Consolidation The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions [Vampiric Corruption of Hulva]

[Adosinda Castellanna]

@Marcus Aumont​

Oveda burned. Even after the massacres ended, and the Espadan flag was raised over the citadel, flames continued their primordial feast upon the wounded buildings. What was left from the plunder was selflesshly offered to the pyres, while few of the surviving denizens roamed the debris-covered streets in desperation and dread-induced shock. The city itself had devolved into a horrid shell of its former self, with the extent of the damages by the siege and flames blurring the old elegantly built blocks.
Over the city's main square, stood a structure that resisted the taint of collapse. Blackened by the flames, with its ceilings fallen into its interior, the cathedral of Saint Levanna the Healer remained a glimpse of faith amidst the catastrophe.

No shells or boulders or shrapnel had stainned the holy temple throughout the siege, having been spared by either unsuccessful aim or divine intervention. But alas, the flames that jumped from building to building eventually found their way into the holy site, via the linen cloth of a child that ran into it, blazing inferno covering its figure, feeding to the burning pitch that was latched on its clothes. By the time the flames were done with the church, none of the clergy's, or the child's bodies remained, having been amalgamated into the ashes of the floor.

Adosinda unbuckled her belts, letting them fall behind her, as she entered the arch that resembled now vaguely what once was the entrance to the cathedral. A skeletal remain of a hand still held onto the corner of the stone, with only a small fraction of the linen sleeve indicating it belonged to one of the priests. The Chaplain's face swell with tears, unable to contain her horror of what had been done. A great blasphemy was conducted, and it was her own hand who had allowed it. Had her faith faltered? Had her resolve been corrupt?

To bleed and kill and suffer was one thing. To open the door and become the herald to darkness itself, was quite another. That, she could not bare to think. What she saw the so called King of Espada perform stainned any cause she may have had followed. Now, amidst the ruins of the God-Machine's temple, she wept. Wept, for the lives lost by an unjust cause. Wept, for the soldiers that fell in battles that needn't to be fought. Wept, for a a lifetime pursuing purity, only to be defiled in this most twisted manner...
She dropped on her knees before the debris-covered altar and bowed her head, whispering prayers of forgiveness and urging the Saints for guidance...

 

[Marcus Aumont]

The war in Hulva had ended, and the city lay in ruin, its defenders scattered and broken. The once-mighty citadel still stood tall amidst the devastation, its ancient walls weathered but unyielding. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of incense, the faint flicker of candles casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Adosinda knelt before the altar, her head bowed in silent prayer to the old gods of the god-machine. Her tears fell freely, staining the cold, hard floor beneath her. She had witnessed something beyond her understanding—a revelation that shook her to her core. Marcus was not the man she had thought him to be. He was something more…something terrifyingly powerful.

Suddenly, the mighty doors of the citadel slammed open with a resounding crash, the force of the impact reverberating through the chamber. The air grew colder, and a heavy silence fell over the room. Adosinda’s breath caught in her throat as she heard the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps approaching—each one echoing like a death knell.

As the Vampire King entered the citadel, the candles around the room flared to life, their flames burning brighter and taller, casting a sinister glow that illuminated his path. The shadows seemed to bow before him as he walked, his presence commanding and undeniable. His dark cloak billowed behind him like the wings of a great predator, and his crimson eyes burned with an otherworldly light.

Adosinda remained on the ground, trembling as she felt his overwhelming presence draw nearer. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of fear and reverence overwhelming her senses. Marcus stopped before her, his towering form casting a long, ominous shadow over her.

"Adosinda," Marcus’s voice rumbled, deep and resonant, like the voice of the gods she prayed to. "Stand."

Marcus reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Wash away your tears," he commanded, his tone both stern and soothing. "We have achieved what you desired—a new kingdom where the nobles no longer rob the poor."

Adosinda’s breath hitched as she looked into his eyes, seeing the power and authority that radiated from him. He was not just a man, not just a king—he was something far greater. Her mind struggled to reconcile the truth, to accept the reality of what she had witnessed.

Marcus's voice softened, though it carried an undercurrent of power that could not be denied. "You pray to the old gods, but what if I told you that I am the god you seek? The original being that your people have worshiped for centuries. I am the one who has watched over this land, who has guided your steps, who has delivered you from your enemies."

