#seerandkronos

[bykronos]

EP.11 Ashes:

Morteas' scream tore through the swamp, reverberating through the murky air until the silence that followed was louder than the cry. His blood-soaked hand trembled uncontrollably. Crimson tear traced its way down his arm, pooling at his elbow before he caught it with a clenched fist and violently slammed it into his own face.Fists slammed into the earth, again and again, until he roared in fury, "Not again! Not again!"

His voice dropped to a sinister whisper, almost mocking, “How long can you run, exactly? I know you're burning, the poison gnawing at your soul, devouring you from within .” He staggered forward, a wounded lion, his breath ragged as he approached a crumbling heap of shattered stone. From beneath the debris, the faun clawed its way up, face smeared with blood. Morteas loomed over him "Hard to tell who failed whom,” Morteas sneered. “You’ve disappointed me." His words cut like a blade before he turned and vanished into the blackness of the swamp.

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Nasul crashed onto the cliffside with a sickening thud, the limp body of Mrs. Wilde slipping from his grasp, her form dragged mercilessly over jagged stone. His breath came in ragged gasps as he lay broken, gazing at the full moon hanging high above. Mrs. Wilde’s voice was a fragile whisper. “Why?”The half-moon pendant around Nasul’s neck glowed, growing brighter—until the blinding light drowned her in oblivion.

[bykronoss]

CV9. THE BETRAYAL

“*She was my wife!*” The words cracked like a whip, laced with unmeasurable pain from Nasul. In a blur of motion, his gaze flickered to Mortea, denting his armor. With a sinister grin, Mortea hefted his massive blade, swinging it in a deadly arc toward Nasul. But in the blink of an eye, Nasul vanished, reappearing behind him with a lethal spin. A single flick of Nasul’s finger sent a shockwave that nearly split the air in two. Mortea, eyes wide, bent backward as the razor-sharp gust narrowly missed his throat, crashing into the wall behind him. The ceiling above groaned and collapsed in a hailstorm of stone and debris, but before the first brick fell, both had vanished—only to reappear above the ruins. Mortea lay beneath Nasul’s boot, gasping as his ribs cracked under the pressure.

“*Your wife?*” Mortea’s voice was venomous. “*The crown you wear was never yours. Now both your wife and my crown have tasted the bitter truth of sharing a bed with a man they could never love!*” 

Mortea reached in his armour, pulling out the burning petals of Ahima and drove them through his leg, searing the flesh as bloodless burns spread across his calf. Nasul’s screams echoed in the dark. With a desperate final gasp, Mortea twisted free, fleeing into the shadows like a wounded animal. 

[seerandkronos]

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[bykronos]

EP10. The flame:

The earth trembled under the fury of the battle, as the two brothers, Nasul and Mortea, clashed with bone-crushing force. Nasul's dark magic had no effect on his brother's iron resolve. In a swirl of black mist, he vanished, barely evading Mortea's wild punch, reappearing behind him to drive a fist into his jaw, the air hissed and smoke curled from his knuckles. 

But Mortea didn’t flinch. He stood like stone, blood dribbling from his mouth, unfazed. In a flash, he grabbed the petals of a hyacinth and swung at Nasul. The blow missed by a hair's breadth and the petals hit the ground—an unforgivable mistake. The earth erupted in violet flames, seething with heat, engulfing them both in a hellish blaze. They were burning, yet neither faltered, their hands locked around each other’s throats, flesh searing under the relentless fire.  Mrs. Wilde, desperately trying to open a portal for escape, screamed as a boulder hurled by Mortea crashed toward her. She barely dodged as it splintered against a tree. Mortea, weary and bloodied, his robes half burnt to cinders, grabbed Nasul's face with both hands and slammed him to the ground. With kick to Nasul's skull, he sent him flying through the forest, crashing through swamp .A deafening silence fell. Mortea staggered toward the debris, blood dripping from his fingertips.

[bykronoss]

CV8. Sunt Moartea.

Sunt Moartea stood as a towering figure, his presence as dark as his name. His dark hair fell around a deeply scarred neck, the mark stretching down to his spine. Pinned to his chest coat was a broken pendant of a half-sun, a symbol of his conflicted bloodline: the son of a vampire father and a human mother.

