The Empire. A cesspool of degeneracy, war, misery, and pain.
It was vastly different from the other two nations Damien had visited, for it was the only one where dragons had truly ruled. This was the land where the One-Eyed Black Dragon had raised his army and granted them false Falna....a twisted imitation of the gods' blessing.
As Damien flew across the Empire, he had to close his eyes in disgust. Below him stretched rotting streets, beggars clawing for scraps, a stench so thick it was almost tangible. People stealing. People fucking in the open. Prostitution. Beatings. Gangs. All of it crammed into a single, sprawling slum.
But as he approached the middle of the capital, the scenery shifted. Houses of pure marble rose from the filth like monuments to excess. The highest forms of people lived here....few in number, each surrounded by a plethora of slaves kidnapped from the slums. And at the center of it all stood the Great Golden Castle, a house for pure nobility.
Damien truly hated this place. After all, it was where most of the nobles who had attended the Ishtar Auction came from. He had wanted to visit this place for a while. He had wanted to destroy it. Now, he had the chance.
The Golden Castle shook as he smashed his way inside.
Soldiers rushed toward him. He killed them without slowing down....a flick of his blades, a sweep of shadows, bodies collapsing in his wake. He grabbed one by the neck, lifting him off his feet.
"Where is your king?" Damien asked.
"His chambers! There! Please, spare...."
Damien snapped his neck and continued walking, cutting down anyone who dared raise a weapon.
He reached the door to the king's chambers and kicked it open.
Inside, the Emperor lay in his massive bed, completely naked, attempting to have sex with two of his slave monster girls....a fox girl and a cat girl. His tiny penis was trying and failing to find its way in.
"WHO DARES!" the Emperor screamed, turning to face Damien.
The room was lined with soundproofing. The king truly had not heard the commotion outside.
"You..." The Emperor pointed at Damien, his hand shaking.
Damien walked toward him. Shadows rose from the ground, wrapping around the Emperor's neck like a wire. He dragged him off the bed, pulling him naked across the stone floor, through the corridors, and back into the throne room.
"FATHER!" screamed a fat man...maybe nineteen or twenty...stumbling out of his room in nothing but shorts.
Damien glanced inside the prince's chamber. Five or six girls lay inside, whipped and beaten, the aftermath of sex still visible on their broken bodies. Damien's eyes narrowed. Shadows wrapped around the prince's neck, and he dragged him alongside his father.
Once they reached the throne room, Damien sat on the golden throne and looked down at the two men kneeling before him.
"Emperor Darlain Charlemagne... is that correct?" Damien's voice was flat, cold, devoid of emotion.
From his storage, he summoned a sword....gold-endowed, ornate, clearly a relic of the empire's past glory. He held it up, letting the light catch its blade.
"You know what this is?"
The Emperor tried to speak, but his neck was still bound by shadows. Damien loosened them slightly.
"HOW DARE YOU! WHO DO YOU THINK...UGH!"
The shadows tightened, choking him into silence.
"I am Damien Ardent." His voice echoed through the hall. "Today, I have not come as an enemy, nor as a warrior. I have come as the god of judgment. I have come to judge you and your Empire....the great empire Charlemagne left behind. And what you have done to it." He leaned forward, his eyes cold. "If you keep sprouting bullshit, you die."
The room quickly filled with soldiers, the Emperor's harem women, generals, and high nobles. They saw Damien on the throne, his shadows coiled around their ruler, and none of them dared to move.
"What is it that you want...?" spoke a general.
"You heard me clearly. I am here to judge your empire. Those who pass... live. Those who don't... die."
"What right do you have to judge us?" the general demanded.
"Good question." Damien's voice was calm. "Do you want the answer?"
"Yes."
His shadows swirled. The general's head rolled across the floor.
"The right of power." Damien looked at the gathered nobles, his gaze sweeping across their terrified faces. "None is stronger. None is greater. Bring all your armies to me—they will all die together. I judge you here by the right of might."
He stood from the throne, his shadows coiling around him like a living cloak.
"I, Damien Ardent, God of the Shadows, will start the judgment now." His voice carried across the silent hall. "Anyone objects?"
He looked at them all...afraid to move. Some soldiers seemed excited to attack, their hands twitching toward their weapons, but even they knew better. What hope did they have of beating a god?
Finally, a voice spoke.
"You are here because the dragons ordered us to attack Orario."
It was a girl's voice. Young, clear, and steady. It intrigued Damien. He traced it back to its source...one of the women in the Emperor's harem.
He gestured for the others to move aside and spoke. "Name yourself."
"Princess Bertha Charlemagne. My Father's Future Consort," she replied. She was young...perhaps fourteen or fifteen....but her eyes held a maturity that belied her age.
"You are his future consort, yet you have the Charlemagne name?" Damien questioned.
She nodded. "Yes. I am his daughter... as well."
Damien's gaze shifted to Darlain, his voice cold with disgust. "His daughter and consort?"
He looked at the Emperor, his eyes narrowing.
"What kind of piece of shit even are you?"
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