History remembers Monarchs as monsters.
It does not remember what they were before the war chose them.
I. Before Blood Was a Weapon
Long before Earth existed as a battlefield, the realm of Blood was not a hellscape.
It was warm.
Red skies glowed softly like sunset stretched into eternity. Rivers of vitality flowed through fertile plains, nourishing a race that thrived on shared life-force rather than conquest. Blood was sacred there — a symbol of lineage, protection, and continuity.
At its center stood a king.
The Monarch of Blood had not always been called that.
He ruled without tyranny. His people did not kneel out of fear, but respect. Disputes were settled by ritual, not slaughter. Power was shared through bonds, not domination.
He believed strength existed to preserve, not consume.
That belief ended the day Antares arrived.
The sky tore open without warning. No herald. No negotiation. The presence alone crushed cities into silence. Dragons did not descend — they were unnecessary.
Antares stood alone.
"Join me."
The Blood King refused.
Not angrily. Not arrogantly.
Simply… calmly.
He spoke of sovereignty. Of balance. Of refusing a war that would annihilate realms that had done nothing wrong.
Antares listened.
Then he destroyed a continent.
Not in rage — in demonstration.
Life extinguished. Rivers evaporated. The concept of blood itself unraveled in that region, leaving nothing but emptiness where millions had lived seconds before.
Antares turned back.
"Join. Or everything ends."
The Blood King fought.
It was not a battle — it was a verdict. His power, once absolute in his realm, bent under annihilation. His blood boiled against his will. His throne shattered. His people screamed as reality itself rejected them.
Defeat was inevitable.
Antares did not kill him.
That was the cruelty.
Instead, he showed him visions — futures where refusal meant extinction, where surrender meant survival at the cost of morality.
So the Blood King chose.
He knelt.
And in doing so, became the Monarch of Blood.
From that day on, blood was no longer sacred.
It was currency.
II. The Cold That Chose Survival
The Frost Realm was harsher.
It always had been.
Ice storms scoured the land, and survival demanded strength. Yet even there, order existed. The Frost Monarch — Sillad — ruled not as a butcher, but as a warden. His people endured because he endured first.
They were not conquerors.
They were survivors.
Antares' arrival froze the realm mid-blizzard.
Time itself slowed as annihilation pressed down like a second atmosphere. Sillad understood instantly: this was not a being you resisted.
Still, he raised his spear.
Their clash shattered glaciers that had stood since creation. Frost magic failed. Absolute zero meant nothing against something that erased concepts.
Antares halted the fight early.
"You understand loss," he said."Kneel, and your realm endures."
Sillad looked upon his people — warriors frozen in place, children trapped in time, an entire civilization balanced on his decision.
He knelt.
Antares spared them.
No destruction. No punishment. Only chains disguised as mercy.
Thus Sillad became the Monarch of Frost, bound to a war he despised, preserving his people by turning his heart to ice.
III. The One Who Refused
Not all Monarchs bent.
The original Demon King, Baran, was offered the same choice.
Power. Survival. Dominion beneath Antares' banner.
Baran laughed.
He refused to kneel. Refused to bargain. Refused to sacrifice his will for survival.
Antares did not argue.
The Demon Realm burned.
Baran fought until the end — not for victory, but defiance. His death was absolute. His realm erased so thoroughly that even memory struggled to retain its shape.
From that moment on, the lesson was clear.
Those who refused did not become legends.
They became warnings.
IV. Truth Beneath the Titles
So when the Blood Monarch spilled civilian lives on Earth…
It was not because he enjoyed cruelty.
It was because he had learned, long ago, that hesitation meant extinction.
When Sillad advanced with frozen armies…
It was not hatred.
It was obligation.
They were not born evil.
They were trained to be.
Forged by annihilation. Bound by survival. Serving a master who did not need loyalty — only obedience.
And somewhere beyond the battlefield, Antares watched once more.
Not as a tyrant.
But as the architect of monsters who once were kings.