In the depths of the underworld, where light dared not tread, Morbelith sat upon a throne of blackened bone and obsidian. A cruel, evil smile stretched across her lips as she gazed at the Divine Sword resting in her lap.
Finally… she thought, her eyes gleaming with vicious ambition. With this sword, I can kill Valthar and take the throne for myself. No more sharing power. No more bowing to that fool.
Her smile widened, sharp and predatory. Why did Miraleth help me? That scheming prophetess never does anything without a price… But it doesn't matter. Let her play her games. Once I sit on the throne, I'll be the one pulling the strings.
Morbelith leaned back, lost in dark fantasies. She imagined the screams of her enemies echoing through the grand halls and rivers of blood flowing as she claimed absolute rule over the underworld. Her fingers traced the edge of the Divine Sword with almost loving care. A soft, evil chuckle escaped her lips, slithering through the shadows like a living thing.
Meanwhile, far above, in the Ironclad Kingdom, chaos had taken root.
It spread not with fire or steel but with whispers.
At first, they were quiet murmurs in narrow alleyways and dimly lit taverns. Uncertain, fragmented pieces of information passed between uneasy voices.
But whispers had a way of growing.
Twisting.
Poisoning.
Within hours, the entire capital buzzed with rumors.
"The Divine Sword has been stolen."
"I heard it was taken in broad daylight!"
"No… the Hero lost it."
"Lost it? He abandoned it!"
"And that Haldir… I always knew something was off about him."
"They say he was working with demons all along."
"They say the Hero was drunk!"
"They say he wasn't even there when it happened!"
Each version grew more distorted than the last.
Each voice louder.
Sharper.
Crueler.
Crowds gathered in the streets, their fear quickly turning into anger.
"How are we supposed to trust them now?!"
"The Hero's Guild can't even protect their own weapon!"
"What are we paying taxes for?!"
"They take our money call it 'protection' and this is what we get?!"
A man slammed his fist against a wooden stall.
"We work day and night just to survive, and they live comfortably off our coin!"
Another voice joined, louder than the rest.
"They're no heroes! Just parasites bleeding us dry!"
The word spread like wildfire.
Parasites.
Frauds.
Failures.
And at the center of it all…
Raymond.
He walked through the streets in silence.
The same streets where people once cheered his name.
Now, they turned away.
Or worse stared.
Some spat on the ground as he passed.
Others whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
"That's him."
"The one who lost the sword."
"Some hero…"
Raymond kept his head lowered.
His shoulders felt heavier than any armor he had ever worn.
He had faced demons.
Monsters.
Things that twisted reality itself.
But none of that compared to this.
This quiet hatred.
This suffocating disappointment.
Every word felt like a blade.
Every glance like judgment.
And for the first time in a long time…
He had no answer.
Later that day, the Heroes Guild received an urgent royal summons. Every top official, noble representative, and high-ranking military commander gathered in the King's Hall. The grand chamber, usually adorned with proud banners and gleaming ceremonial armor, now felt oppressive and heavy with suspicion.
Raymond stood near the front with Beatrice, Kufa, Darius, and Elara flanking him. The air was thick with tension. King Aldric sat upon his throne, face stern.
The King's voice echoed through the hall, cold and authoritative.
"Hero Raymond. The people are frightened. The Divine Sword our greatest weapon against the encroaching darkness has disappeared under your watch. Worse still, there are grave accusations of betrayal within your own ranks. Explain yourself."
Raymond clenched his jaw. The eyes of every important figure in the kingdom were fixed upon him. He could feel the crushing weight of their judgment pressing down on his shoulders.
He took a slow breath and spoke, his voice heavy with raw emotion:
"Your Majesty, I never thought a day like this would come. I trusted everyone in the hero guild, including Haldir. I do not know why he did that."
The hall fell into stunned silence for a brief moment. Then murmurs erupted.
"The people are saying you were too busy with personal matters to protect what truly matters most to this kingdom!"
A small, subtle, knowing smile curved Miraleth lips as she watched the chaos unfold, as if everything was proceeding exactly as she had foreseen. Her eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction in the dim light, then turns her eyes back to her usual blind eyes.
More voices joined the noble's accusation, the murmurs growing louder and angrier. Raymond's hands tightened at his sides until his knuckles turned white. The blame fell squarely on him, and with every passing second, the reputation of the entire Heroes Guild crumbled.
Outside the grand hall, the gossip continued to spread through the city like slow-acting poison, infecting every heart and mind.
On the other side of the underworld, in a desolate throne room carved from black volcanic rock and shadowed by chains of flickering green flame, Valthar sat slumped upon his throne, eyes dull and lifeless.
Suddenly, the ancient ring on his finger began to glow with a deep, blood-red light. It pulsed rhythmically, like a beating heart that had just come back to life. This was the ring that could summon Deathwing, the legendary destroyer of realms.
Valthar stared at the glowing artifact for a long moment. Then he threw his head back and let out a horrible, dying laugh. It was a broken, rasping sound filled with madness and despair, echoing through the empty hall like the final gasp of a dying god.
The ring's crimson glow intensified, casting sinister shadows across his twisted features. As if sensing its master's renewed will, the ancient power within the ring began to awaken.
In the darkest corners of the underworld, two monstrous ambitions were now colliding and the surface world would soon feel the devastating consequences of their clash.
To be continued.