The spark had tried, lived to its fullest potential, and was now nearing its end. Just as it seemed impossible for the spark to attain order, order revealed itself—an order hidden from entities like the spark, the skeleton's bone tissue, and even the skeleton itself.
There was a law, ancient and unseen, and from that law came order. In the case of the spark, a way was opened, and with no other choice, the spark followed. That way was the intricate network of energy pathways, channels of unseen design that carried force, rhythm, and continuity, ensuring that even in decline, the spark became part of something greater, a silent harmony of existence.
The pathways seemed as if they had always existed, silent and eternal, waiting only for recognition. All that was required to perceive them was the knowledge of their presence—a kind of enlightenment, a sudden awakening to the truth that order was woven into the very fabric of chaos. The spark, once wild and uncontained, revealed its hidden structure, showing that even in turbulence there was design, a rhythm guiding energy toward balance and continuity.
Soon the spark followed the pathways open to it, weaving itself constantly, deeper and more intricately into the skeletal structure. At last, it achieved its long‑awaited evolution—breathing vitality into the bones. The spark ceased to be a spark and became pure energy, flowing like rivers of light through the once‑lifeless frame.
The dead bones transformed into a living body, the skeleton reaching its prime, infused with strength and awareness. All that remained was the first step, a step taken as one of the undead, a being that had defied the pull of death and emerged renewed, a testament to survival beyond the void.
Almost simultaneously, the bare skeleton sprang upwards, its hollow eye sockets igniting with a menacing purple glow before fading into a darkness deeper than night. The left leg rose shakily, trembling with a tingling vibration, as though uncertain it could bear the weight of the body it carried. For a fleeting moment, the body lifted several meters above the ground, defying gravity, only to falter and crash downward, a fall that nearly left the skeleton paralyzed, its once decaying bones almost turning frail under the strain.
Yet before the collapse could claim it, the second leg surged forward, springing to the occasion and stabilizing the body, anchoring its fragile frame with unexpected resilience. In that instant, weakness transformed into balance, and the undead form revealed its first true defiance against death's grip.
However, although both legs managed to stabilize the skeletal structure, preventing it from collapsing back to the ground, the strain upon them did not ease. Instead, they continued to vibrate and tremble violently, as if burdened by an impossible weight. Though the legs stood upright, the rest of the body did not share their balance.
From the torso upward to the skull, the frame remained slanted, twisted in awkward defiance of order. The skull itself still lay pressed against the floor, heavy and unyielding, as though resisting the call to rise. The skeleton's form was caught between collapse and ascension, trembling in the fragile tension of transformation, a body half‑risen yet not fully alive.
Soon, however, everything changed. The skeleton forced its back upright, twisting backbones, ribs, and joints with awkward determination, each movement accompanied by sharp snapping noises, as though the bones themselves were being crushed and reforged. Finally, fully upright, the bare body ceased its trembling, standing in eerie stillness.
Then, the purple energy gathered within shimmered across the skeletal frame, radiating like an aura of protection, a veil of power shielding its fragile form. The energy pulsed one last time, a final sign of its existence, before vanishing from sight—forever hidden within the invisible pathways of energy, flowing silently yet endlessly, binding chaos into order.
Almost immediately the purple energy faded from view, the skeleton gained knowledge of the current situation, it could be said that was when his mind was fully awakened and that was the time he knew exactly what was going on, he tried blowing air from his porous mandibles and actually succeeded, his eyes lost in thought before he said knowingly to no one in particular:
[I'm back.]
He paused a while, admiring his boring and bare visage, twisting his joints more and staring upwards before connecting;
[For a while, I wasn't quite whether that was going to work.]
***
As the skeleton fully awakened from the throne floors, two figures stepped into the spotlight. The first was a death knight, dreadfully wounded, his wrist bones, kneecaps, ankles, fibula, and femur fractured beyond recognition, yet strangely bloodless. Several digits from both hands and feet were missing, leaving him pitiful in appearance compared to the other figure. Still, he moved forward, positioning himself protectively in front.
Behind him lingered the second figure, maintaining a cautious distance, shifting constantly—sometimes directly behind the wounded knight, other times at the bottom right corner, then the bottom left. The movements were deliberate and calculated, designed to keep the other figure secure, weaving a rhythm of constant vigilance rather than concealment.
The other figure, however, was starkly different from the wounded death knight. He wore bright purple robes that shimmered faintly, a striking contrast to the pale, bony frame of the knight. His skin was smooth, pale yet beautiful like untouched snow, lips crimson red, eyes dark and piercing, framed by matching black lashes and brows.
His hair was long, rough, and unkempt, yet strangely captivating, with wild curls and stubborn stubs that gave him a raw, untamed elegance. For all his beauty, however, the figure carried no humor, no trace of warmth. Instead, a perpetual dark frown shadowed his face, as though he despised everything in the world, radiating an aura of disdain and silent menace.
Which he truly did. Diego was on a mission to bring down the city of New Darkovia, a place he viewed as corrupt, tainted, and unworthy of survival. To him, it could never reach the sacred standards of his homeland—the true Darkovia. His vision was clear: to rebuild that homeland from ashes, to invite like‑minded individuals and those he deemed worthy, and to rule them as their rightful sovereign. His ambition was not merely conquest but restoration, a return to purity and order. Yet for now, his grand plans were interrupted, placed on hold by the presence of a single individual…
[Maru…]