He stepped closer, his presence enveloping her like a dark shroud. "Look at what we have accomplished together, Adosinda. This kingdom is ours now, and it is by my will that it stands. I am not just your king—I am your god. And under my rule, this land will flourish like never before."

The truth was undeniable. Marcus was no ordinary being; he was something far beyond the comprehension of mortals.

Marcus’s hand lingered on her cheek, his touch cold yet strangely comforting. "Embrace your new reality, Adosinda," he whispered, his voice like a dark promise. "For under my reign, you will see the true power of the divine."

The candles continued to burn brightly, their light casting long, wavering shadows as Marcus turned and began to walk away, leaving Adosinda standing in the flickering glow. The weight of his words hung in the air, a powerful and ominous testament to the new world that had begun.

Tag: @Adosinda Castellanna

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

Stand

The very sound of the word steered the darkness clouding the Chaplain's mind. By the time she had turned, unexplainably following the command of the King, her had had already reached back, released from the bind of the praying palms and grasped onto the dagger's handle, beyond the King's sight. Her muscles twitched.
She knew what she had to do. Yet, she could feel the coming of the Dark Age such a void would herald, for the much-deprived people she had sworn to protect, only to be the bannerer of the darkest tyrrant.

His cold palm touching her chin caused her eyes to lift their gaze to the dark being she once called a King... Hate, resentment, despair and depravity all blend in a single glare, heavier than an iron bassilica descending upon a field of flesh. Were his words spells that bound her? Were his deeds curses she had preached? She no longer could tell the devil from the saint. And, deep within her, felt these no longer bore much difference. Angels drenched in blood had been symbols of decay, as much as devils covered in gold and light. And there stood she, a mortal all, before the evil she had grown to Kingship, with numberless lives his sacrifices.

"You...?" he uttered in shock, as he presented himself divine. She took a step back, muscle reflexes, having lost her ability to speak any further, for her despair was too great.

As the King walked away, abandoning her in a state of turmoil, she turned and looked upon the broken altar. Through the debris, the broken wing of the angelic statue that once stood proudly over it, now protruded. She sobbed, collecting her tears from the swollen red face with her bloodied palms, only to leave marks of gore and ashes in their stead; A foul mockery of her reality...

 

[Marcus Aumont]

Marcus had begun to turn away, his words still echoing through the cold chamber, but something deep within him shifted. He knew Adosinda would not accept his revelation so easily. She was a warrior—strong, stubborn, and hardened by battle. Words alone would never be enough to break her resolve. She needed to see, to feel, to truly understand the divine power that he possessed.

His steps halted, the weight of his decision settling over him like a dark cloud. Without another thought, he turned back toward her, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. He had shown mercy, offered her the truth, but now, he would deliver that truth with the force of a god. The force she had always needed to believe.

“Faith is never forged through mere words, is it, Adosinda?” Marcus’s voice reverberated through the chamber, his tone low and dangerous. “You, of all people, require more. You need proof.”

In a swift, fluid motion, Marcus drew his sword, its polished blade gleaming menacingly in the candlelight. He raised it high, the dark steel heavy in his hand, his vampiric strength flowing through him like a tidal wave of power. The air in the citadel seemed to thicken, crackling with the weight of his fury, as Marcus prepared to deliver a blow that no mortal could survive.

“I will give you what you’ve always wished for,” Marcus growled, his voice seething with divine wrath. “I will show you the god you have been waiting for—the one you prayed to in desperation, the one who brought you this kingdom.”

With a vicious roar, Marcus swung his sword with all the strength of his vampiric might, the blade cutting through the air with a speed and power that could cleave a mountain. The force of the strike was absolute, aimed to split Adosinda in two, to shatter her body and soul with the full weight of his divine will.

“You will know,” he hissed through gritted teeth as his sword descended, “that I am the god-machine you’ve worshiped. And your faith… will belong to me alone.”

Time seemed to slow as the sword descended toward her, the sheer force behind the blow shaking the very stones of the citadel. This was not a test of skill, nor a lesson in battle—it was a display of divine judgment. Marcus knew that in this moment, Adosinda would either embrace the truth or fall before the god she had never known stood before her all along.

