happened, Your Majesty.”

Her voice was low and urgent.

“Something… unprecedented.”

King Donte pulled back sharply.

Before he could demand an explanation, the newly anointed Demon Lords began landing before their rightful Kings.

Three figures descended before Victorian Galan.

Their arrival shook the platform as crimson flames spread briefly beneath their feet.

Across from them, only two Demon Lords landed before Donte Erembaur.

The Administrator raised one trembling hand.

She pointed toward the northern sky.

Both Kings followed her gesture.

Then they froze.

Far above the churning sea of Commoners, the final Demon Lord of House Erembaur had finally been revealed.

Donte stared upward.

His face lost its color.

“This cannot be…”

The words barely escaped him.

“How is this possible?”

For the first time in decades, the Wise Old Owl’s voice faltered.

“My sister…”

He struggled to gather his thoughts.

“Where is my sister?”

The revelation was so impossible that, for several moments, Donte Erembaur seemed to forget how to speak.

The guards surrounding Victorian Galan urged their King to withdraw.

“Your Majesty, stand back.”

“Return to the royal chamber immediately.”

Victorian did not move.

The Silent One could not tear his eyes away from the figure descending through the northern sky.

Neither King could comprehend what they were witnessing.

The final Demon Lord descended before King Donte Erembaur.

Their flames before the King were not red, nor yellow, nor orange, but white, intertwined with an ethereal lavender around their body as their feet touched the royal platform.

Donte stared into the face of a young man standing before him.

Not a stranger.

Not a nameless Commoner taken from the mines..

Standing before the King of House Erembaur was none other than his own nephew.

Browyn Erembaur.