Chapter 1

The human girl wiped a grubby hand across her tear-stained cheeks. The moisture only deepened the color of her eyes, a swirl of a clear blue sky swallowed up into the midnight heavens of her large black pupils. Even at eleven years old, those eyes cut through the grime and the grief on her crumpled features.
The young man beside her spoke with quiet determination. "Please listen, Melina. I pledge to you on everything I am that I will come back to get you."
He understood her trepidation. Nothing in her life so far led her to believe in the words — or the actions — of others. He clutched her slender shoulders, masking his wince at the bony prominences of her emaciated, malnourished frame under the weight of his fingers.
"Wh... when... will you come back, Bleiz?"
"I don't know—"
"I won't let you go!" she cried out.
Bleiz rushed to hush her cry, peering over his shoulder at the slumped form of their drunken father, snoring only a short distance away.
"When I have a house for us, one where you can grow all the trees and flowers you want, I will return for you, I will. OK?"
With a sniffle, she rubbed her eyes again, her thoughts for a moment captured by the hopeful future Bleiz described. It was a shared dream that lived in stark contrast to the nightmare of filth and decay that was her reality.
"Swear on it?"
Holding up her little digit to him, she waited for him to respond. While glancing down, he hooked his pinky finger on hers, sealing his oath to her.
"I promise, Mel."

###

Casimir walked upright with his broad shoulders rolled back, the torches perched in their sconces reflecting small flickers of light against his black glinting armor. His right palm rested against the hilt of his broadsword that lay strapped to his hip. His gray eyes narrowed forward as he stepped through the labyrinth that was Castle Haerton. Here, the king of Etias, the Reaper, lived with his family and closest allies.
The human knight glanced at the diminutive figure that strode alongside him. He could tell judging by her facial expression that Aneira was growing increasingly agitated the closer they approached the bedroom door of Astiroth. Her deep orange dress swirled around her heels with every step she took. Her large prayer beads resting on her neck caught the colors of the torches. In the center of the largest prayer bead was a rich emerald in the shape of a tear-drop, the faucets within the precious stone lighting fires in its depths.
"You need not be here if you're uncomfortable," said Casimir as he lifted his gaze forward again.
"I won't leave you alone to speak with that barbarian," Aneira replied pointedly as she pushed her light blond hair out of her green eyes. Her vision thinned at the approaching door.
"I am not sure if there is much you could do if he attacked."
"I'm more capable than you give me credit for, Sir Casimir."
He conceded her point with a nod as they stopped before the door. Casimir raised a gauntlet covered hand to rap his knuckles against the wooden frame.

###

Draped over the window hung a pair of burgundy curtains. Stretching to their whole length, they swayed and brushed the floor as a gentle breeze moved in through the open window. Beams of dawn flowed into the darkened place, cascading across the rolls of parchment scattered over the desk that rested nearby.
A man lay asleep against the wooden surface of the counter, his face buried in his arms. His dark gray skin blended against his ruffled, shoulder-length black hair. The sunlight crept over his face, disrupting his sleep as he grunted in annoyance. Slowly, his eyes opened, revealing the solid inky blackness behind his eyelids. He growled at the sunlight again as he shifted to sit up, his back stiff from sleeping in the awkward position most of the night.
He glanced down at the various sketches of Castle Haerton's escape channels before him. His foggy brain cleared from fatigue as he smiled down at the parchment. It would quickly be time for him to leave this wretched castle behind and begin his journey to real power. For months, the man had been planning this escape to travel to the mysterious regions of the west - the lands where the Death Daemon resided. He was only missing one thing, one piece of the puzzle before he may leave the Reaper's side.
The Tome of Death.
A knock on the door broke him from his concentration as he frowned at the entrance to his chamber. Moving fast, he snatched up the rolls of parchment to place them out of sight from any who may enter. When he pulled open the door, he was unsurprised to find Sir Casimir standing before him. He had to suppress a scowl as he stood up straight.
"Yes... Sir?" the gray-skinned man inquired, unintentionally allowing a tone of anger escape in his words.
"Astiroth. The king demands an audience with you. Now," replied Casimir, his rich voice distinct and firm. The knight's grip lingered on the hilt of his sword, his grasp relaxed to exhibit no signs of a threat.
"And may I ask the reason?" Astiroth questioned with a lifted brow.
