Chapter 4: The Primeval God of Darkness

Once William, with regal proclamation, had bid the attendants and servants depart, he pivoted his noble countenance, radiant with purpose, to confront Damon, their meeting a convergence ordained by fate's intricate tapestry. In this sacred and pregnant moment, amid the hallowed whispers that graced the chamber's air, William, bearing the weight of sovereignty, bestowed upon Damon a charge of singular significance, a task ensconced with an assignment woven with the threads of destiny itself.

Yet, in the midst of this pivotal exchange, as the words poised upon William's lips, a tempest of wretched torment assailed his noble heart, its cruel dagger plunging deep into the very core of his chest. Unyielding and unbearable, the agony clutched him with an iron grip, causing his hand, unwittingly, to seize hold of his regal attire, crumpling the once-pristine fabric into rumpled disarray.

From the depths of Damon's core, a weighty thump resounded, its echoes compelling his very sinews to stir with an involuntary impulse. As if moved by an unseen force, his trembling hand reached forth, instinctively clasping William's noble arm, seeking solace and steadiness amid the tempest of his unsettled composure. "Sire!" Damon's voice, now fraught with an alarming urgency, rent the air, its piercing timbre capturing the collective attention of the multitudes who, on the precipice of their departure from the chamber, were arrested in their steps, their curiosity piqued by this sudden and disquieting revelation.

In a harrowing tableau of fraught and despair, William, gripped by a suffocating maelstrom, rent at his own throat with fervent desperation, as though submerged in an ocean's depths and struggling for a gasp of life-sustaining air. Pale as the ghostly moon, his countenance etched with the lines of anguish, he beseeched for a respite. Damon, his eyes wide with apprehension, bore witness to the crimson rivulets that formed upon William's noble neck, a chilling testament to the self-inflicted harm.

Driven by a potent cocktail of concern and unwavering resolve, Damon's hand closed around William's trembling wrist, a valiant attempt to quell the further rending of tender flesh. Yet, despite Damon's possession of an otherworldly might, drawn from realms beyond mortal comprehension, it faltered in the face of William's unyielding strength. The struggle, like an epic clash of opposing forces, unfolded in a mystifying dance, leaving Damon astounded by the sheer power that surged through his sovereign's veins.

As if assailed by an unseen tempest, William was abruptly thrust backward, as though a titan's fist collided with his chest, propelling his body in a staggering retreat. Damon, poised to prevent his sovereign's descent into peril, hastened to intervene, his outstretched hand ready to seize William's faltering form. Yet, in an unexpected twist, Ethan materialised from the shadows, his presence swift and decisive, as he enveloped William within the shelter of his strong arm, securing him with a tender grip around the waist.

"My liege!" Ethan's voice, laced with concern and urgency, reverberated through the chamber. "Are you unscathed? Shall we summon a skilled healer to tend to you?" His words, like a chorus of loyalty, echoed with unwavering devotion, a testament to the bond shared between sovereign and servant.

In the wake of the disquieting event, A pregnant hush settled upon the chamber, suffocating the very air and weaving a tapestry of unease. Like an invisible anvil, an oppressive weight of pressure descended upon the assembled figures, causing beads of sweat to form upon their brows, testament to their mounting nervousness. The foreboding aura emanating from William enveloped them all, casting a pall of apprehension that gripped their hearts in a vise-like grip.

Their once-steadfast knees trembled, weakened by the burden of the unseen force pressing upon them. Eyes widened in dawning realisation, their gaze shrinking in the face of the enigmatic spectacle unfolding before them. Helplessly, they stood as mere witnesses, their voices stifled, incapable of quelling the rising tide of trepidation. Their eyes remained fixed upon William, still cradled in Ethan's unwavering hold, as they braced themselves for the unknown, their souls held captive by the unfolding drama.

As William's lips gently parted, a tremulous murmur escaped, a fractured symphony of syllables that struggled to weave coherence amidst the tempest that besieged his very soul. "un…and...me...o...pe...t." The words, like ethereal whispers carried, danced upon the air in a placid plea. Ethan, his throat constricting with trepidation, swallowed hard, yet his valiant mettle remained unyielding, undaunted by the lingering vestiges of the foreboding pressure that had assailed him moments prior.

