One thousand disconsolate years had drifted by, floating through the tormented prince’s corpsen fingers like ephemeral ashes upon the unforgiving winds of time. Winds that seemed to whisper painfully bitter memories to his bereft and forlorn spirit. They grievously danced through his silky chin-length hair and fluttered through his regal cloak of shadows.

Valarendrik stood stoically upon one of the many balconies in the royal castle, with his deathly crimson eyes wistfully gazing out over the dark and gloomy ocean waters. He painfully pressed his sharp black claws into the intricately carved stone railing, causing his equally black blood to pool around his cuticles.

Today was the day of his royal coronation, and also the day that he was to be wed. Soon he would be the king of Tenveriel, an heir to the throne would be conceived, and then he would die. He closed his mournful eyes, taking comfort in knowing that death would finally grace him with the eternal sleep that he so desperately longed for.

Recollections of his invidious life caressed his mind like a sinister whip gently gliding over skin, right before being violently cracked into the flesh. He knew nothing of beauty, nor compassion, nor love. But in the shadow of death, his soul knew relief.

The queen and Elder Graith’s deceptions had been cruel and relentless. They’d fed him malicious lies from a silver spoon, enshrouding his fragmented soul in a veil of shame and despair. For even the purest of souls could be broken, and his was shattered.

Their malevolent whispers tirelessly echoed in his mind. They cooed to him that he was a mentally deranged abomination. A weakling unfit to be king. A disgrace to the royal bloodline. That he was only needed to produce a worthy heir, then he would be better off dead... And he truly believed every word.

His face contorted with pain as memories of the queen’s torture ripped through his soul. His eyes squeezed tighter closed, as he recalled the gruesome atrocities she’d inflicted upon him over the years, often within the dreary depths of the dungeons. She ensured that despite being a prince, he knew just how powerless and weak he was.

Her remorseless assaults were always vicious and unceasing, only ending once the prince closed his eyes from falling into unconsciousness. Because when she looked into her son’s sorrowful gaze, she saw her death staring back at her. Consequently, from his decaying prison of beaten and weathered flesh, his spirit longed to depart.

The crown softly twitched upon his head as his thoughts drifted to his failures. He had trained tirelessly to master the sword. Often taking his favorite, although rather ditzy steed, Sagacor, out to the lamenting orchards, where he would passionately practice wielding Aldrinan’s twin swords- His twin swords.

Yet, no matter how much dedication and strength he poured into his practice, there was still one swordsman who remained his adversary. The queen’s personal bodyguard, Rhistven. And so, he was unable to fulfill his promise, causing his regret to swallow him whole, just as the serpent had swallowed his brother all those years ago.

The soft pattering of feet began to slowly approach him. His eyes opened and gazed up towards the tempest obsidian clouds like two mournful garnets. His keen senses allowed him to know who was there without even looking. The sound of an undead woman daintily clearing her throat filled his ears, yet he did not turn to face her.

“Why do you disturb me, Moryinia?” His hair danced around his solemn face, as he vacantly spoke to his fiancé in his deep voice.

“The queen has requested that you drink from this cup before our matrimonial ceremony.” She held a sinister-looking chalice full of stygian goo up towards him, though still, he didn’t spare her nor the chalice a glance.

He gripped the stonework even tighter in frustration, causing more blood to pool around his fingertips. He knew the queen was drugging him so he’d be more eager to consummate the marriage. He had not yet known a woman’s touch, and she wanted to make sure that he did the job thoroughly.

Moryinia was born to a noble tenverian family, and the queen had hand-picked her to be Valarendrik’s bride for her unmatched cruelty and guile alone. Although she was very beautiful by undead standards, and he was indeed physically attracted to her, her sordid personality and putrid soul repulsed him. The thought of being intimate with her repulsed his foreign soul.

“Place it on the railing and leave.” He coldly ordered.

The dark metal of the chalice clinked against the stonework as she mindfully placed it down. Her ruby gaze fell upon the prince’s bloodied fingertips, and anger coursed through her rotten veins. She quickly grabbed one of his hands, pulling it from the railing.

Valarendrik furiously whipped around to face her, taking in the sight of her elegantly styled raven hair, and dark greyish-purple bridal gown adorned with black lace. Her brazen smile did nothing to hide the sadistic glimmer in her big doe eyes.