"I know not. Come," said Casimir as he stepped back to allow accommodation for Astiroth to walk out into the corridor.
Noticing another being before him, Astiroth turned his black eyes to the woman that stood beside the knight. The corner of his lips twitched as he caught the sight of Aneira. The qheilae's eyes narrowed in an unmistakable warning to Astiroth. She maintained her silence, her full lips a thin line from the tightness of her clenched jaw. How she hated this man and everything he represented; his lack of morals, formal etiquette, and cockiness racked at her core.
"Will she be joining us?" asked Astiroth, purposefully not granting Aneira any consideration by giving her an appropriate title. Astiroth knew well Aneira's distaste for him, which only drove him to toy with her further. It amused him every time he looked at those green eyes burn ablaze at his appearance. He buried his snicker at her as he gestured back to his captain.
"I suggest you watch how you address Lady Aneira, Astiroth," Casimir said.
Astiroth bowed in apology before retreating to his chamber to dawn his armor of the royal guard. Unbeknownst to the duo, Astiroth slipped a few pieces of parchment he had hidden before into a pouch on his hip. Though he did not know the reason for being summoned by the king, his senses told him he should prepare for this to be the last time he entered this room. He returned a moment later before Casimir, gesturing for them to lead the way.
Soon, the three entered the throne room. Tremendous braziers attached to one part of each of the twelve onyx columns lit up the lower levels of the throne hall, and their light covered the area in a warm radiance. The marble rock of the embowed ceiling danced in the flickering luminescence while memorials peered upon the mosaic floor.
An ebony rug ran in a circle around the radius of the chamber, with two paths at the throne and the main entrance, while guiding banners with embellished crowns hung from the walls. Between each flag stood a tall candle, a few of them lit and illuminated the depictions of heroes and legends above them. Veils covered stained glass windows of mesmerizing mosaics mimicking the same dusky color as the flags. Burnished corners and fancy tassels adorned the draperies.
A grand throne of obsidian sat at the center of a small platform, adjoined by two similar, but less ornate seats for those closest to the royal highness, one on either position of the more massive chair of authority. Layered engravings coated the chair, emphasizing the great textures of the obsidian stone. Fixed on the broad backside was a form of a gigantic skeletal dragon, its wings outstretched as if shielding the Reaper. Deep rubies replaced the sockets where the eyes should be.
Seated in the chair was a shrouded specter, dressed in long, pitch-black robes that concealed his full outline. His visage was overshadowed by a large hood, but two sharp red points of light glowered from underneath the shadow the cowl cast. An arm rested on each armrest, exposing the white-bone of his skeleton hands poking out from beneath the sleeves of his garments.
Astiroth approached the throne, bending on one knee to bow in respect. Though irritated by the summoning, Astiroth knew better than to disobey the Reaper. The old lich was of the few creatures in the realms that Astiroth admitted could destroy him with ease.
To obtain such authority was Astiroth's deepest desire. Every waking minute, the man craved power over the other pathetic weaklings in Etias. There was never enough for him; his lust for control unceasing. However, Astiroth hid this while in the Reaper's castle. He forced his deranged ideologies to the most posterior part of his mind to turn on the facade of 'weakness.'
"My Lord," he recited in greeting just as he had for years. He silently prayed for the day he would not have to utter it again.
The Reaper's gaze bore into the dark gray skinned individual, scrutinizing him. Aneira always felt the eyes of the king could seep into one's thoughts. Both her and Casimir stayed behind some ways, but they bent in formal reverence.
"Rise," ordered the Reaper. Astiroth stood from his bow, lingering his view below the hood of the Reaper. He had seen firsthand what happens when one peers into that being's eyes. He preferred not to be another statistic to that deadly glance.
The king leaned back further into his chair, placing the tips of his bone fingers together in contemplation. "There are an increasing number of reports of material containing information about this castle being taken." The knight and lady glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes before looking back at the Reaper and Astiroth.
"Several witnesses report noting a man snooping throughout the escape tunnels the past few nights. Some have placed you as the individual they observed," the king went on, his gleaming orbs never leaving Astiroth. Astiroth's posture relaxed as he listened to the Reaper's remarks, realizing he was a suspect.
"I do not know what these people could be referring to, Your Majesty. Perhaps they are mistaken? Care for me to 'interrogate' these witnesses?"
