Chapter 29: The War of Roses

In the empty space above a moonless world, a bright form of cyan appeared. Her hair spreading behind her in the gravity less void, Arcane curled herself into a ball and hugged her knees to herself. Partings… whether those in the ancient past, or those of today, all were difficult. Especially with the path of fate now inscribed on the world below, with the future she knew was just beginning to occur.

Arcane’s frozen tears drifted away from her, like tiny crystal stars twinkling in the void. Her eyes remained sealed shut, unable to blink them clear. She brushed the back of her hand across her face instead, straightening out and spreading her limbs as she floated around the planet, though the surface below her never changed. Slowly rotating, she cast her gaze across the glittering heavens that looked down on worlds with such impartial lights. Letting her arms fall back to her sides, or perhaps rise to rejoin them, she seemed to smile condescendingly at them.

A glass sword removed itself from her back, the glass brilliantly refracting the unhindered sunlight to produce a rainbow cascade of color across the floating jewels. Dark blue leather boiled and froze at once, shattering under conditions it was never meant to endure. The dust from its destruction formed a glowing halo around Arcane, a divine aura as if to inspire any who perceive her.

The aura sharpened, adapting to the pattern of force that surges from her body like a thousand blades. A flash of light; the blades struck as one. The rainbow blinked before it was distorted, myriad colors losing any semblance of pattern as the glass blade which created them was shattered by Arcane’s will. The enchantments dissipated easily as the shards broke into fragments and then dust. Finally, the tiny wisps of matter born from the planet below were accelerated by the gravity well that did not quite affect the cyan dressed girl the right way, falling like tiny shooting stars and lighting temporary sparks in the thin air far below.

Obscurus had served its purpose; there was no longer any need to hide. Stepping gently onto the suddenly solid form of darkness, Arcane stood proudly overlooking the blue-green sphere below. Magic swirled around her, invisible light wreathing her in its power and glory as if welcoming the return of its mistress. And so, like a queen, or a god above, she watched the script play out. And into the silent darkness, in the halo of light that held back the endless void, she began to speak.

“You know, they say everything in this universe is driven by a single concept: power.” Arcane said softly, her closed eyes fixed on the world below. “They claim that all we do, all we are, everything we will become, exists to seek it, to increase it, to enhance it. Without it, we are nothing; with it, we are everything.”

“That was the law of my time. It remains the law of yours.” she continued, shaking her head sadly. “Yet power for power’s sake is nothing but a curse. Corrupt, unmanageable, painful; it brings nothing but agony, gifts nothing but suffering. A goal must be defined; a reason for power to exist, a reason to seek it, to sacrifice and struggle and try with all your heart and soul to obtain it. Without that reason, you are empty, hollow. Without it, no matter how much power you gain to fill that hole in yourself, you are nothing.”

“Purpose…” Arcane repeated, her voice pensive. “The downfall of my time, and the torment of yours. What is your purpose, I wonder? To fight, to win, to become strong… no, these are not ends, but means. What do you seek, dear child? Perhaps, to rule; perhaps, to lead? Is that what your heart seeks, beneath the veneer of vengeance and strength? Dominance, control, ownership of that which you believe to be yours?”

“Yet, you must be wary.” Arcane said, her attention drawn by the happenings on the world below. She was high enough for mountains to appear as specks, continents as shapes, but she still saw and heard quite clearly everything said by a single individual to a nation.

“My people, we will not flee any longer!” Annabelle shouted at the mouth of a cavern, the huddled masses perking up at her words. Deadridge and Chrysanth had been persuaded to stand aside, though it was obvious neither was pleased with this turn of events. Listening with frowns fixed on their faces, they stood behind the newly crowned Rose Queen as she spoke to the escaped remnants of her nation.

“Our capital has burned! Our brothers and sisters, sons and fathers, lovers and friends have perished to the despicable Boreal Empire. We have all lost much. Too much. And I know, my people, that you believe I am asking you to lose more now.” Annabelle said, her ears twitching as she shook her head.

“But, my dear people, do you truly believe I have lost any less than you? My throne is usurped, my castle plundered, my father murdered by that beast who persecutes you as he seeks to destroy me.” Many of the elfbeasts started to frown at Annabelle’s complaints, not seeing how that made more fighting and loss right. “But that does not make me wish to surrender!”