While he despised his brother, Nasul, the Dark Lord, it was his own human nature that he loathed most. He trained relentlessly, pushing his body beyond the limits of both man and monster. His speed was unparalleled, swift as the wind, and his fists struck with the force to shatter stone. Nasul himself could not pierce his mind; a rare strength that even dark magic could not breach.

Despite his power, bitterness consumed him. He longed to rule, but his brother had stolen the throne. And so, he moved through the shadows—a king in waiting, possessed by a hatred as deep as the scars that marred his flesh.

[bykronoss]

CV6.Nasul

Nasul, the Dark Lord, was a figure of dread, a warrior whose very name sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest souls. He wasn’t born a king; he was crowned by the choice of the crowd, his ascension a testament to his fearsome might. Bloodshot eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, reflecting a power so immense it warped the very air around him. 

Every inch of his pale, sharp-featured visage radiated a dark magic that clung to him like a shroud, palpable even in the silence before his arrival. Whispers spoke of his foul sorcery, a force that twisted reality itself, and when he spoke, the world held its breath, sensing the weight of his presence. 

With fangs that glinted like daggers, Nasul exuded a chilling elegance.He wore a half-moon pendant, its silver gleam hanging low against his chest. It was said that he could see and hear everything, an all-seeing specter whose gaze could pierce through the very souls of those who dared to meet it. In his presence, despair hung heavy, and hope seemed but a distant memory.

[bykronoss]

CV5. Mr Wilde

Mr. Wilde was a man driven by passion, but his haunted deep black eyes, scarred with the mark of a claw-like scratch, betrayed a darker truth. The jagged line cut across his left iris, like the path of a wild beast, hinting at battles fought and secrets kept. He admired his brother fiercely, always striving to match his legacy, yet was tormented by the weight of a truth he couldn’t reveal.

Around his neck hung a broken sun pendant, its once-bright metal tarnished and fractured. A shattered remnant, clinging to a heavy chain that he kept close, as if it could somehow shield him. Wilde’s fingers often drifted to it, tracing its jagged edges as if to ground himself in reality. It reminded him of his son, his only source of light, a love that stood above all else.

Yet, lurking beneath his devotion was a smoldering hatred for his father, a revulsion so deep it bled into fear. The tension in his body spoke of hidden shadows, of knowledge he bore alone, secrets too dangerous to share. And in his haunted eyes, a glimpse of the terrible burden he carried was visible to those who dared to look.

[bykronoss]

CV4. VICTOR

With blue eyes framed by thick brows and a golden sun pendant forever resting against his chest, Victor bore a smile reminiscent of his mother. Raised by his father, Nasul, life was a relentless struggle. Victor toiled endlessly, yearning for his father's approval and the warmth of a mother who had vanished when he was just a boy. 

Driven by longing, Victor trained relentlessly, developing strength beyond his years. His life took a drastic turn when Nasul delivered heart-wrenching news: their mother had passed, leaving behind a baby brother named Maurius. Victor, ever the devoted son, vowed to protect Maurius, the last thread connecting him to their mother. 

No torment was too great for Victor; he stood as a fierce guardian. Mauritius, with his necklace—a small, radiant sun—was a symbol of hope. The weight of their shared grief forged an unbreakable bond. 

His magic, a striking violet, shimmered with both elegance and strength, capable of dismantling the darkest foes. At seventeen, Victor became a legend, feared throughout the dark empire. He was hailed as the heir, a beacon of light in a realm of shadows. But an unforeseen incident loomed, one that would irrevocably alter the course of his life, testing his resolve and the depth of his love for his brother.

[bykronoss]

CV3- MAMA WILDE

Luna Winds, known in her school days as the Troublemaker, wore this title as a badge of honour, perfectly capturing her spirited and impulsive nature. She was a wildfire racing across the hallowed grounds of The Croods, the most prestigious college of wizardry in Transylvania, she epitomised the very essence of exploration. Her adventures frequently led her into delightful mischief, particularly as she darted into the forests in search of rare herbs and exotic plants for her potions.