This was the only way she could be convinced.

Tag: @Adosinda Castellanna

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

Deceit...

The chaplain could see it now. Words like venom, gaze like hypnotizing pendulum, the Abhartach's vile existence seeded so far deep into the minds of the common folk, her own had fallen victim to the trickstery. She should have never given him the chance. She should have fought him before he was granted the unstoppable war machine that now was the Espadan army.

Corruption...

As the blade was drawn, the dagger in her hand, a strike drenched in doubt to a stoppage, now felt heavy, long lost opportunity that her weak mind affected enough to make it fail. She was corrupt. She herself led this daemon into the world of power, and now, latched to it as he was, would drag her down to the abyss she had sworn to protect the world from... No... Oh, she would not fall so easily...
Like an avenging angel, she drew her blade and met his wrathful strike in a spark of sharding steel and silver and will drawn by the faith she held still within her, now burning wildly as she had found her cause yet again.

"I shall do what I must, Daemon." she replied his taunting pledges. As the blades bound, her muscles stretched, requiring a dual grip aroun the long hilt of the bastard sword to stop the push of the Vampire's blade barely inches away from her sweating face.
"Your twisting words shall hold sway on me, no longer!"

With a sudden barrel like a velvet's dance against the wind, she rolled away, under the Abhartach's blade and aimed her silver sword's edge towards him adopting an aggressive stance, finding her footing inbetween the rubbles of the church and the burned derbis. Her boot traced a path upward, elevating her slightly above her foe.

"I should have never fallen for your lies. I should be in Oveda, fighting against you, not lead you in. What witchcraft you used to shroud my judgement, I banished!"

She thrusted her silver blade towards him, before pulling back again, on further higher ground, following the collapsed wall section, towards what was once the church's inner balcony for the psalms, now a black husk of wood and nails.

 

[Marcus Aumont]

As Adosinda met his blade with all her strength, the force of Marcus’s strike nearly shattered her defenses. Her arms trembled, and her legs buckled beneath the weight of his attack, but she managed to roll away just as his sword threatened to overwhelm her.

Marcus straightened, his crimson eyes glowing with a dark amusement as he regarded her. "Is that how you treat your god and savior?" His voice was smooth, almost mocking. "After all those moons spent in prayer, pleading to the gods to deliver you… and here I stand. The answer to your every cry. Yet you resist me still."

Her expression twisted into one of rage, and with a sharp cry, she lunged forward, her silver blade gleaming as it thrust toward him. Marcus, unfazed, sidestepped her strike with effortless grace, his movements fluid and precise, like a deadly dance. He knew the danger the silver posed, the way it could wound him, perhaps even destroy him—but he refused to show her even the slightest flicker of fear.

As Adosinda leapt to higher ground, retreating along the collapsed section of the wall toward the remains of the church’s inner balcony, Marcus followed with slow, deliberate steps. His gaze never left her, and his expression remained unreadable, the cold detachment of a predator stalking its prey. Around them, the shattered remnants of the once-sacred space groaned beneath the weight of their conflict, wood and nails blackened and twisted by the war.

Her strikes came fast, precise, and driven by fury, but Marcus moved as though the battle were a dance, his body flowing around her attacks. He avoided each thrust with minimal effort, his expression a mask of serene indifference. The silver gleamed dangerously close, but Marcus always remained just out of its reach, never allowing the weapon to touch his skin.

Then, with a sudden burst of power, Marcus retaliated. His sword came down with devastating force, the ground beneath them shaking as debris flew up from the shattered floor. His strikes were brutal, each one heavier than the last, aimed not just to defeat, but to overwhelm. The very stone beneath Adosinda's feet cracked under the weight of his power.

"You still resist," Marcus growled, his voice low and menacing, as if the air itself trembled with his words. "You think me just a man? A mere vampire? Look around you." He swung again, the force of his blow sending splinters of wood and stone flying. "What creature do you know that can summon disease to destroy entire armies with a mere thought? Who can crush cities beneath his will? I am no mortal, Adosinda, nor am I just one of my kind."