“Do not touch me!” He growled, yanking his hand away.

“Forgive me, your highness.” She sardonically gritted through her sharp teeth. “But do not do such things. I don’t want our child’s crown to become damaged.”

At that moment, her venom-dipped words speared through Valarendrik’s heart like nothing else could. They dug into his mind, excavating a gruesome veracity that he had long ago stuffed away into the darkest depths of his consciousness... His fingers were his unborn child’s crown...

“You have overstepped your bounds, Moryinia. You are not a queen yet, and even when you are, I’ll still be your king. Now leave! Get out of my sight! Or your head will roll, regardless of Cerindier’s wishes.” He aggressively spat, hiding the fact that bile was suddenly burning in the back of his throat.

She glared up at him with loathing. “You and I both know that you’ll never be a true king. You’re too weak. I look forward to baring you an heir because then it will be your head that rolls, and I will joyously partake the consumption of your flesh.” With that, she haughtily tossed a lock of her raven hair over her shoulder and stormed off.

Valarendrik didn’t care in the slightest, especially since now he was drowning in crashing waves of anxiety. His heart pounded violently in his chest, as he stared down at his hands in utter distress, imagining his fingerbones being hammered into his child’s skull. Fear coursed through his veins, though not for himself, but for his unborn. What if he passed down his mental infliction and they suffered just as he did? How could he knowingly condemn his own young to such a cruel fate?

“What if my child is like me?” He apprehensively thought.

His hands began to tremble as the weighted reality of what he was expected to do for his kingdom clawed at his mind. Now that the time had come, he realized that he couldn’t damn his child to the same horrors and abuse that he’d suffered. He was not heartless nor unempathetic like the rest of his kind. And he wanted to protect his unborn child from their atrocities.

He abruptly leapt over the railing and off of the balcony like a madman, knocking over the chalice with his boot. Then, like a shadowy phantom silently gliding through the night, he skillfully navigated his way down the side of the dark ghastly castle, flipping and leaping from overhanging roofs and ledges.

His feet finally landed on the ground’s rocky terrain, causing a few strange little bat-like creatures to hastily fly off into the blackened sky. A deranged and manic gleam glimmered in his eyes, as they honed in on a jagged stone.

In either desperation or insanity, he maniacally swooped the stone up, placed his left hand on a larger rock, and began to violently smash his knuckles. His flesh shredded, revealing grey bone, as his blood splattered on the stony surface. Tears of madness began to stream down his cheeks, overflowing from the well of despondency within his heart.

“They will not crown my child!” He psychotically said to himself, while repeating his self-inflicted assault.

“You worthless fool... This will not stop them... You will die, and then they will use their magic to restore my vessels...” The crown sibilantly taunted with a malicious laugh, while angrily twitching upon his head.

Valarendrik froze just as he was about to bring the stone back down upon his brutalized hand. The crown was right. What he was doing was useless idiocy. He dropped the stone, causing it to hit the ground with a clank, and turned his head towards the sea. Then a very grievous idea floated into his mind.

With a vacant expression, he stoically stalked over the very edge of the harrowing precipice. The mephitic ocean winds enveloped him with the putrid scent of decay, as he gazed out over the saturnine horizon. He then peered down towards the violently crashing waves and sharp jagged stones below. The dark waters seemed to roar out in anguish, matching his own distress.

“Now, what are you doing?” The crown asked, trying to mask its panic with apathy. It knew full well what very rash thoughts the prince was thinking.

“I’m going to give my child a gift.” The prince calmly replied. “One that I so greatly wish I had been given. The gift of never having to witness this cruel and odious world. The gift of having never been born.” The ocean winds misted his face as he stared down at the dark raging sea. It seemed to call out to him, like the call of crows perched on the gallows, with the shadow of the noose eerily swaying beneath them.

Valarendrik lifted his foot, ready to step over the steep edge. “Waitwaitwaitwait, WAIT!” The crown screamed while furiously twitching. “What about your kingdom? Your people need you!”

“My kingdom?” The prince scoffed. “I loath my kingdom, and all its citizens, with their rampant aischrolatreia and cannibalism. They disgust me.”

“What about Sagacor?” It meekly mentioned, gently tapping his head.