Annabelle’s shout roused them, her sudden change of tack removing their frowns. “I am furious at those who took from me! I know you are too; you have marched so far, driven yourselves so hard just to deny that fool prince his victory! But this flight, this running away, that will not defeat his ambitions! We are just enabling him to relax and strengthen his hold on our land, on our cities! My people, tell me: is that the vengeance you seek?”

Many heads started to shake, ears laid back and tails stiff. Deadridge and Chrysanth exchange a glance, doubt still in their eyes but understanding as well. Not seeing any of that, Annabelle continues to pronounce her conviction.

“My people, the Black Prince is lazy and overconfident! He was given victory too easily, a victory without struggle or despair. My people, we have known struggle, we have known despair, haven’t we? Has it not made us strong, made us ready to fight, to break his weak legions and open the gates to his indolent throne? Now is the time, for battle, for conquest, and for vengeance! My people, will you fight with me?” She called, her voice echoing across the caverns as she looked at the thousands of elfbeasts scattered around her. A few slowly nodded, many more pushing themselves to their feet. She shook her head, raising her paw into the air. “I’ll ask again: My people, are you with me?!?!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” The shout came back, hundreds and then thousands jumping to their feet and raising their paws, empty of weapons but filled with heart and determination. Deadridge looks taken aback, Chrysanth stunned, as the hundreds become thousands, weapons are passed around, and soon a myriad of stone spears and swords shake in their air under the control of thousands of battle ready elfbeasts. Females, males, children, elders; all are on their feet, ready to fight till their last breath.

Annabelle smiled, reaching to her waist and drawing a glittering sword of glass in a single smooth motion. It shone with brilliant light, a beacon towards the heavens that caught the attention of all who saw it. “Then, my people, let us go! For the Roses!”

“For the Roses!!!” They shouted back, marching in a unified mass behind Annabelle as she jumped from her perch and ran towards the conquered Rose Kingdom.

“Two paths lay before you, each opposing the other.” A quiet voice sounded in a tiny pocket of air high above, a lament and a warning in one. “Along the first, you will learn that to rule others, you must first rule yourself. Along the other, it will instruct you to first know how to follow before you try to lead. Which will you take, I wonder? Ruler, or leader? They are different, after all; opposite, yet the same. Each is useful; each is needed. The firm hand of a ruler prevents chaos, grants stability and growth to nations strong and weak. Yet all too often, that peace fails and nothing is certain. Then it is the opposite which enjoys the most success.”

“You have yet to take either, child. .” A head shook with closed eyes, seeing nothing and yet everything. “You cannot control yourself, nor do you know how to follow. Yet now, in a time of both chaos and stability, you try to be both. Perhaps you will find your path through that which is to come; but are you prepared to take it? No matter what must be sacrificed, no matter who turns against you?”

”No matter what must be done?”

The force of elfbeasts reached the first town of the Rose Kingdom an hour after the speech, falling upon the garrison of Faceless with discomforting malice. Ripping their enemies to pieces, they reclaimed the city and burned any trace of the Boreal occupation with dreadful prejudice.

Soon after, Annabelle stood atop the city walls, ordering the army forward without a break or pause. Chrysanth tried to counsel her, without much success.

“Your majesty, we must be steadfast.” Chrysanth pleaded.

“I am, lord Chrysanth.” Annabelle replied, sword hung loosely from her paw, stained with traces of blood. “I am implacable as the storm, unyielding as the desert.”

“That isn’t what I mean, my queen.” Chrysanth protested. “We must reclaim the outer towns first, carefully taking our cities back before pushing towards the Prince with the aid of our allies. They are even now on their way, bringing armies to assist us.”

“The Rose Kingdom will be reclaimed by the Rose people, Lord Chrysanth.” Annabelle declared with a steely expression. “That is the way it has always been, and always will.”

“Your majesty, even with that artifact the Black Prince is a terrible foe, close to reaching the ninth tier according to rumors. If he breaks through only the combined might of the entire east can defeat him.” Chrysanth tried again, but Annabelle wasn’t having any of it.

