I made a pact with the Kingdom of the Serpent Women for vengeance, but what they demanded in return
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In a desolate kingdom, beneath the relentless sun, a fallen king languished in despair. Once a ruler of great power, he now found himself bound to a pillar in the scorching sand, a mere shadow of his former self. For 300 days, he had endured the torment of betrayal and loss, his once-glorious throne now a cruel reminder of his brother’s treachery. His brother, a usurper, had seized the kingdom and left him to suffer, reveling in the king’s humiliation.
As he lay there, memories of his past haunted him—his wife and children, their screams echoing in his mind. His brother had not granted them a merciful death; instead, he had forced the king to witness their suffering. “Memory hurts more than chains,” he thought bitterly, feeling the weight of grief press down on him. Each day, a guard would come to deliver just enough food and water to keep him alive, a constant reminder of his brother’s desire to prolong his agony.
Then, one fateful day, everything changed. The guard arrived, but not alone. His brother rode in on horseback, flanked by a group of brutal enforcers. The king could see the disdain in his brother’s eyes as he looked down upon him, mocking his plight. “Still breathing?” he sneered. The king’s heart sank as his brother revealed that his eldest daughter, Sihara, was alive, but she was being forced to serve his brother’s generals. The thought of her suffering ignited a fire within him.
That night, as the sun set and darkness enveloped the desert, despair transformed into rage. He screamed at the gods who had abandoned him, renouncing their existence. In that moment of desperation, he offered his soul to anything that could grant him the power to exact revenge. And then, the earth responded. A presence emerged from the sand, something ancient and powerful, studying him with a gaze that pierced through his very being.
From the depths of the sand, a Lameia—a creature of legend—rose before him. Its fangs sank into his ankle, injecting a burning venom that coursed through his veins. “You have three minutes to decide your eternity,” it whispered, its voice calm yet hypnotic. The king, in agony, demanded to know why it had come. The Lameia explained that there were no gods, only a single creator who thrived on balance and suffering.
“You were once a just king,” it said, “but now your faith has shattered. By renouncing your gods, you have opened the door to power.” The king, fueled by his desire for vengeance, grasped the Lameia’s wrist and made a pact. He demanded the strength to kill his brother and save Sihara. The Lameia smiled, promising that the power he would receive would not only kill his brother but would make him beg for death.
At dawn, the guard arrived with the usual meager rations, but upon reaching the pillar, he froze in terror. The king had vanished, leaving only shattered chains behind. His brother, enjoying a lavish feast, was soon informed of the king’s escape. Panic surged through him as he realized the implications of the king’s newfound freedom.
The king emerged from the darkness, transformed. No longer a wretch, he wore an armor of stone, a manifestation of his wrath and the Lameia’s gift. He now commanded an army of granite giants, a force forged from his hatred and desire for revenge. With a single command, he set his army in motion toward his brother’s city, determined to reclaim what was rightfully his.
As the dust settled, his brother awaited him, trembling with fear. The king’s voice boomed across the battlefield, demanding the return of Sihara. His brother, realizing he was cornered, resorted to desperate measures. He cut his wrist, binding their fates together in a twisted pact with the Nameless One, a dark entity that thrived on chaos.
“Your daughter will suffer if you do not let me go,” his brother taunted, dragging Sihara into view. The king’s heart shattered at the sight of her, but he was powerless to act without endangering her life. He was forced to watch as his brother retreated, taking Sihara with him, leaving the king filled with rage and humiliation.
In the aftermath, the king was left alone in the conquered city, his victory hollow. The Lameia appeared, reminding him that his brother would use his love for Sihara against him. “If you wish to save her, we must go to the forbidden lands where the pact was forged,” she urged. The king, consumed by his desire to rescue Sihara, agreed without hesitation.
Together, they journeyed to the forbidden lands, where the king would confront the dark forces that held his daughter captive. As they approached the cave of the Nameless One, the air grew thick with dread. Inside, the king faced his brother’s new master, a colossal entity that promised to unleash untold horrors upon the world.
But the king was undeterred. He had forged an alliance with the Lameia and gathered an army of stone giants. With newfound purpose, he prepared to wage war against the darkness that threatened to consume his kingdom. The battle that was to come would be one of epic proportions, a clash between the fallen king and the forces of evil.
As the king stood at the edge of the abyss, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him. He had sacrificed his humanity for power, but now he had a chance to save his daughter and reclaim his throne. With the Lameia by his side, he vowed to bring down his brother and the darkness that had taken everything from him.
The final confrontation loomed on the horizon, and the king was ready to unleash his fury. He would not rest until Sihara was safe and his brother was brought to justice. The world would remember the name of the fallen king, not as a wretch, but as an executioner—a force of vengeance rising from the ashes of despair.
