#seerandkronos

[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?”

[bykronos]

EP13. Evanascere

The spell “Teren curat” shattered the suffocating silence of the twisted forest, sweeping the choking fog aside. Mr. Wilde stood ready, eyes glinting with deep purple fire, Junior tied securely to his back. The only sound was the distant roar of the Widow’s Waterfall, until a blow from Mortea splintered a tree just inches from his face. Wilde ducked, muscles coiled. “Să urce nivelul,” he whispered, and crimson energy seethed around his clenched fist. He spun and struck Mortea’s back, the impact launching the hulking figure through ancient trees that cracked and splintered like bones. Sunlight slashed down through the shattered canopy, illuminating Mortea’s rage.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he snarled, crushing a *grevă fruit* in his hand. The ground exploded with roots, vicious and thorny, slicing the air like serpents. Wilde dodged, a root tearing into his leg, blood streaming as pain seared through him.

With fury in his eyes, he conjured a blade, voice trembling with rage. “Even in my nightmares, you haunt me. Today, I will kill you, you swine.”He lunged, but Mortea’s hand met him mid-air, iron fingers crushing his neck. Bones cracked. “Did I tell you how she begged?” Mortea hissed, squeezing until Wilde fell limp. As Mortea reached for Junior, father and son turned to ash. The surprise was his last as Wilde drove a spear through his spine. Blue flames erupted as Mortea smashed a vial of *evanescere*, which on touching the sunlight lit up swallowing him and making him vanish into thin air.

[seerandkronos]

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[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.

[bykronoss]

CV12. The Attack

The moon hung in the sky, stained like a bloody warning. Legends spoke of death when a night was marked by a starless, crimson moon. Maurius sat on the edge of Widow’s Waterfall, the chill in the air gnawing at him. He waited for his brother, a tension coiling in his gut. Suddenly, a shift — the kind only a hunter senses. His pupils flared violet, claws sprang from his fingertips, and every muscle tensed. Without warning, an arrow whispered through the air and shattered the cliff wall into dust and rubble. Maurius threw himself backward, heart pounding as he sprang to his feet and bolted into the dark forest. The twisted woods loomed around him, alive with shadows and secrets. The trees stood like sentinels, their twisted branches blocking any trace of moonlight, their bark whispering with ghostly voices.The silence shattered as he skidded to a halt, surrounded. A hundred soldiers, clad in blackened armor, stood ready. Leading them was a minotaur who towered over them all. Maurius’ heart tightened—this was a trap, perfectly set.

Agrius charged, swinging a massive sword with lethal intent. Maurius ducked, the blade slicing the air so close it ruffled his hair. He countered, driving his dagger deep into Agrius’ side. The beast gasped, a look of shock frozen on its face as it crumpled to its knees. Maurius stepped back, blood dripping from his blade, eyes cold. He clutched the head in front, twisted it apart, shoving the lifeless body toward the other soldiers.

[bykronoss]

CV11. The Garden

Mortea paced in his chamber, the towering walls of the black palace seeming to close in around him, thick with his fury. The scent of decay hung in the air, mingling with the sharp scent of burning candles as Mortea clenched his fists, knuckles white. 

"It should have been my throne," he spat, his voice low but trembling with fury. "He didn’t even want it, and yet they all bowed to him." His gaze burned, dark eyes flickering with barely restrained rage. "I might lack fangs, but I have strength. I could crush him to the underworld with my bare hands if I had to."

The faun, shadowed by the doorway, studied Mortea with wary eyes. "What would that bring you now, My Lord?" he ventured carefully. "The throne belongs to him. If you take it by force, they will call you usurper, but never king."  The balcony overlooked the sprawling, twisted garden below, where black roses bloomed under a sky heavy with storm clouds. Outside, he caught sight of Alina, tending to the roses. The faun’s voice grew sly, almost coaxing. "But what if you took something he holds dear? Something as precious to him as the throne was to you. Something he could never truly breathe again."

A cruel smile twisted Mortea’s lips as he looked down at Alina. An idea bloomed within him, black and twisted, an act so merciless even the devil might turn away. This was no longer about revenge—it was about obliterating everything Nasul held sacred.

[bykronoss]

CV10. The Cliff

On the edge of the cliff, with a sea of stars stretched above and the quiet moon watching over them, Nasul held her close as they lay together on the cool grass. She lifted two pendants. "You’re the half-moon, and I’m the sun," she whispered, placing it around his neck. "Promise me… you’ll always carry this. Even when the world forgets, you’ll remember. It’s like you’re holding me, Nasul. Close. Safe."

He forced a smile, but she saw through it, touching his face. "To me, you’ll always be the fool who walked into the sun for me."

Now, alone in his darkened room, Nasul replayed the memory as tears slipped down his cheeks. The hollow silence pressed in, broken only by a soft knock."Father, may I come in?" a child’s voice drifted through the door. Nasul quickly brushed away the tears, his crimson eyes fixating on the figure entering—his son, Victor, standing small and uncertain. "Yes," he answered, his voice frosty as he tried to bury the grief. "What is it?" Victor’s gaze wavered. "When… will Mother return?" The question pierced his resolve, but he turned his back, hiding his face.

"Tell me, how is your training?" Victor’s reply was quiet, "I’m doing my best, Father."

"Not enough," Nasul cut in sharply, dismissing him. Shamed and teary-eyed, Victor murmured, "I’m sorry, Father… I’ll work harder." And he left. The door barely closed before Nasul collapsed, clutching the half-moon pendant. The memory, too raw to bear, unfurled within him, each breath a painful reminder. He held the pendant tightly, as if, even now, it could bring her back to him.

[bykronos]

EP12 .The Howl

A lone wolf’s howl shattered the silence, jolting Mr. Wilde awake. The icy grip of dread clamped down as thoughts of his missing wife resurfaced. Each day was a relentless journey, haunted by the stench of Nasul’s shadow. But he had no choice—he had to protect his son. The boy lay unmoving, trapped in a sleep that mocked life, eyes bloodshot whenever Mr. Wilde pried them open. Weeks had turned to months as they moved from forest to forest, village to village, mountains clawing at the sky and valleys swallowing their steps.

Exhaustion gnawed at him, but when he lifted his head, realisation froze him. The twisted forest yawned before him, its black canopy smothering the last traces of daylight. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint, distant roar of Widow’s Waterfall.

A voice slithered out from the shadows, low and venomous. “Sweet memories?”

Mr. Wilde's fists tightened, body coiled to strike. “Show yourself.”

A figure limped into view, draped in heavy black armour, eyes like charred coals. “Have you forgotten me?” The man’s smile was cruel. “I am the one responsible for your miserable existence.” A shiver ran down Mr. Wilde’s spine as the figure’s voice thundered, “Say hello to your father now.’

The word “înconjoară” echoed, coiling up  rusty, brown fog from the forest floor like living smoke.

[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.

---

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.

[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]

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. 

[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.