Afterwards...
The Maidio Tower—the Mana-Radio signal tower of Limana Kingdom—stood as a beacon of their arrogance. A needle-thin spire of white marble and crystal, it broadcast the royal decrees and the Sorcerer Council's sanitized news. It was a symbol of their control. And it was the first thing to fall.
A wave of black fire, a silent, all-consuming tide, washed over the base of the tower. It didn't burn the stone or the wood; it fed on the mana that held the structure together. The brilliant, pulsating runes that powered the Maidio Tower flickered, then died, reduced to smoking, charred scars on the marble. The structure shivered, groaned, and began to list.
From the shadows, a single figure emerged. Dartivus Vaderius, his form a silhouette of jagged, blackened armor, stood before the collapsing tower. His eyes, two points of burning crimson-black light, stared up at the once-proud spire.
Dartivus Vaderius: "Your lies have a new home—the dust."
He raised his charred, blade-like staff. The very air around him grew heavy, oppressive. His body, laced with glowing obsidian veins, pulsed with a dreadful power.
An enraged chorus of shouts erupted as the Maidio Tower's guards, a company of Sorcerer-Guards clad in polished bronze and blue, charged forward.
Sorcerer-Guard Captain: "You! You're the traitor from the 150th! What twisted spell is this?!"
Dartivus didn't respond. He simply extended a hand. Black flames, the Obsidian Pyre, erupted from his palm and raced across the ground, consuming the mana in the air. The guards' spells—bolts of lightning, shields of force—fizzled into nothing as the flames devoured their magical foundations. The flames didn't burn their flesh but wrapped around their wands, cracking them, and seared their arcane tattoos, causing them to scream in agony.
Sorcerer-Guard Captain: "It burns the mana… it's impossible!"
Dartivus Vaderius: "You cling to a false power. Your faith in mana is your weakness. My flames are the truth of your kingdom's betrayal."
He walked through the chaos, an unstoppable force of vengeance. The Sorcerer-Guards, their pride and magic rendered useless, scattered in panic.
Dartivus reached the base of the tower and placed his hand on the final, core rune. The Pactbrand Corrosion pulsed on his palm, and the sigil spread like a cancerous growth across the crystal. The rune groaned, then shattered, a final act that brought the colossal structure crashing down in a thunderous roar, sending a dust cloud of pulverized marble and shattered hope across the capital.
As the dust settled, he stepped onto the ruins. The Maidio Tower's main broadcast crystal, miraculously intact, lay at his feet. He knelt, his crimson gaze boring into the polished surface.
A low hum of arcane power filled the air. With a gesture, he began to project his thoughts, his voice, not with mana, but with the raw, untamed power of his will. The broadcast signal, once so pristine and controlled, was now a fractured, horrifying vision of the fallen tower, and the terrifying figure standing over it.
Dartivus Vaderius (his voice amplified, reaching every corner of the kingdom): "Listen, people of Limana! This is not a broadcast from your Grand Sorcerer. This is a final testament from a man you left to die. From a Commander who watched 150 loyal souls become ashes for a kingdom that wouldn't shed a single tear."
Across Limana, in the bustling marketplaces, in the gilded halls of the High Congress, and in the sanctuary of the Sorcerer's Council, the broadcast blared. The faces of the Council, including Grand Sorcerer Elara, were pale with shock and rage.
Dartivus Vaderius: "You watch this, you who sit on your thrones of privilege, you who sent us to our graves. You believed your mana barricade would last forever. It didn't. You believed your hero, Light Sabre, would save you. He didn't. He fell to the darkness you created. The darkness you cultivated when you ignored his warnings and dismissed a Commander's grief."
He stood up, and a spectral figure, a towering knight of flame and shadow, rose behind him, an aura of suffocating power spreading. This was the Infernal Coronation.
Dartivus Vaderius: "I was Darius Vael. But that man is dead. Now, I am Dartivus Vaderius, the Scourge of Crowns. The one you abandoned. And I am coming for you."
