The man stared at the chaos and ruin that lay below him, underneath his feet. Beautiful angels, here they lay fallen and dead. Their wings had turned into dust and their bodies lay limp and unmoving. He killed them. He killed them all. An entire kingdom, wiped out, all because of him. He looked down at the golden blood that dripped down his blade which had torn through storms and survived a thousand wars. All this destruction made out of cold, burning fury and rage, strong enough to make him turn into his demon. His nightmare.
Everything was taken from him. His father, his mother, his brother, his friend, his crown, his throne, his blood. Everything that rightfully belonged to him, everything he loved, broken and gone, turned into ashes and flame. The world rightfully owes this death and destruction to him.
A voice flashed in his mind.
You will never be a King! You are a failure! You do not deserve that crown! Until my last breath, I will ensure that you will not sit on this throne!
He knew that voice. The voice of all his pain and anger. He smiled coldly, dull, emotionless eyes gazing up at the grey sky.
"I will come," he whispered. "I will come and take what is rightfully mine. I will drive my blade into you and your blood shall adorn my blade. I will come with an army and retrieve my crown. I will sit on that throne and make you kneel. This is the oath I swear to you. This is the oath I shall honor."
Even death could not stop him.
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