“We are not cowards. We will not retreat before our enemies’ legends.”

“It isn’t cowardice to prepare for what you will face!” Chrysanth screamed.

“I don’t care. Begone, lord, else I will have you made so.” Annabelle growled, jumping down from the wall and joining the army flowing out the gates.

“... she didn’t listen?” Deadridge asked, coming up to stand beside Chrysanth.

He shook his head. “No. Blaze it all! When did she become such a fool? Is our nation doomed to perish because of one child’s hot headedness?”

“We will survive, lord Chrysanth.” Deadridge said in answer, his ears folded sadly. “Already many of our people have fled to the surrounding nations, refugees from the war sure to happen here. Even if we fall today, our people will survive.”

Chrysanth nodded, but didn’t seem happy about it. “They will survive. What of our legacy, Deadridge? Will there ever be a people of Rose again, a king in the Rose city, a nation of flowers? I think not.”

“Have a little faith, my friend.” Deadridge patted him on the shoulder as he walked past. “Perhaps there’s even a chance we will win, and all our worries will be for naught.”

“You know as well as I do that’s impossible.” Chrysanth replied, following.

Deadridge said nothing, but smiled and shook his head while descending from the wall into the stream of Rose soldiers and people marching towards the next battle.

“For now, as always, the cycle continues.” in darkness, a warning continued, speaking against the world entire. “Again and again, throughout countless eons and ages, between myriad worlds and countless nations, over and over and over. Human history is one of struggle, defined by battles, shaped by wars, molded about conflicts. Discord, our native tongue; Antagonism, our favorite language. No matter when, no matter where, it is the same. We disparage it, we rage against it, we deny it, yet every time another chance appears we cannot help but perpetuate that cycle.”

“Today, a thousand will perish. Tomorrow, a million. Devastating, perhaps; a calamity, to you.” Someone shrugged in that darkness, her voice still soft and even. “Once it would have been a minor incident, a mere blip on the cosmic radar, quickly corrected. Yet no matter which, no matter how many perish on those fields of war, no matter how many lives are consumed to create those numbers, that is all they ever are. Statistics, footnotes, a single line in the record of history. For in order to perpetuate that cycle, to continue being human in the worst possible way, we cannot help but deny to them the right of tragedy, the mourning that comes to that which we cannot accept. After all, we cannot allow them to enter the province of that most terrible of things. It was not for countless deaths or great battlefields it was reserved.”

“But for a single, wilted flower.”

Annabelle conquered city after city, her army striking viciously and without fatigue. As the sun set, she gathered her forces outside the Rose Capital itself, overlooking the ruined palace in which the Black Prince furiously roared to gather his own subordinates, denouncing their incompetence for allowing the army to gather outside his gates.

Unlike him, Annabelle took a different tact with her own disgraced followers. Deadridge and Chrysanth were spared any trace of rage or punishment, but also so completely ignored by the ascendent queen wielding the luminous sword of victory that they couldn’t anger her if they tried. Falling back into the main force of the militia army, they worked with subordinates to organize supplies and soldiers into more effective troops, devoting themselves wholeheartedly to a minimal chance of victory without a trace of note or favor from the Queen for whom they struggled.

“My people, look before you. What do you see?” Annabelle asked in a raised voice, leaping to the top of a tree and balancing there. “The site of defeat, the fires of grief and suffering, the strength of our enemy, perhaps? Tell me, does that not enrage you?”

The soldiers, drunk on victory and the feeling of invincibility, raised their blades and cheered. Annabelle nodded, her sword leveled towards the city to show her own determination.

“This is not enough, then. That is our city, our glory, our pride! The enemy now holds the gates; they occupy the markets, invade your homes, steal your treasures! They kick the rubble that covers our dead, glory in the ash that marks our fallen! This is unforgivable!”

“Unforgivable!” The return shout came. “We fight, your majesty!” “Kill them all!” “For the Roses!” a cacophony of cheers of determination echoed around the forest, the army regaining its bloodlust and rage.

“That’s right, my people! We fight, we kill them all, we march onwards! For queen and country! For the Roses!” Annabelle shouted, jumping down and charging towards the city. “For the Roses!”

