An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 10: The End of Pride...

Held down by the weight of madness, Krael did not know where to look, his body battered by the burden of sin born from insanity. Pride refused to relinquish its hold, even as his soul screamed for mercy. Yet he would not have it any other way.

Would he rather lose his mind to madness than to submit? The answers had always seemed so obvious. From the moment he crawled from his mother's dying womb, he knew he would never lower his head. He would stand on his own two feet, looking down upon the world from the throne he would build from the ashes of all those that would dare say otherwise.

Yet, in those moments of weakness, he questioned everything. He was so tired. Imagine—at sixteen, he had seen things that would break men and emperors alike. He possessed knowledge so corrupting that even a mere intention on their part could bring ruin.

He was only sixteen!The urge to scream at the cruel world burned within him. A world that found amusement in his suffering, that took his father not long after his mother's death—in the most humiliating way possible. And all he could do was watch as the silver-haired bastard gutted him like a pig.

He did not shout, he did not cry, he did not tremble, nor did he so much as bat an eye, as they treated a man so noble, like a common thief in rags.

Krael, in the little time he had known his father, had never seen anyone more noble than that man. And yet, what did he get in the end? ... An undesired death, a man that should have died on the battlefield was strung up, with no choice to fight for a more honorable death.

And then they had the audacity to claim they were merely doing their futy.

What sin had his father committed other than loving his wife too much? Why? Why was life so cruel?

Would no one answer him?

Even as pain and exhaustion weighed upon him, he clung to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things would change. That when he awoke, the world—though despicable—would offer him a reason not to burn what little hope remained

But mortals dream, and the gods oppose.

Life's mercy was the most expensive poison there was.

To accept it was to live at the mercy of others; to deny it was to bear a burden so profound that many would simply burnout.

"I am tired... mother."

"I really am..."

"Why did you bring me into this world, mother? ....."

"Why....? why...." A soft sob escaped him, and he simply lacked the strength to suppress it.

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In his mind, he could be as vulnerable as he wanted. Here, no one to judge his broken heart or his empty gaze; no one would call him arrogant for simply refusing to bow; in here he could cry all he wanted.

But it seemed that even his soul was not his own. He could not weep. Tears were a foreign concept, and despair—though ever-present—was something he could never fully grasp.

"Not even a moment of reprieve? Huh...?"

"Why are you so cruel...?" His voice carried the weight of a wounded king—one bent beneath the weight of his crown yet faced with the calculating eyes of his own kin, who wished for nothing more than his head to simply roll off his torn corpse. Wishing so much, they knew how deeply he longed for them to simply call him 'father.'

His thoughts were unraveling at speeds inconcievable, delirium creeping in. He could not grasp them; they slipped through his fingers like sand. He was just too tired to try. He just wanted it all to end.

'NO...!!' A voice roared. Though this one did not belong to the entity, it felt closer and more intimate.

'You will not end here. You must build our throne, We cannot allow you falter in our legacy...'

'Until the end, you will carry on, for we simply demand it."

It spoke with authority that left no room for question or argument... but Krael simply wanted to rest. Why should he bear all this burden...?

Drowned in the trials of madness, he knew not what awaited him. Yet here he stood—broken, battered. and at the end of his rope.

And in the end, he had made a decision: if madness was the only way, he would accept it.

So what if he could not build the throne with his own might and strength? If he had to rely on madness, then so be it.

Soon, he might never recognize himself. But at least in the end he would sit up there, upon his throne, looking down on all with impunity, simply because he could.

"I will accept your terms." His voice was barely a whisper, but he knew it would be heard.

"Haha... Well done, Pride. I see you are not so little anymore..."

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Krael woke with a jolt, the events of the previous day slipping from his mind like fragments of a forgotten dream or a lingering nightmare. His head throbbed, and his body remained in a peculiar state he could not quite name.

And though he felt a lull in his thoughts, his body was never more clear to him than it was in the past.

Every inch of his being felt alive, and he could hear the thoughts each had. It was like every part of him had gained a life of its own.