She was one of the most prodigious potion-makers the institution had ever nurtured. Initially, her parents bore deep concerns regarding her reckless escapades; however, their anxieties gradually dissipated when they came to understand that the only antidote for her wanderlust lay in the discovery of a worthy companion. It was only with the arrival of her child that she truly mastered the art of remaining grounded. Her classroom often mirrored her untamed spirit, cluttered with the remnants of her explorations through swamps and woodlands. Yet, her striking violet eyes communicated a profound depth. Her carefree nature and kind heart attracted intriguing souls into her life. Little did she realize that the helpless guy she had plucked from the murky depths of a swamp, half-drowned and desperate, would ultimately become her lifelong partner.

[bykronoss]

CV2- JUNIOR

The night Junior Wilde was born, a violent storm ravaged the village. Thunder cracked above the dark lake, and the wind howled like wolves. The nearby forest seemed to groan as if ancient spirits stirred. Amidst the chaos, Junior came into the world, almost tearing his mother apart.He was far from ordinary. With gleaming purple eyes and two tiny fangs, his appearance both thrilled and unsettled his parents. Junior grew at an unnatural pace, as though time bent around him.

At a very young age, he had mastered his mother’s potion craft, spending hours in the dark forest gathering herbs and crafting elixirs. Even more bizarre was his ability to speak with creatures—wolves, centaurs, and sirens—who treated him with an odd respect.

Mr. Wilde had long suspected that his father’s presence loomed over the child, but he could never have imagined the truth. Junior wasn’t just gifted; he was the heir to an ancient curse, one that had waited generations to return.

[bykronoss]

CV1- PEACHES

A small, frail elf with a bald head and wrinkled skin wandered aimlessly through Hogsmeade, lost and forsaken. His former masters, in their cruelty, had cast him out, calling him a bad omen. Like so many elves, he had lived a life of oppression, treated worse than vermin. In these dark times, under the reign of the Dark Lord, fear reigned supreme. Muggles, half-bloods, and creatures like him were scorned and oppressed by all, their existence barely acknowledged.

Lost and starving, the elf staggered into Pennybount. Drawn by the scent of lemon pie, he peered into a bakery to find a woman shedding tears of bliss, amidst the mess holding a lemon pie to her chest. Curiosity betrayed him; a bell rang, startling her. Panicked, he fled. but with a flick of her wand, she summoned him back inside.Falling to his knees, the elf begged for his life. Her heart sank at the sight of the elf—emaciated, his clothes ragged and filthy. His frail appearance stirred a deep sorrow within her, a testament to his suffering. She offered him food, clothing, and—most unexpected of all—a job. That was the day Peaches met his Mama Wilde and that day on, Peaches became his own elf, no longer bound by a master’s cruelty. Though only three people knew of his freedom, for the first time, Peaches found dignity in work, kindness, and a new life.

[bykronos]

EP10. THE SHROUD PART 2

She knew where Peaches lay now. With a shaky breath and a tear rolling down, she shattered the bracelet on her wrist, scattering black Cinis dust that spread like a dark mist on touching the isidella root. When the haze cleared, Mortea froze. Mrs. Wilde now stood over the faun’s body, her blade dripping with dark blood and a faun's hand in her grip. She drew the blade across her throat, letting crimson drops of blood fall. As they touched the floor, Dutchman’s cactus outside erupted in violet flames.

He laughed, a low, cold sound “I might actually start liking you!” advancing with his blade raised. She whispered, “Patimi,” launching a bolt of golden light. He caught it, sent it careening back at her. She seized the capsule mid-air, hissed, “Durere zvarcolitoare,” and sent an electric jolt through the chain, sparking against his armor. Smoke curled around him, but he only grinned, yanking her across the floor.

He raised his boot and kicked, sending her crashing through walls. As he lunged, ready to end her, a hand gripped his fist. Smoke curled between them, and a voice rasped, “Hello, brother.”