“For the Roses!” the mass of militia soldiers repeated, racing after her with unparalleled determination and courage. They swarmed out of the forest towards the broken streets and collapsed buildings, waving crude weapons in the thousands without skill or coordination.

Number alone overran the outer edge, the Faceless surrounded and beat down by hundreds of rampaging elfbeasts. The fires that went out days ago were lit once more, the blaze surging ahead of the army and to its sides, breaking the perimeter the Boreal forces had set up around their camp. Deadridge and Chrysanth in the back exchanged glances, then put aside the documents and gear themselves up for war.

With them came cultivators and other elites, military prowess far beyond the common militia and able to fight the Boreal troops one on one. Already outnumbered and overwhelmed, they fell quickly to the savage assault, clearing the Rose city block by block.

The Faceless struck back, halting the militia in their tracks until Annabelle went forth with shining sword in paw, every blow cutting a Faceless in half, destroying cultivation, artifact, and lives alike. From its blade sprang beams of energy to sever all before her, a glorious rampage that left no survivors in its wake. The Faceless gathered to try and stop her relentless assault; they fell to a man, unable to hinder her for even a second. Slowly, she marched on to the ruined castle and the Black Prince within it.

“To prevent that, to deny that the stalks we see will ever perish, is the first and only purpose we claim for power.” The voice in darkness spoke, continuing without pause or break as the world turned below, violence and fire battling in a ruined city. “Power… Man seeks it above all things, yet knows not what it is. From the day they are first born, until the day the last of them will die, they will always believe that it and it alone determines the truth of the universe. Those who live, are the strong. Those who perish, slaughtered on those fields, are the weak. Until, in the end, only those with power remain.”

“Perhaps, in a way, they are right.” The voice continued, mocking and yet consoling. “Without power, one can do nothing but wail impotently against the unfairness of the world. One can do naught but complain for fear of retaliation, or grovel helplessly in the hopes of salvation.”

“Even so, I cannot understand.” She complained. “It is not like one could do any different if they did have the power they so desired. The world remains unfair, treacherous, and dangerous; the stalks they seek so much to protect will fall, in time, no matter what they do to prevent it. Retaliation continues, no matter how overwhelming one becomes, no matter how much one tries to prevent it. And one loses their only other recourse, to grovel for salvation, for it would only seem insincere coming from one who holds the power they so desperately grasped. Without that, only despair remains, in time. Power overwhelming cannot prevent that; nothing can.”

“For the unfairness of which I speak is not rooted in the machinations of the controllable universe, but the deepest depths of the human heart.”

“Black Prince!” Annabelle shouted, cutting aside the last guards to reach the mighty royal on his broken throne. “Dare you face me?”

“How could I not, my darling?” Smirking, he threw aside his black robe and drew his metal sword. “But I’m afraid I cannot go easy on you today.”

Annabelle growled and lunged at him, crystal blade cutting the air as she closed the distance in a heartbeat. He dodged elegantly to the side, sighing and twisting his blade to cut through her dress as he passed.

“A new artifact, I see. But you still can’t control it yet.” He commented, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well enough to destroy you.” Annabelle retorted, tightening her grip.

They stepped in again, metal crashing against glass, light pushing against darkness. Annabelle raised her sword high, slashing downwards with force enough to crush stone to dust. The Black Prince pushed himself to the side, the metal blade an extension of his arm as he cut towards her open waist.

The thick fur she wore was split, but it blocked the worst of the cutting force as Annabelle hardened her skin and rolled backwards with the blow, growling in anger at her loss. The Black Prince did not pursue, stepping back to gain some space of his own.

“Pure power, wielded without artistry or intent.” He spat in disdain.

“Is there artistry in murder, blazed cur?” Annabelle asked in fury, pushing herself up and holding the sword before her. “Or does intent cut down innocents?”

“Petty insults, from a beaten dog.” The Prince snarled, raising his own blade. “I’ll teach you to respect your betters.”

“Go ahead and try.” Annabelle attacked, her blade and words reaching the prince at the same time.