"P-Pardon, My Liege," Ethan stammered, his voice a delicate mural woven with fragments of confusion and loyalty. He inclined his head, a gesture that spoke of his desire to comprehend the enigmatic utterances that had spilled forth from William's lips. "What was it that you strived to convey?" His words, though bejewelled with uncertainty, resonated with an undying ardor.

With a calculated swivel, William shifted his head, inclining it to the side, and arched his chin to lock gazes with Ethan, whose eyes shimmered like pools of molten silver. Ethan, his orbs expanding like twin moons, witnessed a profound metamorphosis as concern and perplexity were swiftly eclipsed by a potent blend of fear and surrender.

"I said, unhand me, you pest," William venomously hissed, his words dripping with a searing disdain that etched creases upon his countenance like a malicious tick. The air crackled with the intensity of his derision.

In the face of this vehement rebuke, Ethan yielded with unwavering alacrity, compelled by forces beyond his control. With grace befitting a supplicant, he sank to his left knee, the fabric of his loyalty-kissed garments whispering against the floor. His head bowed, a symbol of utmost deference, as he addressed his sovereign with a voice quivering with reverence and submission.

"Y-yes, of course!" Ethan's voice trembled, a delicate melody woven with fright and capitulation. "Pardon, your most gracious Primeval," he murmured, his words an offering of absolution, acknowledging the ancient and enigmatic power that emanated from William, as if recognizing the primordial essence of a being beyond any entity's comprehension.

As the tendrils of dread coiled around the hearts of the assembled multitude, their trembling cores bore witness to the veracity of their fears. Like marionettes swayed by an unseen hand, they succumbed to the inexorable pull of reverence, their forms finding solace upon bended knees in the hallowed presence of their divine progenitor.

With a collective realisation of their inconsequential stature, they yielded to the weight of their creator's aura, their bodies sinking to the ground in an act of profound obeisance. The chamber now stood hushed in the face of an overwhelming force.

One by one, the courtiers and attendants, their countenances etched with a blend of quail and trepidation, knelt upon the tapestry-laden floor, their heads bowed as if in supplication to the deity. Their genuflection was both an act of deference and an affirmation of their understanding—a testament to the recognition of a power that surpassed all comprehension.

Within the realm of William's presence, a bewitching tapestry unfolded—a swirling ballet of purple radiance and ebony tendrils that encircled his corporeal form. As if summoned forth by the hand of mystical artistry, his erstwhile vestments were effortlessly supplanted by an ensemble that evoked an air of regality.

A resplendent transformation took shape, as a long black cape blazer cascaded in a graceful descent, its hem caressing the ground with a reverence befitting a true monarch. Embellished with the lustre of gold metal intricately woven into the very fabric, it shimmered as a testament to opulence, while jewelled trinkets adorned its regal expanse, each gem a radiant star within the night sky.

Nestled beneath the flowing embrace of the cape, a peak lapel blazer emerged in a hue of captivating violet burnished of gold, graced the fabric their intricacy a tribute to the artistry of masterful hand, its tailored contours embracing William's frame with a harmonious marriage of elegance and precision. A black leather belt, sinuously encircling his waist, accentuated the noble curvature of his form, a symbol of both adornment and authority.

Beneath the peak lapel blazer, a white buttoned shirt materialised, its fabric immaculately pristine, imbued with a subtle sheen that spoke of refined luxury. A silk black tie, its ebony strands woven with artistry, adorned his neck in a display of tasteful allure. Completing the ensemble, black formal pants cascaded downward, their lines crafted with meticulous attention, lending an air of stateliness to his countenance.

And adorning his feet, black leather shoes unveiled themselves, their polished surfaces reflecting the radiance of the chamber's luminance. With a hint of an elevated heel, they elevated his stature, both literally and metaphorically, as he stood upon the precipice of majesty.

Thus, with this resplendent transformation, William emerged as a vision of grandeur, his attire a testament to his sovereign essence. The room, awash in a symphony of awe and admiration, bore witness to the embodiment of his regal magnificence.

With a flourish, he positioned his hands upon his waist, assuming a stance of commanding presence that imbued the air with an ominous aura. His very being seemed to exude an unsettling energy, as though shadows themselves bowed in deference to his malevolent magnetism. And within the depths of his gaze, a transformation of profound consequence had taken place.