The man purposefully insinuated to his barbaric interrogation techniques, which left most witnesses maimed or dead. However, there was no fooling this old shayde, Astiroth knew. He recognized that the monarch saw through his forefront of ignorance.
There was a long pause before the king spoke again, "Sir Casimir, search Astiroth." Casimir looked startled by this request but did not question it as he walked behind Astiroth, commanding him to hold his limbs up as he searched the many pockets of his armor. Astiroth did not move, his hands in the air as he continued to stare at the Reaper unblinkingly.
"Descriptions of the underground roots, Your Majesty," replied Casimir, holding up the parchment he found in Astiroth's pocket. "And multiple maps attempting to locate a... hiding place, of some sort."
The Reaper's eyes seemed to narrow down at Astiroth. The gray-skinned man smirked, the sneer only growing broader as the king ordered, "Sir Casimir, arrest Astiroth."
Aneira appeared perplexed by this as she drew her staff from the strap on her back. She positioned it at Astiroth, a dangerous green glow omitting from the wooden tip.
Astiroth's emotionless mask cracked, his eyes widening with fury. His nostrils flared as he cried up at the king, "You should not meddle in things that are none of your affair, Your Majesty!"
His voice echoed in the hallway as his hands came out to his sides, the ground splitting beneath him as two long vines of stone snaked their path up into his grasp. Stony spikes appeared in a circular formation around him in defense, forcing Casimir away.
"I sought your guidance, to bask in your strength, hoping to taste it for myself. I played the role of the loyal guard dutifully, yet your training never surmounted to more than a mere pittance," his snarl turned into a perverse smile. "Now I will solicit a being even more powerful than you. Unlike you, she will grant me the capacity I seek!"
The Reaper's flaming eyes narrowed as he rose, lifting his right palm as his scythe appeared in his grip in a wisp of smoke. The weapon itself towered over him two feet; its sizable, curved, smooth blade crafted of titanium. The edge was secured at the top of a long unadorned shaft made of obsidian. There was a constant shifting of swirling mist inside the pole as if the weapon incarcerated the souls the Reaper took within it.
"You are too weak to achieve legitimate power, Astiroth. And you will suffer for your crimes against the throne." Astiroth snarled at the Reaper's comments, his grasp tightening as if he were to lunge towards the lich. Aneira's long pointed ears perked at the noise of the door behind them being thrown wide. She whirled her head around to look at a young black-haired boy, only fourteen winters of age, rush into the throne room. He fell to a skidding stop as his pupilless blue eyes widened at the sight of the broken marble flooring and the cruel whips in Astiroth's grasp.
"Prince Kyvan, you must go!" Aneira shouted at him.
Aneira's shouts of retreat caught Astiroth's attention, his rage dissipating as a sadistic grin spread across his face. He whipped his wild gaze to study the young boy, examining the distance between him and the adolescent. Astiroth turned his eyes back to the Reaper as he smirked.
"You could have avoided this longer if you had stayed away from my business. No matter."
A soft chuckle rippled from his throat as he raised his fists, still grasping the vines between his fingers. With remarkable speed, the stone whips flew backward to coil around Aneira and Casimir's ankles. Slate thorns sunk into their flesh as Astiroth flung his arms forward to jerk their footing out from under them.
They grunted when they collided with the solid floor below them, their skulls bouncing off the marble. Casimir's vision filled with white spots as he attempted to regain his footing. It had knocked Aneira unconscious, her staff a few yards aside from her limp form.
The gray-skinned man swung, darting for the young boy as both whips returned to his grip. He hurled one at the prince, wrapping him in it as thorns pushed against the lad's torso. The sturdy stone rope pinned his arms to his sides, preventing escape.
"Let go of me!" the prince cried as he struggled against his bindings.
"Do as I say, or I will cut the youth's life drastically short," Astiroth roared as he remained behind Prince Kyvan, his long-clawed fingers twisting in the prince's fine black hair. The man sneered up at the Reaper, "If anyone takes another step, I will paint this entire throne room with his blood."
Kyvan continued to thrash, crying out for his grandfather's help. The temperature of the area turned to an icy coldness as rage burned in the king's beady red eyes. Casimir got to one knee, his now visible breath blocking his vision as his skull throbbed.
"Release him at once!" the Reaper roared, an uncharacteristic angry timbre in his voice.
