Moonlight flooded the silent hallway with silver sorrow. Ruvan walked barefoot upon cold marble, each step smearing dark blood from his torn soles. Shadows swirled around him like living serpents, whispering silent praises as he moved. Their cold touch licked at his skin, weaving through the markings etched along his wrists where sin had burned its truth into flesh.
The crimson threads flowed from his fingertips, stretching into the darkness like veins of a sleeping god. Every pulse echoed with life beyond his own. He felt the presence of the knight he had slain, still warm upon the ground behind him. He felt the silent tremor of servants hiding in darkened chambers, praying the passing shadow would not notice them. He felt every breath drawn within these walls, felt each hidden guilt blooming like black roses within human hearts.
At the end of the corridor rose towering obsidian gates. Torchlight flickered across etched runes that bound the imperial throne to heaven's favour. Ruvan stood before them, the shadows gathering behind him in silent legion. His bloodied hand rose to touch the cold iron in quiet greeting. The threads hummed with anticipation.
The gates opened without resistance. Silence spilled from the throne room beyond, heavy and suffocating. He stepped into the vast marble hall, shadows curling around his feet like a coronation procession. Above him, stained glass windows fractured moonlight into pale spectres dancing across painted ceilings. Crimson and gold banners lined the walls, embroidered with symbols of conquest and faith.
At the far end of the hall sat the Emperor upon his obsidian throne. Robes of iron-threaded crimson draped his form, and upon his brow rested a crown forged from conquered kingdoms. His gaze, grey as winter skies, swept across Ruvan without emotion. Nobles knelt in two lines before the dais, heads bowed in feigned reverence as they whispered prayers for the empire's prosperity. Their words faltered as they saw him approach, robes torn and soaked in drying blood, eyes black with shadows that pulsed with unearthly light.
Ruvan walked forward, each step echoing like a funeral bell within the silent hall. The nobles' prayers died upon their lips. Some clutched their prayer beads, knuckles white with fear. Others turned away, unable to bear the sight of the imperial disgrace dragging filth across sacred marble. But he no longer heard their contempt. Their hatred was nothing. Their disgust was ash. All that remained within him was purpose.
He stopped at the foot of the throne's black dais. The Emperor regarded him in silence. Then his lips parted, voice low and cold as death itself. He asked what a creature without blessings, without titles, without even a name in court records, sought within the throne room at the hour reserved for kings.
Ruvan lifted his hand. Crimson threads erupted from his fingers, lancing outward to pierce the hearts of every noble present. Gasps and choked cries filled the hall as shadows coiled around their necks like silent executioners. Tears welled in painted eyes. Gilded circlets toppled to marble floors, ringing with brittle finality.
He spoke, voice soft and calm as midnight snow.
I have come to reclaim what is mine.
The Emperor did not move. His gaze remained unblinking, cold iron meeting abyssal shadow. Slowly he rose from his throne. Power radiated from him in crushing waves, pressing down upon Ruvan's frail chest until his bones ached with creaking pain. His robes flowed across marble like spilled blood, crown gleaming in pale moonlight.
He asked what a worm born of sin and filth could ever claim from the divine empire. His words dripped contempt, each syllable forged to crush hope before it could bloom.
Ruvan's fingers tightened around the threads. Shadows roared within his veins, exultant and savage. He saw every hidden sin within the nobles now weeping before him. Greed that sold starving peasants into mines. Lust that shattered innocence. Betrayals that drowned cities in famine and ash.
He saw their sins and felt no pity. No guilt. Only a quiet certainty blooming cold and vast within his chest.
He spoke again, softer now, yet each word cut deeper than any blade.
Your empire was built upon their sins. Now they belong to me.
The Emperor's power surged, shaking stained glass within iron frames. Shadows peeled from the marble floor beneath Ruvan's feet, rising to shield him from the crushing weight pressing against his heart. For the first time, the Emperor's gaze flickered with surprise.
Ruvan inhaled deeply. The hall reeked of fear and candle smoke, but beneath it lingered the scent of old blood and rotting faith. His smile held no warmth, only the serenity of a predator who knew its prey could not flee.
He spoke a final time, each syllable a promise carved in darkness.
Come then. Kill me, if you can.
The throne within his mind roared its approval as shadows surged upward to drown the moonlight in absolute night.