The largest castle in the land basked beneath the light of the crimson god’s main body. Black stone walls adorned with violet drapery surrounded by a city as vast as the expanse. This was Silica, the capital of the Nidhogg Empire.
Deep within these castle walls there was a wide and lavish chamber. There stood a man whose hair shone of gold. His robes were black and scarlet, his frame was tall and strong. He stared down upon the bed, towards a woman who seemed half dead. The man reached out, he caressed her cheek. The woman’s eyes opened slowly, she raised her hand to gently embrace his own.
“My lord,” She said softly.
“Gudrun,” Sigurd, the Emperor, said with a smile.
“...where is she?” The woman muttered. The Emperor smiled, then combed his hands softly through her chin length pitch black hair.
“Still sleeping,” He told her. The woman’s breathing turned soft. She smiled and then fell back into slumber. The Emperor continued to smile down upon her. Only after a while did he turn his head.
Countless female slaves, eyes dead as stone statues, toiled within the room. There lay a crib at its heart, a baby girl slumbered therewithin. Yet she was not alone, not by any means. There was a youngster of three years old staring into the crib, smiling at the baby. Behind her, however stood a woman who eyed up the newborn with a far less pleasant glare.
The baby was Gudrun’s daughter, Alyssa. The tot was Kimberline, the first Imperial Princess, and this woman, this imposing valkyrie, was Kimberline’s mother, the Empress, Brynhilda. The subtle atmosphere that permeated the room was enough to paint a picture, the Empress did not like this mistress’ daughter. Sigurd sighed towards his empress and promptly turned away from her.
“There’s no reason to fret,” He said, “Your standing was never in danger.” Yet Brynhild only scoffed. She faced her husband, her emperor, with a cold and ruthless glare. There was a story behind all of this, naturally, but it was simply not one to be discussed here. The imperial family maintained their chilled air, the room did not warm until a knocking met their ear.
“Who is it?” The young girl asked first, turning to face the chamber door. What responded to her was a man who spoke with an amused chuckle.
“A humble messenger, Princess,” He said. The girl then looked towards her father, her emperor. Her face made clear to everyone that she was trying to act mature, even the dour Brynhild could not but crack a smile.
“Talk to daddy.” The Emperor chuckled as he stepped forward. He looked back upon his empress, his wife, and signalled for her to follow soon after.
“Kim, look after your baby...sister...for a bit, alright, mommy will be right back,” Brynhild said as she passed her daughter by.
“K,” The young princess replied. She then stared into the crib with an unblinking eye. She was all smiles, delighting as the child that lay there seized her by the hair. Brynhild smiled, then left the room. She followed Sigurd, followed her emperor, to meet the man who had called out to them.
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The chamber before them was dark as the night. Crimson baths of blood, each a different size and held on spires to a different height, filled up the depths.
Sigurd walked inside, his Empress and General followed soon behind. Brynhild frowned as she peered Ahzi’s way. She crossed her arms and then leaned against the chamber door.
All along the walls, in distant stands, were weeping women bound by chains. She eyed them, yet paid them no mind. They all sat chained before a font of stone, into which the same crimson matter that filled the many hundreds of baths below did flow. They had two choices, drink, or kneel until they were made to drink. Most, even the stubborn ones, would drink eventually of their own will rather than let their captors have the satisfaction of drowning them in the waters.
She then peered forward towards her husband’s back as he too stared into the baths below. Countless figures filled the baths, some men, some dragon, and everything in between. When the Empire captured land, it would inevitably capture its people too. Men were brought here to be bathed in Grimnir’s blood. They emerged not as men, but beasts. Their wit all but robbed of them, they could not but serve their conquerors in the end.
The women, their fates were different, but only because they were more suited to something far removed from being a beast of burden. They drank of the blood, and in so doing had their minds forever robbed from them. Only Gemini’s ilk, with their abnormal brains, had found some way to resist against this dreadful end.
The Emperor then raised his head. He peered forward, towards the towering corpse of a long dead dragon...Nidhogg. Upon the crown of the beast sat a man in crimson robes. He had a staff on his back, the head of the staff formed a ring and many more rings were connected to it. Together with the robes, this made the man resemble a buddhist monk.
His skin was more Black than White in colour, a descendant of mixed ancestry. His hair was absent, he was bald as a monk should be. His eyes stayed shut firmly as crimson matter flowered from his body. That was Grimnir, his human form which, like Rognir, had manifested separately from his monstrous main body.
“I see,” Sigurd said as he heard Ahzi’s report in full. The downfall of Venus, Cain’s continued sabotage of the kingdom’s forces, Fafnir’s capture, Avance’s end, these things brought a cruel smile to his until then charming face. “Very good, General...now return to your home, ready your army.”
“As you wish, Your Highness,” Ahzi said with a bow. Thus it was that the sapphire general turned on his heels and then walked out of the chamber, leaving the two monarchs behind.
