The battlefield lay in ruin. Smoke curled into the darkening sky, mixing with the cries of the wounded and the silence of the dead. The Moors had won, and the humans had fled. But one man remained.
The King.
Maximilian had watched him try to escape, his gilded armor dirtied, his once-proud stance broken. The man who had waged war against the Moors now stumbled through the wreckage of his fallen kingdom, his breath ragged, his steps uneven. The last remnants of his army had abandoned him, leaving him to the mercy of the victors.
But there would be no mercy.
Maximilian descended from the sky, his wings casting an ominous shadow over the defeated ruler. The King turned, eyes wide with terror as he fell backward, scrambling to unsheathe a sword that could do nothing against the being before him.
"You thought yourself a conqueror," Maximilian said, his voice calm yet edged with menace. "But look at you now—nothing but a broken man."
The King gritted his teeth, refusing to kneel even in his final moments. "You… you think this is over?" he spat. "Others will come. Humanity will not cower to creatures like you."
Maximilian stepped closer, his golden and black sand swirling at his fingertips. "They will learn, just as you have."
The King lunged, desperation in his movements. But Maximilian was faster. With a single motion, he caught the human's arm, twisting it effortlessly. The sword clattered to the ground. The King gasped as Maximilian's grip tightened, his strength overwhelming the last ounce of resistance.
"Your kingdom is gone," Maximilian said, his voice now a whisper. "And so is your reign."
A final pulse of magic surged through him, and the King fell limp. His eyes glazed over, his body empty of the defiance that had once fueled his war.
For a moment, silence hung in the air. The once-mighty ruler, who had commanded armies and waged war upon the Moors, was reduced to nothing more than a lifeless shell. Maximilian regarded him with cold detachment. There was no satisfaction in this, only necessity.
Maximilian turned away from the corpse, his gaze shifting to the Moors in the distance. He had done what needed to be done, but there was one last thing left to claim.
The creatures of the Moors gathered in the heart of the enchanted land, their glowing eyes fixed upon Maximilian. The great treefolk knelt first, their massive forms bowing in acknowledgment. The bat-wolves let out a piercing cry, a sound of loyalty rather than fear. The spirits of the rivers, the winds, the mountains—all of them bent to him, their silent reverence sealing what was already known.
Maleficent stood beside him, her golden eyes watching the scene unfold. "They have spoken," she said, her voice quieter than before. "You are no longer a visitor to the Moors. You are their ruler."
Maximilian inhaled deeply. He had not sought a throne. He had come here as an outsider, a warrior in search of his own path. But now, the land itself had claimed him. The Moors had accepted him as more than a guardian, more than a protector.
They had accepted him as their king.
A chorus of voices echoed through the forest, a mix of fae, beasts, and spirits chanting his name in a language older than time itself. The trees swayed as if bowing, the rivers shimmered with golden light, and the air thrummed with magic. The land itself was alive, acknowledging the new sovereign who had spilled blood in its name.
Maleficent raised her staff, and a golden light shimmered around them. The Moors rumbled in response, a silent oath binding itself to Maximilian's very being. He was one with this land now, its ruler, its shield. The weight of responsibility settled over him, but he did not shy away. Instead, he embraced it.
The creatures roared their approval, their howls and cries rising into the sky, a declaration of their loyalty. The Moors had endured much, but now they had a king unlike any before—a king who understood both their pain and their power, who had fought alongside them and bled for them.
Maximilian took a slow step forward, his gaze scanning the faces of those who had placed their faith in him. He saw warriors who had fought bravely, fae who had lost homes to the flames of war, creatures that had once hidden in the shadows but now stood tall in his presence. He did not take this lightly.
"From this day forward," Maximilian declared, his voice carrying through the land, "The Moors will know peace. No invader will ever again set foot upon our soil without consequence. No kingdom will threaten our home and live to tell of it. I swear to protect this land, to stand with you, to rule not with fear, but with strength and wisdom."
Maleficent watched him carefully, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. Perhaps admiration. Perhaps something more.
A ripple of energy surged through the Moors, as if the land itself acknowledged his vow. The winds carried his words across the land, whispering his name like an oath carved into the very foundation of the realm.
Maximilian lifted his gaze to the horizon. The battle was over, but his reign was only beginning. He would not rule with an iron fist, nor would he seek conquest as the humans had. His rule would be one of balance, of protection. But if any dared threaten the Moors again, they would know the fury of a king who had earned his throne through war.
And under his rule, the Moors would never fall again.
Join my Patreon at
patreon.com/CreationVoidGod