Valarendrik felt his heartstrings being pulled at the thought of that silly old horse. “I will miss him, but I am doomed to die regardless. And this way ensures that I will not pass my suffering onto another.”

“Is there nothing in this world worth holding on for?” The crown fearfully asked.

“No.” He firmly replied.

“Is there no glimmer of hope left inside of you, as there was when you were still a child?” It cautiously twitched.

The wind grievously hissed through his hair, while his face remained stoic. “My sorrows drowned that glimmer of hope long ago. And now you and I shall both drown within the tides.” And with that, Valarendrik jumped.

...Only, he was abruptly yanked right back onto the cliff.

Like a moth in the darkness fluttering to a dying flame, the light of the prince’s soul had attracted a mischievous and wicked creature. A beast born of hellfire and evil, who lived for the crimson rivers of bloodshed and erotic pleasures of the flesh. A fearsome being whom had been bound nearly powerless and cast into the world of eternal darkness to be imprisoned for all eternity. A demon known as Azathoth... and his puppy.

“I wouldn’t recommend swimming in there. The water’s a bit chilly today.” The demon jokingly said with a deep voice, while his tiny undead wolf pup playfully wagged its tail at his feet.

Valarendrik angrily spun around, grabbing his swords, ready to slaughter whoever this birdbrained imbecile was. However, he immediately froze in shock, stunned completely by the otherworldly sight before him. Two fiery golden eyes, glowing with curiosity, stared back into his wide ruby gaze. It was the first time he’d ever seen anything of that color or that was luminescent. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Mesmerized by the unnatural appearance of this peculiar creature, Valarendrik began silently studying him, too stunned to even speak. His eyes raked over the demon’s ivory skin, which had no signs of abyssal rot. He noted the two sharp black horns twisting up from his head, and large dragon wings protruding from his back. And the long raven locks which danced across the beast’s handsome face, flowing down the length of his muscular bare torso.

“Like what you see?” Azathoth facetiously teased with an amused cocky grin, placing his hands on his hips. “I assure you, I’m very kissable.”

The prince was so entranced by the unusual sight, that he forgot all manners and slowly leaned his face in very closely towards the demon’s, carefully observing him. Their equally strong bodies were now practically pressed against one another. He slowly lifted his good hand and gently touched the beast’s soft and full rosy lips, hypnotized by their strange pink color.

Azathoth awkwardly leaned back, with a weirded-out, shifty-eyed expression. “Oh fuck... I was only joking.” He held both of his hands up, creating space between him and Valarendrik. “Don’t you dare even think about actually kissing me.”

Valarendrik pinched his brows together in confusion. He had absolutely no idea what this guy was, or what the fuck he was blabbering about. “What are you?” He finally asked, finding the beast before him almost unfathomable.

Azathoth swatted the prince’s hand away since it was still hovering over his mouth, then grinned. “Me? Why, I’m a demon, of course!” He proudly proclaimed. “A fearsome creature from a distant world known as Hell. I specialize in the arts of both violence and pleasuring women.” He further boasted, while taking a few steps towards the rocky ledge. He propped his foot up onto a large stone, bending his knee, with his long silky hair elegantly blowing in the ocean winds between his spikey wings. “And this is my ferocious wolf, Belzar.” He pointed at the little golden-eyed puppy, who was happily prancing around the demon’s other leg, wagging his fluffy black tail and yipping.

This was the most bizarre thing the prince had ever come across. He had never heard of Hell, or demons, or even taming wolves. But then again, he knew nothing of life outside of Tenveriel. The queen used her power to keep him chained to the castle like a prisoner. Though, he had always wondered if there were better worlds somewhere out there. In fact, his soul yearned for them. And now, he was seeing evidence of their existence.

“But enough about me.” The demon’s voice boomed, pulling him from his thoughts. “What I’d like to know is why a crown prince like yourself would want to slumber in the sea?” He dramatically pointed down towards the roaring ocean waves.

Valarendrik opened his mouth to speak, but only shook his head. He was far more reserved with his words than the demon. His personality and voice had been beaten down by a lifetime of abuse, and he didn’t really know how to interact with new people. Let alone this unexpected weirdo from another world.

“It is a better fate than what is awaiting me inside of the castle.” He finally answered while mournfully glancing downwards. “I’m supposed to be wed today and-”