He smoothly deflected her blade, but the impact broke the floor below him and forced him to jump to the side. Annabelle pursued, but the unstable footing tripped her up just long enough for the Prince to counterattack with an underhand swing. Jumping over it, Annabelle let the blade fall like a meteor with herself behind it. The Black Prince retreated again as the stone was thrown up in every direction.

“Blazes! Learn how to fight, you blazed whore!” He cursed, wiping dust and rubble out of his face and ears.

“Not talking so tough now, coward!” Annabelle cried, not stopping for a second.

The Black Prince growled and threw a pawful of stones at her, blinding the Rose queen just long enough for him to score a hit on her arm. Bleeding, Annabelle backed off while the Prince came after her in pursuit.

“Give up! You can’t win!” He shouted, throwing his arm wide while slashing at her with the other.

“Never! I am the Queen of Roses!” Annabelle shouted in reply, warding him off while squinting through tears, her ears laid flat.

“Queen of Roses?!” The Prince scoffed. “A dying nation with weak traditions, just waiting to die. You should be grateful I killed it!”

“How dare you!?” Annabelle screamed. “This nation was better than anything you’ve ever known in that blazed hole you call the west.”

“Hahaha! You truly believe that, don’t you, blazed idiot! Let me tell you, this place is nothing more than a haven of beasts barely better than animals in the minds of the West!” The prince laughed, shaking his head. “In kindness we take some of you in to teach you how to live like civilized elfbeasts, not primitive savages.”

“You’re the pitiful savages!” Annabelle screamed, surging forward with a barrage of attacks and wet eyes glaring savagely at the Prince.

He warded off her attacks, but failed to completely block several strikes. Blood flowing from his arms and torso, he snarled in rage and stabbed Annabelle in the waist. She backed away while sealing the wound with her clothes and cultivation, starting to circle around the prince while searching for an opening.

He did the same, both fighters falling silent as they used their cultivation to boost their physical strength and recover from their wounds. Every twitch or change in their opponent was watched carefully, both waiting for the resumption of battle and the inevitable fight to the death that must follow.

“Are you truly that greedy for power, Prince?” Annabelle asked, her eyes fixed on his face.

He watched her just as closely, but still managed to shake his head. “Greed? No, my dear, this is all for the good of all elfbeasts.”

“Good?” Annabelle gasped. “How is murder and butchery for the good of anyone but yourself?!”

“I would expect a naive, short sighted fool like you not to see it.” The Black Prince replied proudly. “But it’s obvious the current situation can’t continue. With invaders coming from beyond our knowledge, we must be unified.”

“That’s impossible.” Annabelle declared. “The east and west can never be reconciled.”

“That’s correct.” The black prince agreed, surprising Annabelle. “Thus, they must be forced together.”

“So you conquer all of them, is that it?” Annabelle asked in fury.

The Black Prince nodded with a smile. “Exactly. So how about it?”

“How about what?” Annabelle asked, still circling warily with her sword at the ready.

“Want to join me and work together to save this world?” The Black Prince asked with his paw extended, his sword pulled behind him. Annabelle merely stared at him, disbelieving.

“It takes many forms, that darkness at the core of what we call human nature. That we seek power, how poorly we define tragedy, even our difficulty in understanding the necessity of purpose are rooted in its existence. Many have tried to define it, understand it, root it out if at all possible. I don’t think it can be done. For the simple essence of that root of darkness is not evil in and of itself, but purest good. It is the innate righteousness, the unassailable belief that everything we do, no matter how terrible in hindsight, no matter how wrong it seems to others, is right.”

A light voice laughed in the darkness, grimly chuckling at itself and others. “Self-confidence does not do it justice. Arrogance either goes too far, or not far enough. It is not so weak as either of those, yet also not so overwhelming. In fact, it seems almost subtle in its operations. A simple change in mindset, a conviction that we cannot allow our beliefs to be challenged, a faith that whatsoever we do to pursue the utopian ideal they promise is not only right and just, but laudable in the end. We enhance this ourselves, for in moderation it does make us stronger, make us better people. It is the essential piece that gives us free will, independence, creativity, and life itself. Yet like all things, while a little is good, too much becomes something far different.”

“At the point when we stop calling it the character trait of confidence, and instead disparage it as the sin of pride.”

