The night hung heavy over the Imperial Palace, cloaking the golden spires in ominous shadow. Torchlight flickered along the stone corridors like restless spirits, casting the halls in a dance of flame and dread. From the highest balcony of the eastern wing, Kael stood alone—his silhouette sharp against the moonlit skyline, watching a city poised on the edge of collapse.
Below, unrest churned. Noble factions whispered treason behind velvet curtains. Merchants hoarded grain like gold. Soldiers marched in formations too rigid, too rehearsed—the movements of men bracing for war.
And among them, a darker presence emerged.
The Black Legion.
Clad in abyssal armor, their faceless helmets reflected no light. They moved in silent synchronization, each step echoing with unnatural weight. They were the Emperor's final gambit—a force forged in blood, bound by ritual, feared by all.
Kael's lips curved into a smirk. So Castiel finally dares to play his last card.
Behind him, soft footfalls approached. He didn't turn.
"You feel it too," Ilyssia murmured as she joined him, silver hair catching moonlight. "This is his move. His endgame."
Kael's golden gaze remained on the streets below. "It's not enough."
She tilted her head. "They are not just soldiers. They're bound through ancient pacts. As long as Castiel sits the throne, they cannot be defeated."
He turned then, slowly, his eyes unreadable. "Every bond has a flaw. You just have to find where it bleeds."
Before she could reply, another voice cut through the chill night.
"They aren't just warriors."
Seraphina stepped into the light, regal and unshaken, though her hands trembled at her sides.
"They are tied to the Pact of Kings," she said. "Their loyalty is sealed not by choice, but by soul. So long as Castiel reigns, they are his to command."
Kael studied her for a heartbeat. Then: "Then the solution is simple."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think this is simple?"
He stepped closer, voice like a blade unsheathed. "The bond ties them to the throne. But thrones can change hands."
A flicker of realization crossed her face.
"If the throne recognizes a new ruler…" she whispered.
"They will obey me," Kael finished.
Ilyssia's breath escaped in a hiss. "Then Castiel is the only obstacle left."
Seraphina's voice was firm. "And we must strike before he can fully wield them."
Kael's smirk widened, dangerous and deliberate. "Then it's time the Emperor met the storm he's feared for so long."
The war chamber was alive with motion. Maps sprawled across the long table, corridors and hidden paths marked in crimson ink. The final assault was no longer speculation—it was inevitable.
Dorian Valcrest pointed to a shaded tunnel etched below the throne room. "If cornered, he'll retreat here. The Heart of the Throne—it's where the Pact of Kings was first forged. It is said the throne chooses its ruler in that chamber."
Selene, armored in obsidian plate, stood at Kael's side like a living shadow. "Then we strike him there."
Kael tapped the table once. "Not just strike. We break him."
A hush fell over the room.
Seraphina's voice trembled slightly. "Break him?"
Kael looked at her, eyes gleaming with a fire that outshone the torches. "The throne serves power—not lineage. It bows to dominance. If Castiel falters—if he hesitates, shows fear—it will abandon him. And without the throne's recognition, the Black Legion… will fall still."
Ilyssia whispered, "You plan to make the throne reject him."
Kael's tone was calm. Ruthless. "No. I plan to make him beg for mercy."
A chill swept through the chamber.
Dorian straightened. "Then we move at dawn."
Kael turned away, already walking, the future unfolding in his mind.
By nightfall tomorrow, the empire would belong to him.
And Castiel?
Castiel would kneel.
To be continued…