Chapter 1: The Whole Armada Empire is in Flames! (1)
The world was not ending with a whimper, but with a magnificent, agonizing scream.
The capital city of the Armada Empire—a sprawling metropolis that had stood for millennia, a supposed beacon of civilization, magic, and military might—was utterly consumed by chaos. Walls that had withstood countless sieges now buckled and melted under heat far greater than any mundane fire. The once-proud streets, usually bustling with merchants, carriages, and the stiff-backed nobility, were now a horrifying, clogged river of humanity. People were running, their faces distorted by terror, their desperate, gasping breaths choked by the acrid smoke and the unbearable, searing heat radiating from an inferno of unimaginable scale. They were trying to get away from the literal flames of the Dragon—the source of all this destruction.
It wasn't just a Dragon; it was the Dragon, a creature of myth made flesh, the harbinger of true ruin. Its estimated height was a staggering 35,000 feet, an impossible, obsidian spire of scale and wing that dwarfed everything below. It was taller than all mountains and Mount Everest combined, its head lost in the upper stratosphere, an apocalyptic silhouette against the smoke-choked sky. Its massive, clawed feet crushed whole districts with the casual indifference of a giant stepping on an ant pile.
ROAAAAAARRRRR!!!!!
The sound was not mere noise; it was a physical force, a tidal wave of pressure that shattered the remaining windows and made the very ground tremble beneath the fleeing citizens' feet. The Black Dragon roared with the triumph of victory. It was a sound that articulated a millennia of bottled-up rage and the fulfillment of a dark prophecy. This widespread chaos is enough to destroyed the whole empire and activate the Apocalypse of End. This destruction was not just a prelude; it was the mechanism. The sheer, overwhelming scale of devastation—the obliteration of the empire's very heart—had reached the critical mass necessary to trigger the final, inescapable cataclysm.
In the midst of the carnage, a figure stood, impossibly calm and unaffected by the surrounding pandemonium. Then someone appeared; a man clad in black with spikes. His armor was not the refined, polished steel of the Imperial Knights, but a brutal, jagged shell of darkness, seemingly forged from raw shadow and malice. His helmet was particularly disturbing, adorned with three massive, horn-like spikes, giving him the appearance of a demon freshly risen from the abyss. This figure was speaking to the colossal Black Dragon.
"Is it enough for you to activate the Apocalypse of End?" the man's voice was low, resonating with a chilling echo that cut through the cacophony of the dying city.
The Black Dragon lowered its immense head, its massive, amber eyes—each the size of a great cathedral—focused on the diminutive figure. When The Black Dragon spoke, the air itself vibrated, and distant rooftops collapsed from the sheer sonic power.
"Yes, after you killed that tyrant emperor I shall activate the Apocalypse of End, and end this world once and all." The Dragon's promise was absolute, its commitment to oblivion unwavering.
The Man Clad in Spike Armor replied with a grim nod, his body language radiating a fierce, single-minded focus. "Good, I need to find where the emperor is."
The Dragon didn't speak again, but merely extended one of its gigantic, razor-taloned fingers—a gesture that was simultaneously terrifying and surprisingly precise. The massive digit point his fingers toward on a small castle within the empire that it located beside on the kitchens and accessories of the imperial royal family. It was a testament to the Emperor's paranoia that he would choose such a small, non-descript structure, tucked away near the servants' quarters, as his final bolt-hole. He was hiding not in the great, heavily fortified Imperial Palace, but in a glorified annex.
The Man surveyed the direction, his determination unwavering. He then thank the Black Dragon with a simple, emotionless nod. "Thank you."
He turned his attention to the grotesque army he had assembled. Then the Man Clad in Spike Armor raised his left hand with the mace on his hand and then point on the direction that the Black Dragon point on. His weapon, a brutal, spiked ball of destruction, pulsed with a faint, malevolent energy. The monsters below, a teeming tide of mutated beasts and hell-spawn that were busy eating the humans, paused their feast. They were not mindless automatons, but creatures bound by an unnatural, crushing will. They look on the man lifting his mace and then follow the direction the man pointing on, a wave of pure, ravenous evil surging toward the Emperor's hiding place.
With the monsters set in motion, the man felt a cold, bitter satisfaction well up in his heart, a feeling that had been his sole companion for years.
"It's time to have my revenge."
---
Meanwhile in that small castle where the Emperor is hiding, the scene was one of contained, desperate fear, a stark contrast to the elemental fury raging outside. The structure was old, ill-suited for defense, and currently surrounded by the frantic, screaming figures of servants and royal staff trying to flee the area.
A new figure burst into the makeshift hiding place: someone appeared and it's his son the crown prince. Young, earnest, and clearly terrified, the Crown Prince wore the tattered remnants of his royal finery, stained with dust and sweat.
"Father let's get out of here! This whole small castle is already dangerous to hide, come with me the heroes found a way to–"
The Crown Prince's urgent plea was cut short.