“Are you mad?” Annabelle asked, her eyes holding no laughter or mockery, only pure rage.

“I like to think not, but genius is often mistaken for such.” The Black prince replied with both.

Annabelle shook her head, raising her sword and letting it shine even brighter. “You killed my father. You destroyed my kingdom. You murdered my friends. You enslaved me. How are you not mad if you believe there is any chance I would forgive you?”

“I figured, but didn’t want to assume.” The Black prince sighed, presenting his own sword. “Elders say nothing is impossible, after all.”

“I assure you, this is.” Annabelle replied before stepping forward.

The Black Prince seemed about to respond, but thought better of it as her sword arrived at his head. Blocking quickly, he let himself get blown back before stabilizing himself against the wall.

“In that case, I should stop playing around.” He growled, erupting with light and energy as he wreathed his body in the power and might of an eighth tier cultivator capable of crushing stone with his bare paws. “Surrender! You can’t beat me!”

“We’ll see about that!” Annabelle replied, her own cultivation glowing similarly before flowing through the sword and gaining even more radiance.

The stone cracked under the pressure from both of them, small stones trembling and rolling away as they leapt at each other. To the Black Prince’s stunned surprise, Annabelle was able to hold her own as his equal. Blow for blow, she countered or matched him with apparent ease. Sweating for the first time, he accelerated only to be matched by a similar increase in speed from her. Twisting his blade, he used swordsmanship to counter her power, but she learned quickly and was soon forcing him into direct confrontation. Furious, he defended as best he could while she constantly pushed him back.

“Blaze it! How did you get so strong!?” he demanded, holding her back with both paws on his blade.

“I fight for my friends!” Annabelle shouted, pushing down and forcing the Black Prince to take another step back, coughing as he overtaxed his cultivation.

“That’s blazing stupid!” The Black Prince growled, pushing harder and forcing Annabelle to stagger and stabilize herself. “That has nothing to do with strength!”

“That’s why you’re weak!” Annabelle insisted, pushing harder. “You will never beat me!”

“You’re a blazing idiot!” He shouted, pushing harder and refusing to move back another step. Cultivation light focused around him to throw itself at Annabelle.

“You’re the idiot!” she shouted in response, her own cultivation responding in kind and striking at the Prince’s.

Locked in stalemate, the two seemed able to go on for days without any change. Yet the Prince suddenly smiled cruelly and glanced behind Annabelle. “You say you fight for your friends, right?”

“Of course I do!” Annabelle growled. “The ones you murdered when you invaded.”

“That’s interesting.” The Black Prince snarled while locking eyes with the red haired Rose Queen. “I remember doing no such thing.”

“You... you… So they’re deaths don’t even matter to you, then?” Annabelle hissed, her eyes sharpening dangerously.

“Not exactly.” He smiled broadly. “After all, it wasn’t me who killed them.”

“What do you- urgh!”Annabelle grunted, her arms suddenly weak as she felt a sharp pain in her side. Falling backwards, she barely avoided being impaled by the Prince’s descending sword, but still suffered a major blow to her arm. As blood spurted, she saw a blonde catgirl standing next to her with a small dagger in hand, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry I’m late, my Prince.”

“Of all the evils of mankind, it was said to be the first, and it will likely be the last.” The quiet voice described, her tone shaking slightly with emotion that could not be understood. “Envy, possessiveness, wrath, fear… all are born from it, those most terrible darknesses which drove good men, bad. An old story, even before I was born, long before the founding of my nation or even the birth of my world. At the beginning, man gained pride in himself and his works, and with it a belief that he was above all others and only he could be right in all the world. Afterwards, inevitably as gravity’s pull or the darkness of night, came the fall.”

“Evil was born, from the perfect purity of the human condition before that time.” There was a rustling sound before the voice erupted angrily, “How ridiculous! To claim that man could have existed separate from his pride, that there was ever a before the fall, is the height of ignorance. Evil is inherent to humanity, by the very nature of their existence. But I do not dispute the agents they named to create that evil. Seven sins, eight desires, three states of being… the number or description does not matter. They all lead to the same things: disappointment, resentment, rejection,”

“And finally, they take on that clearest form reserved for the deepest circle of hell: betrayal.”