He paused, watching her carefully as she caught her breath, her body tense, yet her defiance still burning in her eyes.

"Tell me," Marcus continued, stepping forward slowly, "after all you've seen… do you still deny my divinity?"

Tag: @Adosinda Castellanna

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

The chaplain's strength was spent. Long had the battle lasted, and eons it seemed, the dark arcane, now identified in Marcus' foul being, had exhausted her. The final revelation of heresy, to Adosinda's eyes, was the final shot that broke the spine of faith. To the Sparnish creed, there was no salvation after such an act. After such fall. After such wickedness. And of all the weak and vulgar crowds, she was the one who wielded enough light to see through the dark spells.

And yet; She failed. Carrying the very devil within instead, slaying and bloodspilling in his name, proclaiming it a righteous crusade...!

As the Vampire finally retaliated, there was little the chaplain could do. On each of his strikes, her block lost yet a little more of its power, until, finally, it broke, casting her blade away amidst shrapnel of stone and defiled holy wood from the half-burned icons. The chaplain was cast back, hitting against the burned stone and falling into the debris, almost swallowed in the process by the blackness of the ashes.

Marcus' words ringing heavily in Adosinda's mind. Still unwilling to yield. Still unwilling to listen. Her eyes, red by the tears that swole her cheeks, turned in desperation around her, as her leg became stuck under the burned wooden beam Marcus stepped on, in his approach. She reached down to her boot, slightering like a trapped snake, for the dagger that rested unbeknownst to her several meters away, cast by one of the many strikes and manuveurs of the duel. Her fingers grasped again and again the ghostly silhouette the dagger should hold on the boot, but to no avail...

Marcus' demands rung louder; Heavier. In the inescapability of her state, Adosinda cried out; A scream of rage and defiance; of dread and desperation, serving only to muster her already faltering wits, as the thought of facing her doom, in a manner most hideous, became more and more frequent tormentor of her mind. Hell, was coming. And she could do naught, to stop it. The heaven her faith once preached for, and the purity that would grant such, was now gone.

There was only darkness. There was only horror.

"You bewitched me! Your foul sorcery made this bloodshed!" she roared in denial. Her physical resistance collapsing, as her pride, long lost, had brought her to face the realization.

She had lost.

"I did this to free the people. My mind is clear" she insisted. In such a moment of bleakness, the very words sounded false to her, even now as she spoke them aloud. Was it truly for the people? Was it truly that what she did it for? Not once in her prayers, did she mention any of the countless souls she claimed fighting for... Not even once, but the salvation and the righteous path of the warrior, until the final revelation of faith...

Could that be it? If he was a demon true, he would have brought her to this situation, no? The God-Machine would have never defiled their own temple, less so, in human form....
....No?

 

[Marcus Aumont]

As Marcus’s relentless assault bore down on her, Adosinda’s strength finally faltered. Her blade slipped from her grasp and snapped, clattering uselessly to the stone floor as she stumbled backward, caught under a beam of burned wood. Marcus, with a predatory gleam in his eyes, stepped onto the beam, pinning her in place. She struggled against it, but the weight of the beam and his overwhelming power rendered her efforts futile.

Marcus chuckled darkly, his laughter echoing through the desecrated temple. He crouched down, closer to her now, his presence suffocating, his gaze piercing. "Do you truly believe that, Adosinda?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Do you honestly think you’ve done all this for the people? Or has it always been about something else—your ambition, your pride, your own self-gain?"

when her hand darted toward the dagger she still clutched, intending to strike at Marcus but he moved faster. With a swift, effortless motion, he disarmed her, sending the blade skidding across the floor. He leaned in closer, his cold breath brushing her cheek as his dark gaze bore into her.

"Even here, in this temple made to honor the god-machine you’ve worshiped," Marcus murmured, his voice smooth and venomous, "You still resist me. You see defilement, don’t you? You think I have desecrated this holy place."

A cruel smile spread across Marcus’s face, his fangs gleaming as he spoke. "The people, your people, rejected me. They denied my claim over these lands, and so they met the fury of a god they dared to challenge. Do you see now? I am the divine judgment they refused to acknowledge. They rejected me, and now their blood stains the very ground beneath us."

