On the opposite side of the city, beneath the moonlit palace balcony, Arion stood across from Akeem. The night air was thick with tension, carrying the echoes of their brutal clash. The burn from Arion’s earlier attack marred Akeem’s cheek, a stark reminder of the fight that ended.

  Akeem’s heavy breaths cut through the silence, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. Arion, still catching his own breath, seized the moment.

  “Move out of my way Akeem, let Princess Elara go with me,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Even you know she’s not safe here.”

  Akeem’s eyes flared, his pride burning hotter than the wound on his face. “You’ll have to kill me first,” he snarled.

  Before Arion could respond, Akeem lunged with a burst of renewed energy, his big sword flashing under the pale light. His strikes came swift and punishing, each one meant to cut through Arion. Arion parried the first two, the force rattling his arms. The third, a brutal downward slash, he barely blocked but his aether shield flaring to life just in time. The impact sent vibrations through his bones.

  Knowing he couldn’t hold his ground against the flurry of attacks of the large sword with Akeem’s raw power, Arion rolled away, creating distance. But Akeem was relentless. He charged again, faster than Arion anticipated.

  Arion unleashed a concentrated wind blast, as a muscle reflex. The force sent Akeem stumbling backward, his footing lost. He crashed onto the stone floor with a heavy thud, knocking the last wind out of him.

  “Stay down!” Arion yelled as he exhaled sharply, turning toward the balcony doors to get inside —but before he could move, a hand clamped around his ankle.

  Akeem, bloodied but unbroken, glared up at him from the floor. He spat, wiping the crimson from his lip.

  “Go on boy,” he growled, his grip tightening. “Finish it.”

  Arion looked at Akeem at his feet, He won’t let me go otherwise, after a moment of hesitation he pulled the sword above, but it never came down on Akeem’s neck, instead, Arion sheathed Aegis, deciding not to kill him as he looked into the fallen knight’s eyes. He could see it in his gaze, he preferred an honorable death over living in defeat, but Arion couldn’t get himself to do it.

  Then suddenly, the eye contact was broken when a strange power surge rippled through the palace, disturbing the light orbs. A slight vibration ran up his gauntlet and the scabbard at his thigh where aegis rested now.

  “What…?” Arion began, eyes darting around as all the lights in the palace flickered ominously. Then, with a suddenness that sent chills down his spine, every light-orb winked out at once, plunging the balcony into darkness.

  A chilling emptiness surged through Arion. It was as if the very essence of Aether had been ripped from his veins, leaving behind a hollow shell. His chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke across his skin. He staggered, disoriented, struggling to grasp what was happening.

  He looked at his wrist in confusion as the vibrant blue energy in his custodian gauntlet flickered weakly, then snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

  The Aether? he thought, panic clawing at his insides. He reached instinctively for the current, desperate for even a flicker of power. But there was nothing. Just a cold void where the Aether’s flow should have been.

  His gaze swept across the kingdom once more, now enveloped in darkness. No orb-lights illuminated the streets; the once-vibrant kingdom loomed like a corpse against the night sky, a harbinger of despair.

  “What is happening?” he whispered, his voice barely a breath above the silence.

  Akeem, still on one knee, slowly looked up and let out a cruel laugh that sliced through the stillness like a dagger. Blood dripped from his lip as he looked at Arion with a twisted grin.

  “It means your kind is dead,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And you’re next!”

  With that, Akeem surged to his feet and jumped at Arion, tackling him to the ground, his sheer force pinning Arion like a bear.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Instinctively, Arion reached deep within himself, searching for the power of aether to push him off. Fire, wind burst… Anything!

  But nothing happened.

  Arion struggled, fists flying upward in defiance, landing blows to Akeem’s face who mounted him on his chest, but the warrior seized his right arm and twisted it brutally. With a sickening crack, he snapped it.

  “Ahhh…!” Arion screamed as agony exploded through him like fire. His vision blurred, but the pain kept him tethered to the present.

  Akeem atop him; eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

  “My turn, boy!” he screamed as he grasped Arion's hair in a vice-like grip with his left hand. Then the punches began raining down from his right, brutal and unrelenting, the closed fist connecting with Arion’s head and face.

  One, two, three, four,

  The fifth blow sent blood spilling into his mouth, its warmth stark against the cold night air.

  Fatigued, Akeem finally rose, breathing heavily, but the fight was far from over. Arion, straining to push himself up, with a dazed and confused look, but Akeem was relentless. He picked his burnt metal helmet from the balcony floor nearby and swung it with brutal force, smashing it against Arion’s back.

  Pain shot through him again, and through the haze, his thoughts spiraled. But Akeem wasn’t done. As Arion turned to face him, the helmet struck again—this time crashing against side of his face with all of Akeem's remaining strength behind it.

  The blow snapped Arion’s head to the side, and both men collapsed on the ground.