“Jasmina?” Annabelle coughed, disbelieving. “How… are you alive?”

Jasmina sneered at the collapsed Annabelle and rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, stupid girl? I’m the one who betrayed you.”

“What? That’s not… possible.” Annabelle protested without a trace of conviction in her voice.

“How isn’t it?” Jasmina smiled, holding out the stone knife dripping with blood. “Will you deny the truth before you eyes still, you useless brat?”

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” The Black Prince clapped his paws while walking over to stand above Annabelle. “You’ve lost, stupid girl. You made this so much more difficult than it had to be, seriously. If you had just surrendered from the start this never would have happened.”

“You…!” Annabelle growled, struggling to stand and pick up the glass sword again. Pure fury colored her voice and her eyes, determination to kill the Prince at any cost revealed through her every action. Yet he only laughed and stomped down.

*crack* “GAAAHH!!?!” Annabelle screamed as her arm was shattered, bone sticking out of the shattered limb as the Prince ground his paw into her arm. His claws tore open her skin, accelerating the blood flowing out of her and the volume of her screams.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He sighed to himself, shaking his head. “I’m trying to save the world, yet somehow those screams make me so happy. The pain of my enemies… it tastes so wonderful!”

“Grrr...AAAAHH! GET OFF!!! BASTARD!!” Annabelle howled, struggling futilely to pull her broken arm out from under the Prince’s paw. He merely laughed more and extended his claws to hold her in place. “GAAH!”

“Yes, yes. Scream more, louder! Show me you’re suffering! Wonderful!” The Prince threw back his head in joy, spreading his paws wide.

“My Prince, shouldn’t you finish her?” Jasmina asked, her eyes fawning up at the triumphant prince. She didn’t even look at Annabelle while the queen thrashed about in agony.

“Eh? Why would I want to do that?” the Black Prince asked in confusion. “I need to marry her first, you know? The hell are you saying, moronic girl?”

“Of course, my Prince, but who would tell if you married her first? Isn’t it better to just cut her throat and be done with it?” She asked sadistically, holding the bloody knife out with an eager expression while falling to her knees. “I’d be happy to do it for you. Please, let me have her!”

The Black Prince stepped off of Annabelle and kicked the groveling Jasmina away, shaking his head in disgust. “Oi, stop acting like an idiot. I’ll let you kill her after I make her mine.”

“Of course, my prince. Thank you so much!” Jasmina fawned, bowing and scraping over the ground as the Prince rolled his eyes at her antics.

“Jasmina… why?” Annabelle asked, tears in her eyes and voice hoarse from screaming. “Help me… my friend.”

“Eh?” Jasmina grunted, her eyes turning to Annabelle with furious hatred. “Who’s your friend? Who’s going to help you? Do you still not get it, you stupid vegetarian whore? I betrayed you! I made your guards leave so they could kidnap you, I poisoned your father, I did everything I could to bring you to my prince! And you think, after all that, I’m going to help you? I’ve done all this just to destroy you, you whore!”

“Jasmina… why?” Annabelle cried, her eyes blankly staring at the murderously scowling blonde elfbeast and the dark prince triumphantly smiling behind her. “I don’t understand…”

“Betrayers.” The voice in darkness said firmly. “Their purpose is opposition, their desire destruction, all they wish is the end of that which they oppose. It is the ultimate form of human evil, of the darkness at the core of mankind. Born from resentment created by contradiction to that core of their existence, they seek the end of that which proves them wrong, that which denies their truth. It is the clearest enemy that can be faced, and also the most difficult.”

“For as they are born from contradiction to their pride, so too do they contradict the pride of those they encounter. Both the betrayed, and their enemies, are forced to look at themselves and see what they truly are, to perceive the darkness that disgusts us so totally that we instinctively reject it.” The voice stopped, seeming to think about itself or remember something in that moment. All too soon, though, it continued.

“Yet as they are born from convictions undone, from self worth lost, so too can they be defeated by conviction surpassing that doubt.” The voice declared, talking to just itself and yet also to the universe. “Not in a self, or an individual, but in an ideal that stands beyond mortality.”