Once a sanctuary of warmth, kindness, and forgiveness, his honey eyes had become the canvas upon which a malefic enchantment had cast its wicked spell. Altered now to a hue of mischievous and commanding purple, they gleamed with an intensity that bespoke intentions veiled in darkness. A subtle glow emanated from within, illuminating his visage with an eerie radiance as he cast his penetrating gaze upon the assembled room.

In the wake of this metamorphosis, his eyes, once the embodiment of tender solace, now revealed an enigmatic depth that spoke of a calculated malevolence lurking beneath. Like twin orbs of ethereal power, they surveyed the chamber with a piercing scrutiny, as if capable of discerning the hidden desires and secret machinations of all who stood before him.

Thus, with his hands upon his waist and his eyes ablaze with a purple fire, he stood as a figure of foreboding presence, his very countenance a spectre that held the room captive. The air, thick with trepidation and anticipation, awaited his next move with bated breath, for in his gaze lay the revelation of truths untold and the unveiling of a destiny yet to unfold.

It was evident to all who bore witness that this figure before them, clad in the semblance of William, was naught but a mere semblance—deception had interwoven its web, for the foreboding pressure that had earlier weighed upon their souls bespoke the presence of none other than the Primeval God, Hadeon, the tyrannical sovereign of the Void. In this fateful hour, the usurpation of William's mortal vessel was at hand—a convergence of power and malevolence that heralded a reckoning of cosmic proportions.

Hadeon, with his insidious machinations and inexorable will, seized control of the corporeal form that once housed benevolence and warmth. As his dominion unfurled within the sacred confines of William's being, the very essence of his being underwent a transformation, like a tempestuous storm rending the tranquillity of a summer's eve. Shadows danced across the countenance that bore resemblance to William, yet now bore the mark of a darker force—an avatar of primordial malevolence.

No longer was it the Dauntless king who stood before them, but a vessel through which the tyrannical ruler of the Void manifested his dominion. Dread clung to the air, as though the very fabric of reality quivered under the weight of Hadeon's presence. His aura, suffused with an ancient, unyielding power, cast a pall of oppression upon all who dared to meet his gaze.

In this pivotal moment, the denizens of this realm knew that the soul they once cherished as William was eclipsed by the primaeval force that now held sway. A sense of trepidation gripped their hearts, for they beheld the convergence of mortal and deity—a union that threatened to reshape the very fabric of existence. The march of destiny, inexorable and foreboding, had come to claim its due.

Thus, in the twilight of this cosmic struggle, the true nature of this enigmatic figure was laid bare—the mortal vessel usurped by the Primeval God.

"Is this the manner in which you deignest to greet your creator?" he retorted with disdainful sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. "How grossly inept! It appears that William, in his misguided benevolence, had granted you all an excessive liberty to comport yourself in my august presence." With a flicker of malevolent satisfaction, he surveyed the prostrate figures before him, his eyes ablaze with a withering glare that pierced the very depths of their souls.

Each individual, their forms bowed in obeisance, felt the weight of his disdain like a leaden shroud upon their shoulders. The air itself seemed to quiver in response to his palpable displeasure, as though the very fabric of reality recoiled from his presence. His countenance, twisted by a mélange of scorn and revulsion, bespoke a superiority that brooked no dissent.

In this moment, the assemblage of supplicants found themselves at the mercy of his contemptuous gaze. His eyes, shimmering with an unholy light, scrutinised them with a piercing intensity, as though seeking out any trace of imperfection or weakness. With each scornful glance, he revelled in the power he wielded over their hearts and minds, relishing the fear and vulnerability that danced in their eyes.

"Speak!" Hadeon yelled, everyone in the room quivered under the weight of his vocal onslaught. "Forgive our unworthiness, O exalted one." their voices tinged with a mixture of dread and resignation, "we beseech thy forbearance, O monarch of unassailable might, as we your humble subjects, prostrate ourselves before thy august presence." their words, laden with reverence and trepidation, hang heavy in the air, as though seeking to pacify the wrath that lurks within their ruler's heart.

As Hadeon executed a calculated pirouette, his regal countenance pivoted to confront the audacious voice that had dared to penetrate the sacred space of his presence. In this pivotal instant, an electric anticipation gripped the chamber, as the collective gaze of all in attendance converged upon the enigmatic figure who now stood, unwavering, upon the hallowed ground. A momentous hush descended, as though the very air held its breath in deference to the unfolding drama.

