Year 75 before the Ascension of the Celestial Monarch.
A murder could be important enough to change the course of the world, or it could simply be a footnote in a forgotten book.
On this occasion, it was the former.
Blood flowed like rivers in this place, while the corpses of both allies and enemies lay scattered around. Each was an elite warrior, carefully chosen and trained; each of them had lived through a hundred things more terrifying than any mortal would ever experience. But, despite everything, there lay their corpses, waiting for the earth and the worms to devour their remains.
The blood spilled in a single day was enough to equal ten years of massacres.
Sighing, she advanced with indifference, stepping over the corpses of hundreds of Wardens and Drakais.
But unlike ordinary Drakais, these did not possess stellar steel plate armor; instead, their half-naked bodies were covered in ritual tattoos ranging from red to black.
Adharmic marks, Alana thought with sadness, as she advanced among the bodies without a single drop of blood managing to touch her. "Red, crimson, and even dark red, though apparently there are no black ones," she added this time in an indistinguishable whisper, noting the distinction in the hue of the inscriptions with a solemn expression.
Unfortunately, she had no time to analyze the enemies' prowess; time was short and even more reinforcements would arrive soon.
She moved at a speed faster than sound, passing through the walls of the strange palace stretching along the coast as if she were an ethereal entity. They were in the northeastern sea of the East Continent, a place where even blood froze.
This place was normally devoid of civilized presence; practically only pirates and the hegemonic armada would set foot here.
But there was a third faction roaming around, going unnoticed by normal people, and to which the command of the East Continent had long turned a blind eye.
As Alana advanced through this strange palace, she found that it was deformed beyond what a rational mind could bear: bloody veins and furious faces emerged from the wood of the walls, and from the ceramics sprouted pulsations of black and red blood.
The further she advanced, the more the scenery seemed to come straight out of an infernal nightmare. Wood and stone were replaced by black and red metal from which metallic roars emanated, while spikes impaled the corpses of beasts and creatures that had already lost any former appearance.
Every step became an inferno and an irrational burden, beyond any mental or physical stress; simply put, this place was incompatible with life, or rather, with life forms like her.
Spiritual energy, which served as sustenance for all living beings, had been cut off in this place. From the suckers and rectangular pores of the metal flowed a corrupting energy, beyond the order and vitality of spiritual energy.
This corrupting energy, anathema to Alana and any other Warden, seemed to have a life and thought of its own as it tried to enter the cracks of her heart and flesh, attempting to make her part of this den of perdition.
"Seal of Destiny: Lightning," she growled as a Sanskrit rune materialized in the palm of her hand, normalizing the flow and cycle of spiritual energy within her body despite its absence in the environment, serving as a barrier to the corruption.
The scenery before Alana changed again, but this time it was pristine, almost. The door in front of her seemed to be made of precious gems, as it took her a moment to realize upon approaching that it was a type of wood, due to the rings that became noticeable up close.
But then, the door opened by itself.
"Enter, you are welcome to the Palace of Divine Blood," said a severe yet laughing voice.
Alana saw pitch-black darkness behind the door, but she felt no fear when she took the first step.
The crackling sound of candles echoed in the room, as a path of black candles, which supernaturally emitted an equally black light, made itself present. It was a huge wooden hall, similar to the door, covering the place in several levels, with a dais featuring hooded figures hidden in the black shadows cast by the place's own light.
The place was full; there were not ten or twenty people, there were hundreds of bloodthirsty eyes fiercely staring at Alana as if she were prey to be devoured.
In this place covered by an intense bloodlust, a voice emerged, somewhat joyful and somewhat sad.
"Alana Jagger. Long time no see. I hoped you would be among the corpses outside, but it seems you arrived late to the party."
The voice came from a graceful-looking woman wearing a one-piece ceremonial robe, but with an uncovered face.
She was a beautiful woman, with a pale complexion and a celestial bearing. Curiously, behind her was a pair of beautiful butterfly wings, while her eyes were covered by a blindfold that prevented her from seeing; but the organ that should be her ears looked like a kind of transparent fin-like appendage that vibrated slightly.
"Dragon Princess Mon Celia Vile," Alana growled in a dry tone as she stepped forward and unsheathed her spear with a murderous coldness. "I condemn you to death for the murder and invasion of the Hegemony, the breaking of the peace, and for this convention with impious worshippers."
Her words echoed in the room but bounced back, distorting into voices that were hers and yet not, blaspheming, screaming, and hurling vociferations full of hate and madness.
Perhaps that was the voice of her heart, her inner demons reflected naked to the eyes of her enemies so they could see her weakness.
But that no longer mattered. She was an assassin, and she was going to do the job that no one but her had to do.