“How do you not understand, you whore?” Jasmina spat, kicking at Annabelle’s broken arm and causing the fallen girl to howl in pain. “This is what I wanted!”

“NOO!! Please, STOP!” Annabelle wailed, trying to protect her broken body from Jasmina’s constant kicks while a sadistic smile shone down at her.

“Ah, ah… this is wonderful! You took everything away from me, and yet you thought I was your friend! Any other time, any other nation, and I would have been the genius of geniuses! Even without that, even without any support from the nation, I reached fifth tier at sixteen! Sixteen! Do you have any idea how many people spend their entire lives trying to reach that high? No? Of course not! A precious genius like you could never understand! What it’s like to fight for every breakthrough, scavenge for resources so you can keep your family safe, so you can gain a tiny portion of the applause that is usually reserved for the perfect, darling, wonderful princess doted on by a loving father and an adoring nation!” Jasmina kicked Annabelle with each word, causing the former princess to writhe in agony without being able to respond.

“You know, I always hated you. You were so perfect, so darling, that everyone just looked at you and never saw me. Do you even remember me? When we were children, you beat me up in tournament after tournament, always kindly smiling and telling me to get better! Get better?! How, when every way forward you were there ahead of me, blocking the path! Even when I had you kidnapped, even when you should have become a slave to some western pervert, you still managed to escape because of that stupid desert! It’s so blazing unfair! Why does everything good always happen to you! You! You!” Jasmina accentuated each yell with another kick.

The Black prince looked on, shaking his head and smiling cruelly. “These are the subordinates you risked your life for. See how much they hate you? She’s not the only one. I found so many people in this corrupt kingdom of yours who were willing to listen to reason. It was only a matter of time before you all became mine!”

“No… I don’t believe you… it’s a lie.” Annabelle coughed, crawling away from Jasmina’s brutal kicks and torture. Her paw fell on the glass sword and she curled up around it, protecting it from her assailants.

“HAHAHA!! That’s precious! When your vaunted strength fails you, you rely on some gift from your father! So like you!” Jasmina snarled, lunging forward and ripping at Annabelle with her claws from both arms and legs.

“Struggle on, if you like. I’ll have us married soon, and it will all be over. But for now, why don’t you watch as your precious army is slaughtered by my Faceless troops!” The Black Prince smiled cruelly, blasting the wall away so Annabelle could see the burning townscape and hear the howls of agony coming from the city. In the distance, she saw another army of black robed soldiers approaching, surrounding the city and sealing any escape.

“No…” Annabelle muttered, her eyes staring at the slaughter her people were drawn into, despite the efforts of Deadridge and Chrysanth to order a retreat and save them. The black army cut them off, blood spurting into the air as cultivators slaughtered through mundane elfbeasts by the thousands. “Please… no more.”

“It’s too late to surrender now.” The Black Prince said dispassionately. “I’ll slaughter all the rebels at once, and secure my reign. I have to thank you for bringing them all to me; it save me a lot of work and effort.”

“No…” Annabelle whined, reaching out her paw towards the hole as her eyes clouded over with pain and bloodloss.

Jasmina howled with laughter at her pitiful appearance. “HAHAHA!!! Yes, now you know how it feels to be crushed into the dirt! Suffer more and more! Howl and complain as my prince torments you until I grant you the final relief of death! Know that I am the one who destroyed you, princess! Say it! Say my name!”

“... no more…” Annabelle whined, closing her eyes as her people were butchered around her, her former ally and trusted friend laughing as she stabbed her in the back, her greatest enemy looking down on her triumphantly. There was no hope left. Nothing she could do would reverse this situation, give her back what she wanted.

She had lost.

“I wonder, do you have such an ideal? Do you have the ability to struggle even further, to pursue strength when you know of its costs? Do you still wish for power, knowing what malice it brings? If so, reach out your hand and declare your goal. Sacrifice everything for it; your friends, your family, your love, your hatred, even your very self. Then, and only then, will you wield power with a purpose. Then, and only then, can you fill the hole inside yourself, and be complete.” The voice demanded, looking down on the broken princess with dispassionate coldness.

“So tell me, child:” It added, cold and harsh as the lord of the dead. “What will you do?”