  Arion laid flat on his back, blood dripping over his face, the crimson mask blurring his vision. He tried to move, She’s waiting for me, but his body refused to obey. His eyes fixed on the starry sky above, the weight of his body and the pain sinking in as darkness threatened to pull him under.

  In those final moments, his mind raced with a million thoughts; Temple, Elara and the Aether. Swirling in the void. The stars above he watched in confusion, slowly eroded, the darkness rushing in to swallow him whole.

  As he blacked out, the cold night air became a distant memory, his hope fading like the last flicker of light in Aetheria.

  ***

  A few moments earlier

  The heavy iron doors to the Aether Inner Sanctum creaked open, revealing the heart of the tower. At the center of the room, resting in a big circular plate filled with green sand was the Aether Crystal, a radiant gem that hummed with a soft, otherworldly glow. Its light illuminated the chamber in a pale blue hue, casting long shadows along the cold stone floor.

  Theron stepped inside, his boots echoing against the silent chamber, the atmosphere oppressive. His breath hitched for a moment as he gazed at the crystal, a sense of awe washing over him. This was it, the source of all power in Aetheria. The heart of the kingdom. A relic of the god, untouched by mortal hands for generations.

  Behind him, Baalberith followed with a slow, deliberate pace, his dark tattered robe sweeping the ground as he moved. At the threshold of the room, the soldiers stood guard, their expressions tense, but they did not enter.

  Baalberith approached Theron and handed him a large black rare metal container, its surface engraved with strange sigils and ancient runes Theron didn’t recognize. The Red King hesitated as he took it into his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. The glow of the crystal seemed brighter now, almost as if it sensed the intrusion.

  "This is it, Your Majesty,” Baalberith’s said, his voice calm, yet coaxing. “A victory for Aetheria. The beginning of a new age in our kingdom’s history. King Theron's Aetheria."

  Theron glanced at Baalberith, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the crystal, the enormity of what he was about to do settling over him. For a brief moment, fear gripped him.

  Sensing his hesitation, Baalberith placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  “You must claim it, my King,” he whispered. “If not for your kingdom, then for your mother.”

  Taking a deep breath, Theron grasped the crystal, as if the wizard’s words moved him physically, his fingers curling around the cold smooth surface of aether. Slowly, he picked and guided the crystal down into the black metal container, his grip tightening as the energy hummed and buzzed louder in his ears.

  The glow began to dim as the crystal slid into the container, and with a final push, Theron snapped the lid shut with a loud clang.

  The moment the container was sealed, everything changed.

  The soft hum of energy that had always filled the air of Aetheria vanished. The glow that had illuminated the chamber for centuries flickered and then went out. A heavy silence fell over the room.

  Outside, the very essence of the city faltered. The orb lights in the temple, the palace, the outer gates, the streets, the homes, and everywhere in the grand bustling kingdom of Aetheria was plunged into blackness at once, its lifeblood severed.

  Theron stood there in the dark, panting as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. He clutched the metal container tightly, the crystal now safely contained inside. The only sound the faint howl of the wind outside the temple walls.

  One of the guards at the doorway lit a lantern with a match and handed it to Baalberith, who then came closer to Theron, his one white eye gleaming in the dim flickering light.

  “You’ve won.” Baalberith said, his voice low and triumphant. “Time to head back, Your Majesty. There’s much to be done.”

  Theron nodded, his breath still heavy but his resolve solidified. This is my moment, my victory. The one true King of the Capital of the world.

  He turned, stepping away from the golden bowl where Aether once rested, now a darkened empty sanctum. The soldiers watched in silence, their faces unreadable as their King and his dark sorcerer made their way back through the grand doors.

  The kingdom of Aetheria was silent, dark, and still.

  ***

  Dark Resurrection: Shadows of Nekrom

  by SOMBRAcorpDT

  "... Even if I'm devoured, even if my body is torn apart, even if my head is ripped off, and even if my heart stops… I'll come back from Death. Such is my fate."

  [Death and Resurrection], capable of bending the fabric of space and time in order to bring Tristessa back to life.

  Points of interest:

  ?? Dark High Fantasy. The story is going to be brutal, with gore, extreme violence, psychological horror and uncomfortable topics. Be aware about it.

  ???? LitRPG and Soulsborne genre. No System. Statistics appear from "Chapter 76 - Divinity of the Dark Room" onward.

  ?? Slow-burn progression. For those who don't falter, at the end of every struggle there is a reward. That's the same for our lovely and very very weak MC, and also for the side characters that are going to appear as the story unfolds.

  ?? Lots of worldbuilding and lore. It's quite likely that I will write an encyclopedia at some point to add extras to the story. Some of them are going to be a compendium and a map of the world.

  ?? Some romance here and there (no harem, but our lovely MC is greedy, keep that in mind).

  ?? Release schedule: Monday-Wednesday-Friday, at 15:30 UTC. The average is about 1000-1500 words/chapter, but once in a while I'll release a 2500-3000 words chapter if the gods of literature are willing.