The doors to the Sorcerer's Council chamber burst open, the wood splintering inward. The high-backed chairs were still arranged in a circle, and the Arch Sorcerers, panicked and indignant, were gathered there. The same men who had dismissed Light Sabre's report now faced a living consequence of their own hubris.
Dartivus Vaderius, cloaked in the spectral aura of his Infernal Coronation, strode into the chamber. Behind him, the Ashen Phalanx began to manifest, dozens of spectral knights of flame and ash, their armor shimmering with the eerie light of a thousand burning pyres. They were the shades of the 150th, and they moved with the eerie silence of the grave, flanking their new master.
Grand Sorcerer Elara: "How dare you trespass here, monster! We are the masters of Limana! We are the fount of its power!"
Dartivus Vaderius: "You are the masters of a graveyard. And I am its caretaker."
Arch Sorcerer Valerius of the School of Divination stepped forward, his face contorted in a mix of fear and fury.
Arch Sorcerer Valerius: "My sight has never been so clouded. The future—it's just… ash!"
Dartivus Vaderius: "Your future is what I have decided it to be. Ashes and ruin."
Valerius threw a cascade of arcane lightning. The bolts, potent enough to level a small fortress, struck Dartivus's body. They didn't even make a sound. The lightning was simply absorbed, a minor flicker in the glowing Veins of Obsidian that covered his body. The lightning, a manifestation of pure mana, was simply consumed, strengthening him.
Dartivus Vaderius: "My pain is your power."
He extended his blade-like staff and, with a silent command, a spectral greatsword of obsidian fire materialized high above the ceiling.
Dartivus Vaderius: "Crownbreaker's Wrath."
The sword descended, not on one target, but on the entire Council chamber. Its sheer force was meant to shatter power, to break authority. The Arch and Saint Sorcerers, the very foundation of the kingdom's magical authority, were the target. The weapon was a symbolic execution of kingship.
The Council and Congress members, in a unified act of desperation, threw up their most powerful defensive wards. A shimmering dome of interwoven mana shields enveloped the room.
The spectral sword of black fire struck the dome. It didn't crack. It didn't shatter. It dissolved.
The wards, their mana-based nature, were no match for the Obsidian Pyre that coated the blade. The Crownbreaker's Wrath passed through the defenses as if they were made of smoke, then detonated on impact, sending a cataclysmic eruption of black flame and raw force through the chamber.
When the flames subsided, the chamber was a ruin. Stone was melted, tapestries were charred, and the high-backed chairs were reduced to splinters. And the bodies of the Arch and Saint Sorcerers… their skin was covered in cracks like shattered porcelain, and their arcane tattoos were seared into black brands. They were not just killed; they were unmade, their power and authority obliterated.
Only Grand Sorcerer Elara remained, battered and bruised, her body twitching. Her ancient staff was snapped in half at her side.
Elara (coughing, blood at the corner of her mouth): "You… are a monster. You've destroyed the heart of Limana."
Dartivus knelt, his crimson gaze cold and final. He placed his hand on her face, and the sigil of the Pactbrand Corrosion burned onto her skin.
Dartivus Vaderius: "No. I am a reflection. The one you created with your callous indifference. The heart of Limana was never here, it was on the battlefield. It was in the hands of the soldiers you betrayed. And now, their grief is a curse that you will feel for eternity."
He stood, looking out over the decimated chamber. The spectral knights of his Ashen Phalanx stood at attention behind him, a silent, terrible army of the dead.
He looked at the ruin he had wrought, a world reduced to ash and pain. But in his eyes, there was no regret. Only a chilling, absolute calm. The vengeance was sweet, but the war had just begun. He had broken their crown, but there were countless others still to be shattered.
Dartivus Vaderius: "Let the kingdoms tremble. The Age of Crowns is over. The age of fire… has truly begun."