Chapter 4 - The Demon Awakens

Blackridge valley steamed under twin moons, air thick with rot and rune-smoke. Arin trudged the corpse-road, boots sucking mud, crown pulsing like exposed nerve. Generals trailed at distance—smart. After the ridge slaughter, none dared close. Bodies twisted everywhere: rebels fused in stone, imperials bloated by poison. Victory reeked."Pick the banners. Claim them." Sly voice again, greedy. Arin snatched a fallen standard—Valthor gold, mud-caked. Planted it deep. Cheers erupted from loyal lines. "The Tyrant endures!" But his gut twisted. How many of those faces plotted still?Hoofbeats cut fog—heavy, lone. Duke Valthor himself burst through, armor rent like paper, sword gore-slick. Face twisted beast-rage, eyes locked Arin. No guards. No fear. "Demon! You poisoned gods' own river!" He charged, blade whistling death-arc.Time slowed. "Move left. Counter throat." Battle-whisper—not Arin's. Instinct hijacked: sidestep fluid, dagger flashing from void-sheath. Valthor's swing whistled empty. Arin twisted in, blade sinking home—crunch through gorget, hot blood spraying jaw. Duke gurgled, dropped knees. "What... are you?"Arin knelt close, voice layered eerie—his plus echoes. "The throne. And you forgot its teeth." Twist. Out. Valthor slumped, eyes glassing. Silence crashed. Surviving rebels watched from shadows, weapons clattering surrender. One by one, knees hit mud. "Mercy, Emperor-Demon!"Arin rose, banner high. Cheers thundered now—fear-born fervor. Generals rushed, pounding fists to chests. "The ridge is ours! Valthor's line breaks!" Korran grinned wolfish. "They call you unbreakable, sire.""Lies. Feed more." The ancient growl swelled, drowning others. Arin's vision blurred—valleys shifted to coliseums of bone, crowds chanting Kalabhra eternal. Crown burned. He staggered, hand to temple. Crack widened, glowing faint crimson.Camp that night buzzed victory—fires crackling, ale flowing cautious. Arin sat apart, staring embers. Voices warred louder. "Purge the camp. No survivors whisper." "Wait. Build cult first." "Burn it all rebirth." He clenched fists till nails drew blood. Control it. You're the cage.A shadow fell—young captain from council, eyes wide hero-worship. "Sire... the men say gods ride your blood. Is it true?" Arin met gaze, forcing calm. "Gods die. Emperors don't." Boy nodded fervent, scampering off. Seeds planted.Midnight spyglass thrust in: "High Court envoys, Majesty. From capital. Demand audience—now." Arin straightened. Brothers rallied? Or counter-coup? Six days ticking. Crown pulsed urgent, ancient voice booming solo: "They come to kneel... or die trying. Let me speak."Pain lanced skull—crack split audible. Something uncoiled inside, vast and starving. Eyes burned amber brighter. When generals gathered, Arin's grin wasn't his alone.