Before them stood the cloaked figure, a phantom veiled in mystery and draped in an ethereal shroud. Cloaked in flowing raiments that seemed to billow with a life of their own, their slight form trembled ever so subtly, betraying the convergence of resolve and trepidation that coursed through their veins. The cowl of their cloak veiled their countenance, casting a profound shadow that obscured the contours of their visage from prying eyes. Yet, despite the veil of secrecy, an undeniable aura of courage radiated from this enigmatic presence.

Hadeon's visage, once etched with discontent, transformed into an ironically amused countenance as he delivered his words with a venomous flourish. "My~," he intoned, his voice dripping with sardonic mirth, "it appears that in this assemblage of feeble souls, we are blessed with the presence of a valiant shadow, audacious enough to offer proper homage unto my august personage. Unlike the rabble that surrounds me, mere mutts in comparison." With each syllable, his animosity reverberated through the chamber, rousing yet another flinch from his cowed subjects.

The room, already heavy-laden with an atmosphere of trepidation, now bore witness to the tyrant's sadistic delight, his twisted amusement manifesting as a cruel masquerade. A wry smile played upon his lips, basking in the perverse pleasure of belittling those who knelt before him. His words, like poisoned darts, pierced the air, their barbs lashing the hearts of those who dared to meet his gaze.

With regal grace befitting a monarch, Hadeon embarked upon a stately promenade, his every movement a testament to his unwavering confidence. As his chin, adorned with an air of imperiousness, inclined ever so slightly, his figure radiates an aura of unassailable certainty. The resounding echo of his heels, like distant thunder, reverberated through the vast expanse of the chamber, punctuating the silence with an undeniable presence.

His lips, curled in a mischievous arc, mirrored the amusement that danced within his eyes, as he embarked upon this deliberate approach. Like a predator stalking its prey, he sauntered towards the figure, each step a calculated display of his dominance. The grandeur of his gait, a symphony of authority, commanded attention, leaving no doubt as to his exalted station.

With rapt attention, the assembled throng beheld the scene of burgeoning anticipation unfurl before their eyes, their collective gaze transfixed upon the unfolding drama. As Hadeon, a veritable colossus, at long last emerged to take his rightful place amidst their midst, his towering presence cast a formidable shadow upon the figure's quivering form. His stature, a monument to grandeur, stirred a mixture of awe and trepidation within the hearts of those who bore witness.

Hadeon, his eyes narrowed to slits, fixated his unwavering gaze upon the audacious soul who had dared to address him. A hushed silence, pregnant with unspoken words, enveloped the chamber as his discerning gaze meticulously scrutinised the figure who had summoned his attention. Like a hawk surveying its prey, Hadeon's penetrating gaze sought to unravel the depths of their character, probing the hidden recesses of their very being.

Then, with a voice that resonated with the authority of a regal sovereign, Hadeon issued forth his command. "At ease." he declared, his words cascading forth like a benediction from high heavens. The weight of his utterance, steeped in the essence of command, bore down upon the room, compelling all who heard to acquiesce to his will. In that moment, the oppressive tension that had gripped their spirits was momentarily assuaged, as his words ushered forth a reprieve, a respite from the suffocating atmosphere that had held them captive.

In a display of dauntless valour, the cloaked figure, their spine infused with an unwavering resolve, straightened with unswerving alacrity, surrendering to Hadeon's command without even a fleeting moment of hesitation, resolute and undeterred. And thus, standing tenaciously in the presence of Hadeon, a towering colossus of indomitable might. His very essence commanded attention, casting a formidable silhouette that cast its imposing shadow upon the figure's countenance, veiled beneath the concealing folds of their cloak.

As Hadeon's discerning gaze pierced through the depths of the figure's concealed visage, ablaze with an intensity that mirrored the fire of his authority. A profound silence descended upon the chamber, as if the air itself held its breath in anticipation of the forthcoming exchange. In that pregnant pause, Hadeon's voice reverberated with a regal blend of admonition and expectation, a voice that resonated with undeniable authority. "It would be impudently not to discard your hood when faced with a higher being such as myself." presumptuously declared, his words falling like solemn echoes upon the hallowed space.

