An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

The Countess' labors had begun in the wee hours of what seemed like night but it was hard to tell when there was nothing to tell the difference between day and the depths of the night sky. Darkness crowded the skies of Astrea in more ways than one: the real darkness that seemed to signify the absence of light, the darkness that seemed to hide the malevolence hidden in the depths of the hearts of men, the darkness that signified the descent of evil, the darkness that carried the weight of ancientness, the darkness that hung on the skins of many like a poison, poised and ready to bring destruction. Many of its forms, nuances, and meanings were mixed in a clash of intents that seemed to add to the meaning of this specific night, the surge...

But the Countess couldn't care less about what it all meant...all she wanted was to bring her sweet child into the world...after three years...he had finally come knocking...but why at a time like this... a time when blood hung in the skies like it was strewn within its very fabric? She was worried whether she would survive today...but she had to give birth to her child; worry would not get her anywhere.

Then she screamed—like the wail of a siren, a sound that broke the hearts of many... because in her scream she had put all the life she had for the child yet to be born, everything that she was, she pushed it into the scream...and it was a fantastic sight. The things that littered the darkness came running, drawn to a small county nestled in the inner terrace plain of Astrea.

Elsewhere, beasts became frenzied, fighting each other in a chaotic rush toward a singular direction. Casualties soared to record-breaking heights as they tore through the fabric of space and reality as potential that should have never been unearthed...those that held chains might as well not have been.

This time, the things that surged forth were no longer mere small fry. Beings never seen or heard of before had entered the fray—rushing and fighting like their rabid kin, yet never making a single sound. As if cursed to silence, no matter what violence they inflicted, not even a whisper escaped them. But one would see the madness woven into their psyche tearing them from within; everything about them became something Krael had and would not see for some time to come.

Krael had seen this scene more times than he cared to count, and he still could not understand what caused such madness. Like a record on wind, it played in his mind so many times that he could not register just how much emotion to actually show.

Okay—maybe his birth had been so monumental that even the lurking darkness felt compelled to bear witness. But even then, it didn't seem enough to warrant this much madness and savagery; everything fell into chaos, and it seemed it would not end anytime soon unless the beasts reached their destination.

He watched as the nearest creatures approached the county, slowing as they neared the towering mansion—as though they were pilgrims arriving at a sacred shrine, an unconscious aura of worship was laced in their movements, making them look so comical, especially if one considered their hideous forms, and Krael would have also laughed if he did not find the whole situation strange...

Most houses were empty; the people had long retreated to the underground cellars that offered protection during the Year of the Surge. The only condition for refuge was that one be mortal. Of course, that wasn't the only criterion—lineage, potential, age, and status all played a role.

Many were left to fend for themselves, hiring Walkers as protectors or relying on other desperate means, but it meant nothing in the end...the culling would happen one way or another.

In truth, only those with power, wealth, connections, or influential relatives survived the Surge.

And so, that day, the County of Maesta was drowned in blood.

The things that flocked to the Count's mansion killed every living being in their path, doing so with eerie silence—never letting a single scream last more than a breath, their refusal to let the screams of the worthless taint the purity of that of the Countess.

It was a gruesome sight; it was a cruel sight no matter how many times he saw it...but he felt nothing but pride...

His birth deserved that much respect...

Bodies were piled at the Count's gate as if offered in tribute. The mounds grew higher, and yet the killing did not cease.

Inside the mansion, the countess was entering a critical stage. Her breathing had grown labored, and her pain worsened. Still, she pushed.

She did everything she could to bring her child into the world, but the baby refused to be born. Intervention could risk killing both, and that was unacceptable.

The nun—young and inexperienced—was flustered. She had been a last-minute replacement; the others had fled to the Church of the Great God. She was among the few left behind simply because she didn't make it out in time.

And now, she was the only one in the mansion with even a basic understanding of childbirth.

The situation was spiraling.

The child refused to leave the womb. The Countess was losing too much blood and energy. Without a solution, everything would be lost.

Fear gripped everyone in the mansion.

Then, suddenly—a slow chant began. No one knew where it came from, yet it echoed in their ears. The words made no sense; the language was utterly foreign.

And one by one, the people in the mansion began to die.

Their bodies crumbled into heaps of flesh and bone. Nothing remained. They were forced to watch, unable to scream, unable to move, unable to shut their eyes—or even pray.

The chant reached a crescendo.

A mysterious power surged through the rain to the countess, granting her the strength to push. Sensing no one was there to help, she reached down herself, her mind too clouded to question where everyone had gone.

With will and desperation, she pulled her child out.

She saw him for the first time, and a tired smile flickered in her eyes, trembling on her lips as she beheld the obsidian-skinned child.

His eyes were closed, his lashes faintly smoky gray. His skin was slick with her blood, his wet hair clinging to his fragile scalp.

She didn't care. She held him close, and with him in her arms, she fell into a sleep she would never wake from.

Her orange eyes faded—lost to time and the eternal realm of death.

Silence settled over the mansion—so thick it gave sound to the wind. The chanting faded into stillness.

The creatures that lurked in the dark bowed their heads in solemn worship, facing the Countess' mansion.

No one saw when they disappeared, but they did.

And so, the County of Maesta was left utterly lifeless—except for the newborn, who slumbered quietly in his cold mother's arms.

Inside the bedroom, a shadowy figure appeared—featureless and vast. It cradled the newborn in a single palm, even as the umbilical cord still connected the child to the mother.

The figure stared in silence.

"Born from my sin... you are magnificent," it said, swiping a hand through the air and severing the cord.

"Blood of my blood. Bearer of my aspirations and my pride. You are magnificent."

"You will do well to entertain me, child."

The voice echoed like it was speaking directly to the listening Krael.

And unlike the first time—when hearing the being's voice nearly shattered his mind—Krael now felt... comfort. The voice had trained him, forged his will, and revealed to him what he was meant to become.

Much of who he was now was thanks to it.

He looked upon the shadow's form with a strange longing.

But the dream always shifted.

To the moment the Count rode furiously back home, abandoning his post at the city walls when he received word of the disaster.

He arrived only to find piles of bodies before his gates, carefully arranged, almost ritualistic.

His people lay dead, their eyes frozen in dread.

He rushed to the mansion—only to find his wife's lifeless body and a silent, slumbering child. Their child.

He named him Krael Maesta... not because of his violation but because something whispered in his ears, tainting his perception of reality.

The last living member of the Maesta bloodline.

And so he would grow to become the current Count of Maesta.

And as always, the dream would end quietly, just as it began.

Krael opened his eyes to daylight.

He had seen the hands of destiny—and yet, he felt indifferent to it all.

Not the strangeness of his birth, not his mother's untimely death, not the eventual loss of his broken father, and not the lonely life he had lived since.

It was all natural.

The price of power had already been paid in full—and so it was only natural that he stood above all.

Everything else was beneath him.

Everything... except himself.

If the world sought to tame him, it would suffer the consequences.