"You're not in charge, you rotted pile of bones... I am!" Astiroth tugged on the handle of the lash wrapped around the teenager's frame, causing the thorns to dig deeper into his flesh. "You will give me the Tome of Death you have in your possession, or you will observe your precious grandson perish."
Astiroth's smirk remained stretched across his thin lips. His black eyes darted around the chamber, always vigilant to his surroundings. The Reaper's bone grip twisted further against the scythe. He could kill Astiroth. He recognized that fact. But with the proximity of the young prince to the murderous man, the old Reaper did not wish to take the chance of Kyvan being hurt or killed.
"What could you want with the tome?" the Reaper growled at him.
Astiroth shrugged nonchalantly, "That's my prerogative." He raised the youth further in front of him as if displaying him as a trophy to the Reaper. He growled, "Now show me the damn book. You're running out of time."
Astiroth's clutch tightened further on his signature whip, his stance showing his confidence. The Reaper stared hard at the crazed lunatic before he glanced towards Casimir. The knight remained on one knee but gave the Reaper a slight nod in acknowledgment. The knight knew his primary goal was to get the prince the moment an opportunity arose. The lich lifted his left hand, a heavy black book appearing in his clutch.
"Surrender the boy first," ordered the king.
"Do you take me for a simpleton, Reaper?" Astiroth scoffed. "I will free the boy when that text is in my hands and prove to be the real work. You and I both recognize that if I were to free him any sooner, you would slay me. I intend to avoid that."
Casimir shifted as if to stand. Astiroth's eyes flashed as he turned towards Casimir, barking his own charge at his former superior, "Don't test me, Knight. You realize I will slice his throat without hesitation."
The tome lifted from the Reaper's grip to hang in the air. It floated to the half-way point between the two as the hardcover opened, displaying pages written in an ancient archaic language. There were illustrations of what appeared to be a decayed dragon on several pages as they proceeded to turn by themselves.
"This is the Tome of Exos," the Reaper explained.
Astiroth loosened his grasp on the whip, the stone thorns sliding from the boy's body. He snapped his other weapon expertly to snatch the Tome of Exos out of the air. With a firm tug, the tome flew towards him. He reached up with a clawed hand to seize it by its spine.
He shoved the prince to the ground as he spun on his heel, sprinting out of the throne chamber. A blockade of stone erupted from the earth, creating a barrier between himself and the others to slow any pursuit. Kyvan collapsed to all-fours, finding his breath scarce as his body trembled from adrenaline and pain. Blood streaked down his extremities from the puncture wounds left behind by the thorns. Casimir rushed to the prince, scooping him up as he whisked him away to safety. The Reaper raised his robed arms, and the castle groaned and rumbled around them.
In the corridor, the floor lurched beneath Astiroth's feet, slamming him into the opposite wall. Before he could re-orientate himself, the room flipped upside down, smashing him against the ceiling. The roof which was now the floor to Astiroth shifted and warped as the metal twisted and wrapped around the evil man to sink him down into its depths.
Astiroth cursed under his breath as he collected himself. He snapped one whip forward, the stone length coiling around the nearest protruding wooden beam. He hauled himself ahead and out of the swallowing wall, crawling on the ceiling as the now living castle kept up its pursuit. The man grew excited to see the threshold to the high balcony come into view. Astiroth snapped the second whip once again, pulling himself along the disorienting place.
He reached his destination, throwing wide the exits. Astiroth ran to the end of the terrace before he clambered up onto the banister and leaped. His freedom was within sight now as he looked down at the ever-nearing earth.
The glint of the deadly blade came before Astiroth could dodge it. The mighty scythe of the Reaper sliced across the man's back, tearing through muscle and bone without slowing, narrowly missing Astiroth's spine. Though the old lich could not grab the man, his lethal weapon had performed its job as the flesh that surrounded Astiroth's gaping wound blackened with decay.
The force of the blade caused Astiroth to turn in mid-air to look at the lich. The poison of the necromancer's power seeped further into his organs and tissue, his flesh dying rapidly. Astiroth smiled sinisterly up at the Reaper as the ground below him warped into a considerable hole, preparing to take him. It engulfed his body, concealing him from view before it settled to its solid form once again.
The Reaper was left behind upon the porch alone, the voice of Astiroth's mocking laughter resonating in the castle.