"Your sovereign of regal majesty, deign to bestow your mercy upon my lacklustre manners," beseeched the cloaked figure, their voice filled with an ardent desperation, as they clung tenaciously to the fragile thread of their existence, endeavouring to the tempestuous wrath of the tyrant king.

In the throes of their plea, the figure's words reverberated with a poignant humility, a poignant recognition of their own imperfections in the face of the tyrant's unyielding dominion. With each syllable uttered, a fervent acknowledgment of their own lowly station resounded, their voice a tremulous vessel carrying the weight of their supplication.

In an exhibition of vexation, Hadeon, with an imperious roll of his eyes, did retort, "I shall dismiss your lamentable lack of apprehension. Henceforth, I bid you to divest yourself of that concealing hood." His voice, dripping with commanding resolve, did resound with unyielding authority, whilst his penetrating gaze remained fixed upon the figure, an unrelenting stare ablaze with an intensity unmatched.

Within Hadeon's proclamation, his words did bear the weight of unquestionable dominion, leaving scant room for discourse or defiance. The tenor of his words brooked no argument, as he asserted his sovereignty over the proceedings, demanding absolute adherence to his will. His unwavering glare, akin to a searing brand, did penetrate to the very core of the figure's being, compelling them by sheer force to acquiesce to his decree.

The cloaked figure, in a moment of profound respite, did heave a silent sigh, their gloved hand delicately clutching the fabric of their hood. And lo, like a wondrous revelation, the countenance of a fair lady was unveiled before the mighty presence of Hadeon and all who bore witness. Yet, her anxious eyes, brimming with secrets untold, remained steadfastly affixed upon the lowly expanse of the floor.

"Disclose unto me your name and the origin to which you belong," commanded Hadeon, his voice resounding with regal authority, as he sought to unravel the enigma that stood before him. "I am called Monique, Your Majesty," she responded, her voice a melodic caress upon the air, as she summoned the courage to speak her truth. "I hail from the esteemed house of Cieran, one of Duchess Kairos' most humble and devoted disciples."

From Hadeon's countenance, a visage wrought with displeasure, did his left brow ascend, as if an indignant banner unfurled, heralding his displeasure. "Pray tell, Monique, did you find my face affixed upon the lowly embrace of the chamber's ground?" Thus he spoke, his words laden with a disdain that echoed through the very chambers of the air. His hand, bedecked in blackened talons of metal, akin to fearsome claws, alighted beneath the girl's delicate chin, as it raised her head with a tender firmness, so as to grant him an enhanced vista of her fair visage. he raised her head, as a sculptor would lift a cherished creation, to grant himself a more resplendent vista of her visage, wherein every line and contour spoke volumes of beauty.

Hadeon cast his discerning gaze upon the countenance of the maiden, a sudden pang of remembrance seized his heart, akin to a distant echo resounding through the corridors of time. It was then that her visage, delicate and ethereal, evoked the ghostly spectre of a woman from an epoch long past, a figure ensconced within the annals of antiquity, who had once stood as a trusted confidante and stalwart companion to his revered Father.

Monique, her cascading coral tresses akin to a cascade of liquid silk, flowed with a grace befitting the majestic waterfalls that adorn the verdant landscapes of nature's grand tapestry. They draped her back, an opulent veil of resplendence, descending to the very depths of her sacral, a testament to the divine craftsmanship of the celestial weavers.

Her fair cheeks, adorned with visible trickles of celestial dew, appeared as delicate rose petals kissed by the gentle touch of morning's tearful embrace. And within her gaze, as if the very essence of dawn's first light reflecting upon crystalline waters, lay a pair of teal-coloured eyes, shimmering with a luminosity that mirrored the tranquil depths of an untouched pool. In their iridescent radiance, innocence intertwined with enigma, their depths concealing mysteries yet untold, offering a glimpse into a realm where beauty and enigma danced in harmonious union.

"I--" Monique, poised to utter her contrite words and offer yet another apology, found herself abruptly halted by the prescient gesture of Hadeon. He, before she could proceed, a premonitory sigh escaped his lips, already envisioning the path her forthcoming words would tread of very phrases that were poised to escape her lips. Thus, did he interjected, his actions deftly curbing her speech, for he exclaimed with a weariness that bespoke his dwindling forbearance, preempting her speech with a solemn command, "Cease your words, fair maiden. Spare yourself the burden of further apologies, for my well of patience runs perilously shallow."