WHOOOOSSHHHH!
The sound of an object traveling at impossible speed ripped through the air, immediately followed by the sickening impact. A spear shot through his head.
BAM!
The Emperor, bloodied not from him but because of his son infront of him, stood frozen in a tableau of horror. He stared, not comprehending, as he saw his head with a large hole of it. Life fled the young man's eyes instantly, and his body slumped forward, a dead weight. Instinctively, the Emperor reached out, catching the corpse, and then hug his son's body tightly.
A primal sound, an eruption of pure agony and despair, tore from the tyrant's throat.
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" then emperor screamed and cried because his son the crown prince is dead. In that instant, all the Emperor's power, pride, and tyranny vanished, replaced by the raw, shattering grief of a father losing his child.
A shadow detached itself from the gloom of the room's far corner. Then someone appeared in the shadows and it's non other than the Man Clad in Spike Armor. He walked forward, his spiked boots crunching on the stone floor, the spear that had killed the Prince having vanished back to his hand. He looked down upon the sobbing, defeated ruler, his voice thick with cold malice.
"It's seems you finally felt losing someone you love your highness, they are right revenge is the best dish served in cold."
The cruelty of the words was a deliberate spike plunged into the Emperor's soul. The man paused, savoring the moment, then he raised his hands and undressed his helmet. The gruesome, spiked helm came off, revealing the face beneath. And there the Emperor saw a man in golden blond hair and purple eyes while his right eye have a scar on it. The scar was an angry, jagged line that cut across his eye, a permanent mark of an old, deep trauma.
A gasp caught in the Emperor's throat. The face, the hair, the eyes... they were familiar, sickeningly so.
"It seems you realize now who am I, after all im the lost son of the hero of this empire and the saintess." He delivered the revelation not as a boast, but as a final, crushing judgment.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous, venomous whisper.
"And I bet you remember the scar you gave me before when you killed my wife and my twin children."
Then, he spoke the Emperor's full name, a name once uttered with reverence, now spat out with utter contempt:
"Emperor Augustus Le Armada V."
The Emperor, his face pale and tear-streaked, finally managed to force out a question, his voice a broken whisper. "Why?! Why are you doing this?"
The Man's laugh was harsh and utterly devoid of humor. "Hah! You have a nerve to ask me?!" His composure finally cracked, and his rage, held tightly in check, surged forward.
"You killed my wife, my children and her whole race the elves just because of a damn fake prophecy that wouldn't even happened!"
The Emperor, momentarily recovering his tyrannical arrogance, tried to defend his horrific actions. "That prophecy will be true if I didn't eradic the elv–"
The Man Clad in Spike Armor didn't let him finish. Before the emperor could continue he felt his throat tighten. His eyes bulged, and he frantically clawed at his neck. And then he saw The Man in his right arm clenching something—an invisible force, a power of sheer, overwhelming will. He suddenly realize he is controlling his breathing.
"Some-someone help!" The Emperor pant heavily because of the force choke the man did to the emperor. His face was rapidly turning an alarming shade of purple.
It was precisely at this moment, the absolute nadir of the tyrant's life, that an answer came. Then someone appeared through the door of the small castle.
BAM!
The wooden door, already weakened, was kicked inward with devastating force, splintering into pieces. And it's not other than the reinforcements with the Hero of the Empire and the Saintess. Behind them, several Imperial Knights rushed in, weapons drawn.
They instantly saw the emperor struggling to breath while they saw a man standing over him. The immediate action should have been a desperate rush to save the ruler, but instead hurrily helping the emperor both the Hero and the Saintess were shocked.
They saw a man in mid 30's with his scar on his right eye. But that didn't matter because of his physical description—the familiar, unique, unmistakable family resemblance. He has golden blond hair the same as the saintess while the Hero have the same eyes as his. The recognition hit them like a physical blow, simultaneously and definitively. And they finally realize it's their lost son.
The Man turned to face the stunned newcomers, his lips curling into a scornful, mocking smile.
"It's been awhile Mother, Father it seems you are in a pretty bad shape huh?" The Man said in sarcastic tone.
The two legends of the Empire—the stalwart protectors of the realm—just stood there frozen, their minds reeling from the devastating sight of their child standing as the instrument of the Empire's ruin. And then after a whole minute they finally spoke.
The Hero of the Empire, a man known for his unflappable courage, his white hair and purple eyes, trembled visibly. "Is- is that you? Abellion?"
The Man replied with cold, brutal confirmation. "Yes it I, Abellion Lucius Von Nazaric. Your supposed to be dead son."
The Saintess, his mother, the embodiment of grace and purity, her golden blond hair and golden eyes, stared in shock and then cried. Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of joy for his return and horror at his current state. She pleaded, her voice cracking with maternal distress. "Wha- what happened to you my son? Why, why are you doing this?!"
