Nero- no, King Nero Caesar stared down at the broken and twisted body that lay before him, wisps of Darkness magic still rising up from the corpse and dissipating into the air. Munera Garden trembled and slid further into the sea.
The aftereffects of their fight still lingered in the very air around them, clouds of violet and blue energy mixing.
How weak.
And to think this was the fabled Kessler Boreas, king of Winterveil, the two-hundred-something year old protector of his disgusting, inferior people.
Nero’s cape rippled in the wind, the setting sun shining off of his bronze armor.
And at that moment, he truly felt like a god, like Prometheus born anew.
“Then may the best fighter win, and this dispute be settled.”
Kessler’s words still echoed in Nero’s mind as his body lost the last of its curse energy, dissipating with a puff of violet and black mist.
The Ravennan monarch smirked, unable to control himself.
“Naive fool,” he spat at the body. “What shall you do when I kill every last one of your worthless, subhuman subjects?”
He cradled his broken arm, and set off at a run towards the edge of the island as it gave way behind him. And then, with a burst of black and teal energy, Nero took off and flew north towards Winterveil, like a comet of destruction.
As he flew, he felt all-powerful, watching the minuscule black dots of ships crawling across the shimmering Bronze Sea, watching the rough shapes of islands stain the pristine waters, and gazing forwards, towards the distant lights of Frostmill and the Winterveilian capital, Hibernus.
Was he not the true successor of Prometheus? Was he not a god? Even Kessler Boreas, the strongman of Winterveil, could resist his all-consuming power- His feeble parents may have withered with age but Nero was beyond such mortal weakness.
The Bronze Sea was his domain, Ravenna his plaything, the Bronze Legion mere servants to die for him.
And the Winterveilians- their filthy, impure blood, their weak civilisation, their disgusting culture… did not deserve to exist in this god’s realm.
It didn’t matter if the Winterveilian fleet decimated Ravenna’s defenses. He would remain, unmovable, all-powerful and undying. It would be solely their fault- his subjects’ fault- for being so weak.
His son, Octavious. Perhaps he would inherit his power when Nero would tire of godhood- or perhaps not.
Olympus had written it in the stars- Ravenna would rise, and burn away the scourge of Winterveil from this sea. Ravenna, and Ravenna alone was destined for greatness.
Nero slowed down as he finally approached Winterveil, glaring at the ships of the Fleet of Winter, the kingdom’s navy, gathered in the harbor of Hibernus.
The eyes of a hundred sentries fixated on the faint teal dot far above in the sky, blissfully unaware of their king’s passing at the hands of Nero Caesar.
He descended like a comet, ripping through wood and steel and canvas. Explosions blossomed behind him, as he tore through a man of war of the Winterveilian fleet, and annihilated several dozen other vessels with a pulsar.
A lonely alarm bell began to ring as the Ravennan tyrant set foot in the harbor, turning at the sound of oncoming footsteps.
Three dozen hoplites, or whatever they called their soldiers- locked shields, and pointed their spears at him, as their commanding Strategoi locked eyes with Nero from behind the shieldwall.
He began to cackle.
“Do you not know a god when it descends from the heavens?” Nero laughed, the fires of his destruction raging behind him. His irises sparked with teal malice. “Your king is dead. As is the result of playing god. I am the successor of Prometheus! I am here to cast your filthy, pathetic kingdom into the ocean for its sins! I AM A GOD!”
Magic attacks simply phased right through Nero as he finished his madness-driven rant, and smiled.
Within seconds, the entire city block was levelled, and Nero held the struggling Winterveilian general by her neck.
“You-” She never finished her sentence before he burned the woman away, reducing the general to ashes framed in teal light. The remains drifted down to the rubble, settling in amongst the mangled bodies that poked out from collapsed houses.
Surely the entire island had heard the chaos by now.
No matter.
Nero smiled again, in cruel, twisted mockery.
“Is this the best Winterveil has to offer?”
A second wave of energy levelled more of the city, and the Ravennan tyrant roared with sadistic laughter as he butchered and burned his way through the Winterveilian civilians and soldiers attempting to flee.
“I AM BETTER!” He bellowed, as he razed entire streets to the ground with a flick of his wrist. "I’M FASTER, STRONGER, SMARTER… I AM BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU! STRONGER THAN YOUR KING! I AM A GOD! I AM PROMETHEUS REBORN!"
Winterveilian soldiers, the same soldiers that had utterly routed his forces in the minor skirmishes leading up to this moment, the same soldiers that made his centurions look like weaklings in comparison- all fell before him.
Nero failed to notice the Winterveilian boats scattering, the civilians fleeing. He continued to burn the city to the ground, to break the island apart, and to massacre hundreds. Laughing. Laughing until his throat began to hurt.
Come morning, Winterveil was reduced to a smoldering rock. Nero looked at the Winterveilian castle with wicked glee as he crushed charred skeletons underfoot, his ruggedly-handsome features marred by soot and blood, long black hair hanging loosely behind his shoulders.
“I win.”
With that, he leapt up into the air, and plunged right back down, as the earth split apart beneath him. The island shattered, collapsing into the sea, folding inwards, its southern half disappearing beneath the waves.
And when the dust settled, King Nero Caesar emerged from the ruins of Winterveil, a malevolent grin plastered on his face.
“I am Chaos,” he said finally. “Destroyer of worlds… undying.”
I never even thought about what Nero or the Winterveilians have been thinking or feeling during that event, this is a very detailed description of such.