Thus, with a deliberate and measured motion, Hadeon withdrew his hand from its perch beneath the delicate curvature of her chin, releasing her from his commanding touch. Returning his hands to rest confidently upon his hips, he assumed a stance of authority, his piercing eyes descending upon her like a ravenous predator, fixated upon its hapless quarry. From the depths of his being, a voice resolute and tinged with expectation rang forth, "Damon, I beseech you, draw near to this very spot." Hadeon's unwavering gaze, akin to molten steel, remained unbroken, for even as he summoned Damon, his eyes remained ensnared by the figure of Monique, as if her form held the secrets of worlds untold. Bound by the weight of his sudden and commanding presence, Monique could do naught but gulp anxiously, her very essence trembling in the face of Hadeon's unwavering and disquieting intensity.

From the shadowed recesses, Damon, his figure silhouetted against the backdrop of Hadeon's commanding presence, emerged into view from the depths of Hadeon's shadow, Towering above his master, he stood, a living testament to his lofty stature, yet in his demeanour, a profound deference was palpable. With head bowed in an act of humble obeisance, he brought his right hand to rest upon his chest, a gesture of profound reverence that spoke volumes of his unwavering fealty.

"What is your command, My Primeval Lord?" he intoned, his voice a melodic blend of respect and devotion. Each syllable, uttered with meticulous care, carried the weight of obedience, as if woven from the fabric of unwavering servitude. Thus did his words, a testament to his unyielding dedication to the one who held the mantle of primordial authority.

"Won't you be kind, and escort Kairos." Hadeon commanded, his words laced with a sly undertone, Ahint of anticipation for potential resistance, "If she dares to defy, you are granted the authority to employ force and lead her hither by any means necessary. Furthermore, once you reach the throne room, you shall relinquish custody of her, and remain steadfast and vigilant, while both of you wait for my arrival. Do you understand my edict, Damon?"

With a nodding motion of his head, Damon acknowledged his master's command, his lips parting to speak with a fervent acquiescence. "I understand, My primaeval lord," he declared. A smile of contentment curved upon Hadeon's lips, a visage that bespoke his approval, as if basking in the glow of his attnedant's unwavering loyalty.

"Excellent, as always, Take this." Raising his left forearm aloft, Hadeon commanded the very air with a regal presence. Mid-air, a celestial radiance emanated from his palm, a luminous purple light that cast an ethereal glow upon the scene. In that divine luminescence, an object materialised, birthed from the very essence of enchantment. Like a fleeting apparition, it manifested in a tantalising display, only to vanish into the ether, revealing an opal ring of resplendent allure. Its spectral hues exuded an otherworldly brilliance, captivating the very essence of mystical charm and enchantment.

"The powers of Kairos, beset by this cruel fate, An object that will neutralise her ability, finding themselves diminished. I beseech you, Damon, allow not your abilities to be assailed, to prevent yourself from being subsumed by the potent influence she wields.

Hadeon, with a subtle motion, turned his noble head to the left, his eyes, like celestial bodies entrapped in his purple eyes, craned to meet the gaze of Damon. A triumphant smirk had graced his countenance once more, as he uttered in a voice laced with sly cunning, "Damon, you know well, acquainted with the depth of my favour, unlike these feeble wretches who have grown weak and complacent."

Hadeon, at length, tore his gaze away from Monique, his eyes, filled with disdain, roved about the chamber, their piercing gaze a testament to his abhorrence. Figures, once proud and noble, now knelt in lowly servitude before his majestic presence.

"Pray, Damon, you are dismissed to embark upon your appointed undertaking," Hadeon decreed, his authoritative voice resounding through the air. And, in response to Hadeon's command, Damon dissolved into the ethereal shadows, traversing realms unseen, his destination set to rendezvous to Kairos at the behest of the noble Regal Ruler.

"And as for the remainder of thou ilk," Hadeon spoke, his tone dripping with venomous malice, as he stood amidst them, an embodiment of enmity. His very form emanated a malign aura, casting a sinister pall over the surroundings.