Abellion sighed, a weary, exaggerated sound of indifference. He was tired of their feigned ignorance, tired of the world they had chosen to protect. and replied "For revenge of course". He casually lift his mace and put to the ground and sit it, as if the fate of the Empire was merely a trifle to him.
The Hero, his father, stepped forward, struggling to find the rational man beneath the spikes. "Revenge for whom? Is this really worth for your revenge to commit a massacre and destruction on the empire?!"
The response was a single, deafening shout, a lifetime of suppressed pain and fury erupting in one word.
"YES!!"
The intensity of his cry forced the Hero and Saintess to stagger backward. They were looking not at a son to be scolded, but at a man who lost someone he loved the most that he vowed to destroyed the empire that his parents swore to protect.
"This damn bastard is the cause of it!" Abellion then pointed toward the emperor, who was still choking and gasping on the floor, momentarily forgotten.
"He ordered the eradication all the elves and because of that! I lost my wife and my twin children!!!" Abellion's purple eyes, the same color as his father's, burned with incandescent anger. He leveled his accusations directly at his parents. Because if they just stop the emperor to succumb to the madness he will not lost his wife and this wouldn't even happened. In his mind, their inaction was as culpable as the Emperor's direct command.
Then Abellion continued, detailing his fall from grace and his dark ascension. "Because of that I chose to become the worst prophecy that the prophetess foresaw."
He pronounced his new, terrible title with an almost perverse sense of pride.
"I become the Dark Lord of End where I will unsealed Ancalagon The Black, The Black Dread Dragon of End."
He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the sounds of doom outside and the destruction visible through the splintered doorway.
"Now tell me why this chaos is not just justified?! Ha!!!"
The Hero look on his son then he realized his son is beyond saving at this point. All the regrets of his past failures flooded his mind. If he just try to stop the Emperor to become a Mad Tyrant this wouldn't happened, he knew he can stop the emperor but because of the prophetess foresaw he couldn't do anything. He had been paralyzed by the fear of a self-fulfilling prophecy, and in doing nothing, he had created a far greater catastrophe.
Meanwhile the Saintess cried uncontrollably, her tears falling onto the floor. If she persuade the Emperor, the prophetess and the Holy church his son wouldn't fall like this, if she was there with him she could prevent everything. Her maternal instincts warred with her faith and duty, and her duty had tragically won, resulting in this utter heartbreak.
Abellion still force choking the Emperor decide to get up and lift his mace. He had made his point. He then finally unchoked the emperor whose face is in purple like color already. The Emperor collapsed, gasping for air, forgotten by all save his bodyguards, who were now paralyzed by the confrontation between the family.
Abellion stood tall, the mace now resting on his shoulder, the figure of Death in spiked armor. Abellion then pointed his mace to his parents and then said "Let's end this farce once and for all".
He addressed them with a finality that brooked no argument, a tragic farewell to the parents he once loved.
"Mother, Father."
The Hero of the Empire, recognizing the terrible truth that their beloved son was now their greatest enemy, finally moved. His years of combat experience took over, stripping away the father and leaving only the warrior. The Hero then disappeared and then reappeared infront of Abellion. It was a blindingly fast, expert movement.
CLANG!
The sound of steel on steel was deafening. Abellion's mace met the Hero's legendary sword, the force of the impact vibrating through the stone castle. Abellion barely parried it, the force sending sparks flying. He was immediately forced onto the defensive, the sheer skill and power of the Hero of the Empire instantly overwhelming him. He knew, with a sinking certainty, that this was a battle unlike any other. He had defeated the minor champions—the other Master Knights of the Empire he fought including the High Rank Templars and 9th Tier Mages—with contemptuous ease, but his father was in a different league entirely.
'I'm screwed' was the last coherent thought of Abellion Lucius Von Nazaric, Dark Lord of End, before the battle truly began.
---
Then Abellion cut the scene with his mace and look on the readers. The scene froze—the Hero of the Empire with his sword mid-swing, the Saintess weeping, the Emperor gasping on the floor, the whole empire in flames—and Abellion, the man at the center of the storm, turned directly toward you.
"If you think that's my end nope it will be after that fight." He gave a knowing, slightly weary smirk. "Hi It's me Abellion, seriously im not really him I'm a reincarnator who possessed this body so buckled up because this will be a long ride to tell my side of my story and why I've gotten up on this mess."
Abellion sighed dramatically, the massive mace resting easily against his shoulder. He look on the readers with his purple eyes full of ready to tell his side of his story. The anger was gone, replaced by a strange, world-weary cynicism.
"What happens if a Mafia Underboss reincarnated as the fraudest minor villain ever on a fantasy harem novel? Yep that's what happened to me, Hi i'm Johan Dietrich a fucking mafia underboss who reincarnated as the fraudest minor villain and worse son of the hero of the empire and the saintess. Yep that guy is their son yet he is the weakest of all."
He winked, the jagged scar on his right eye adding a layer of dangerous charm to the gesture.
"And better be ready because my side of my story will be continued in"
"Chapter 2."