[bykronoss]

CV7. Kreecher

Kreecher was a striking faun, a creature caught between two worlds. Above his waist, he bore the form of a man, his curly dark hair framing a rugged face adorned with a small beard and reddish skin that glimmered in the dim light of the forest. Below, he was a beast of the wild—thick, glossy fur covering powerful legs that ended in hooves, each step echoing the burden of his servitude. A heavy chainmail necklace encircled his throat, a constant reminder of his status as a slave to Sunt Moartea.

Serving ,he forged a deep-seated hatred within him just like his lord, one that burned hotter than any fear. Magic-users and dark creatures alike filled Kreecher with a bitter loathing, but none inspired his wrath more than the infamous Dark Lord Nasul. Every flicker of dark magic, every whisper of sorcery, ignited a fury that coursed through his veins, transforming fear into an insatiable desire for revenge.

[seerandkronos]

PLOT

Pennybount, a small, mist-shrouded village just north of Hogsmeade in Hampshire, has always been a place of whispers and shadows. In this tale, we delve into the unsettling story of The Wildes, a family whose bloodline traces back to none other than the king of dark  creatures himself, the ancient Dracula known as Nasul.

The Wildes lived in relative peace, their lives seemingly untouched by the dark legacy that haunted their lineage.

And now, the Wilde family teeters on the brink, as the curse stirs once more, ready to claim its next heir. What was once a peaceful existence will soon be torn apart, and the horrors long hidden will come creeping back into the light. The darkness, as always, demands its due.

[bykronoss]

CV14. Silence

A hulking Minotaur, bloodied and scarred, limped through the cavernous, deathly cold hall of the castle. One eye was slashed, his nose ring broken, and his left shoulder bled freely, each drop marking a crimson trail on the stone floor. In his trembling hand, he held a mutilated head—a dark offering. At the far end of the hall sat Nasul, a vampire lord in black armor, slouched on a massive, shadow-drenched throne. His face twisted with a torment he could not mask. His bloodshot eyes, ringed with shadows, glistened, as if sorrow and fury warred within.

“It wasn’t… an easy task, My Lord,” the Minotaur’s voice broke the silence, heavy and pained.

Nasul’s gaze, cold as ice, drifted to the Minotaur, but his words were razor-edged. “Nor was it meant to be.” The Minotaur bowed his head lower, voice a strained whisper. “He was… our prince, my lord. Victor… he shielded him, even at the end…” 

A bitter silence fell, thick and suffocating. Before he could utter another word, Nasul’s gaze sharpened, stopping him dead. The Minotaur knelt, reverent and broken, lifting Victor’s head as though presenting a sacred relic. Nasul’s eyes darkened, sensing the last flickers of Victor’s fading life force. As shadows deepened in the castle’s vast, bleak emptiness, Nasul leaned forward, his voice a hollow rasp, barely a breath. “Why… why would you do this… for him?”

[bykronoss]

CV13. The Battle

A horn sounded, splitting the dark with its deep, bone-rattling call. Shadows surged as fauns with jagged smiles, spear-wielding centaurs, snarling goblins, and hulking ogres thundered forward. The ground shook beneath their charge, a death march.

Maurius took Agrius’ fallen sword, gripping it tight. He whispered, ‘I might not live, but neither will you.’ Before the first blow fell, a roar broke the sky. A comet of violet fire crashed to earth, splitting the ground and sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Creatures stumbled, eyes wide as Victor appeared from the smoke — fierce, eyes burning like coals. Even the mighty Minotaur hesitated, fear darkening its features. “My Prince,” it rumbled, voice almost pleading, “Leave now. Your father demands it.” But Victor’s gaze was ice, cutting the Minotaur’s voice to silence. Even from the castle, Nasul’s command echoed in the Minotaur’s mind, making it move like a puppet on strings.

Victor didn’t wait. He moved like death, crushing an ogre’s throat with one hand and tossing its corpse into the charging horde. Goblins shattered under the weight, screams breaking the night. Blood sprayed the forest, painting it in terror. But the chaos had a price. Maurius’ shout ripped through the din as chains wrapped around him, iron grips pulling him down. A dozen creatures wrestled him to the ground, their roars shaking the air. Victor turned, eyes locking on the scene too late. The forest’s screams echoed with the sound of captured breath and dark triumph as the minotaur rams its sword across the night already soaked in blood and fate.