The world seemed to hush in reverence as Carpathia Lie stood upon the scorched stone ledge that overlooked the heart of Ransthrol territory. The vast terrain stretched before him like a tapestry woven in fire and battle. Mercenary camps, training yards, and flame-kissed towers littered the horizon. This was no ordinary land; it was a kingdom forged in pain, ruled not by crowns but by strength. And at its core was Enasto Ransthrol, the Flame Fist Emperor.
The moment Carpathia's voice carried over the valley—cold, sharp, and absolute—every man within the radius felt the weight of it press upon their chest.
"Ransthrol. I know you can hear me, I have your grandson."
Panic spread like wildfire. Veteran mercenaries who had fought beasts with six arms and devils with molten spines clutched their weapons but did not move. They knew better. Carpathia Lie was no enemy. He was a force. One of the Five Legends. To challenge him was to dare the abyss.
From the high citadel, Enasto Ransthrol emerged like a slow-moving inferno. He appeared upon the cliffs in a ripple of heat, wrapped in red and gold. His presence was not loud—it was stifling. As if the atmosphere was waiting for him to speak before it dared shift.
Carpathia stood beside Knull, the boy man lay slumped but alive. Shadows wrapped around the older man's limbs like serpents, coiled with both menace and control.
"I could hurt him," Carpathia said. "I won't. But I could. I needed you to look me in the eyes, Enasto. And your door has always been too damn high to knock on politely."
Enasto's fists ignited in muted flame. The wind recoiled from him, dragging the smoke into a spiral behind his back. He said nothing.
"I'm not here to make threats," Carpathia said, releasing Knull. The boy stumbled back, gulping air. Carpathia let his shadow coils fade. "I'm here because there's a problem—"
"I know, Noir visited I'm well aware but I heard you sealed him already. What do you need me for?"
Carpathia blinked. Once. Then burst out in laughter.
"Your intelligence gathering guys need a raise." He said.
"Yes well they've been asking for one for a while now." Enasto smirked, a soft glow lighting his eyes.
The two ancient powers stood only a few paces apart now, as equal as two storms caught in the same sky. They had not spoken in over fifty years. Not since they had broken apart. Yet even time could not kill what had been forged in the forest of hell.
"Come inside," Enasto said finally. Carpathia smiled a self satisfactory smile as he moved with him.
"Next time just teleport to me, it's much easier, don't go threatening my grandchildren, how would you feel if I threatened yours—" Enasto said pouting causing Carpathia to sweat as he imagined how he would have acted.
He laughed it off with and smacked Ransthrol on the back in an attempt to calm the man's temper
***
The chamber was carved into the rock of the citadel's inner cliff. A war room, wide and circular, with molten lines tracing maps into the very stone. Portraits of fallen warriors watched them from high alcoves, their eyes etched in gold.
Carpathia stood at the far end of the room, glancing briefly at one of the portraits—a younger Enasto, hair like blazing wildfire, fists raised beside Kime, Carpathia, and two others.
The Five.
"So to what do I owe the presence of the great chef C," Enasto said, pouring them both drinks. His hands still smoked faintly.
"Noir is stirring," Carpathia said. "He was sealed... briefly. But I doubt it will last. He seems to have a pretty competent following. I took care of most of them but some got away"
Enasto's face darkened.
"The God of Death doesn't rise without a plan. How is your son?"
"Alive. But changed. I thought they'd be content with taking Hella from us, seems he hasn't let go of his rage."
Enasto slid the cup toward him but did not drink his own.
"So what do you need me for?"
"I came for an ally," Carpathia corrected. "You remember what happened the last time Noir came to Earth? The bodies he left in his wake?"
Enasto said nothing.
"You remember what we had to go through to seal him—" Carpathia pressed. "You remember what I-we lost. What we became."
"I remember everything okay."
The silence was heavy. The drink in Carpathia's hand remained untouched.
"But you don't plan on helping, why won't you fight?"
Enasto looked at him with tired eyes. Eyes that had seen centuries. That had outlived wives, children, rivals.
"Because I have already given everything to a world that learned nothing."
Carpathia's eyes narrowed.
"You're scared."
"I am tired," Enasto corrected. "Tired of the fighting. You want to rise again. Fine. But I am no longer a flame to be called. I have forged this land. I protect my family. That's all."
"You coward!! Protect your family from what's coming!" Carpathia shouted, rising. "Do you think Noir will stop at me? He devours souls. He'll come here. To Knull. To your descendants. And when he does, this land of fire won't burn hot enough to stop him."
Enasto's knuckles whitened around his cup.
"You think I don't know that? That I haven't prepared? Do you know the lengths I've gone, to create soilders that can defeat him. I found a way! I've trained an army for decades. One hundred thousand elite knights. Sealed rooms. Death wards. There are ten layers of protection beneath this very floor."
Carpathia froze at his words resisting the urge to smack his dumb friend.
"None of it will matter," Carpathia said coldly, "I know about your experiments, your brainless weapons. I-I didn't believe it when I heard."
"Ohh don't be like that!" Enasto said growing angry, who was he to judge him, after all the things they did.
"When he brings himself. The true self. The one to which I'm simply a shadow of. The Potentate of Death. Do you really think your army of braindead monsters would help! Do you really believe your walls matter to the night?"
They stood there, gods in men's flesh, eyes locked.
And then Enasto looked away.
"I can't help you old friend," he said softly.
Carpathia nodded.
"Then I guess this is settled then." Needing to have the last word.
A long pause followed. Then, Carpathia turned and walked to the door.
"When your valley burns," he said without turning, "don't call me. I may not answer, brother."
Enasto stood long after the shadows swallowed his old friend. He looked at the painting again. At Kime's grin. At his own face, younger, brighter, unburned by grief.
"The world isn't ready for the things we sealed," he whispered. "And neither am I."
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