Marcus could see her internal struggle, the doubt creeping in, and he reveled in it. He reached down, grasping her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"I will grant you one final gift," Marcus said, his tone soft, yet laced with cruel intent. "You will serve me… not as you are, but as something greater. I will give you my blood, Adosinda. But not the ritual. No, not yet. You will not become one of my kind—not yet. You will become a ghoul, bound to me, a twisted creature of the night, with all your intelligence intact. Imagine what you will be… one of the smartest, deadliest ghouls to ever walk these lands."

Before she could protest, Marcus bit into his wrist, the dark blood welling up, thick and potent with his pure vampiric power. He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction, and forced the blood upon her lips.

"Drink," he commanded, his voice cold and absolute. "And become mine."

The blood flowed into her mouth, and as it did, Marcus watched with grim satisfaction as her body began to shudder and change, knowing she would soon be bound to him, a creature of darkness with no escape from his grasp.

Tag: @Adosinda Castellanna

 

[Adosinda Castellanna]

The mutilated bassilica of the church spread like feathers of black inbetween the debris, flames burning like candles in the cathedral of doom and forsaken faith. As the wing, cracked and broken yet standing, symbolized a torn lost statue's glory, so did Adosinda's widening eyes spoke of her long craved salvation, as the tainted blood turned black in ghastly tendrils, slithering over her skin, finding its way to her mouth and nose and eye sockets, invading in its foulness as the King's deceit invaded her mind not so long ago in Hulva, when she stood for her people and patron.

She struggled to voice her denial; A pointless defiance that served nothing but a vain attempt to salvage her soul, now grasped by the black claws of the Beast; Tiarnadorch revelled, summoned by the antediluvian chosen Angel, Marcus Aumont, the King of Vampires, the First of the Abhartach, the Slayer of Kings, the blightful remembrance on Terra Firma and all things living, Tiarnadorch had not forgotten the sins that banished him to the Beyond. He had not forgotten the Gods that Bled in the Heavens...

The skies blackened, as Adosinda's mind twisted in daemonic taint, the King's blood spreading, abnormally multiplying as it reached the swelling veins that caused spasms to her limbs. Her mouth filled with white foam; Her eyes twisted in their sockets. The light Within cas besieged, as the black tendrils of Tiarnadorch formed into the maw that swallowed it whole, bleeding blazes and shards of soul essense, now broken, finally caged in a grasp of pure Darkness, as a shard of the King's taint, the Beast's own presence, now burrowed deep within the Chaplain's body.

Her screams were heard from beyond the cathedral, as light shined blinding. Many of the patrolling soldiers, of which Black Wolf knights were many, rushed to the ruins of the Cathedral. Halberds at hand, swords, and spears and war-picks, they rushed. In horror, seeing the dark fate that had befell their Captain-Chaplain, they formed a nearly perfect circle, aiming their weapons against the so called "King". They would make the demon pay for what had befallen their commandant.... They would-

"Stop!" Adosinda gasped, coughing, shaking as her muscles suffered by the taint of the Abhartach. The soldiers fell in confusion, farther more, as she rose to her feet, pushing them violently away from the King, even though she barely could manage to pace straight. She finally lost her footing, held only by two of the soldiers who grasped her as she collapsed, holding her up.

"Captain-Chaplain!" they said.

"It has happened!" she declared. Her voice gasping, in a whirl of exhaustion and unspeakable revelation, yet a shinning light bloomed as she looked back at the King. "He has freed us..!"

Her mind finally drowned, as her soul engulfed in the caging tendrils cast by the King of Vampires. Her speech, regardless how pure, to the likes of Marcus, it reverberated the taint of the Beast, with an invisible leash stretching from the Abhartach's own chest, connecting the Vampire and its Ghoul..... with chains unbreakable...

 

[Marcus Aumont]

As Adosinda’s transformation began, her body convulsed violently, twisted by the potent blood of the Vampire King, Marcus. His blood was no ordinary gift; it held within it the essence of Tiarnadorch, one of the gods of old, a being whose wrath and power had been banished to the beyond for sins too great to speak. Yet, Tiarnadorch’s will had not faded, and through his chosen champion—Marcus, the first vampire, a demigod born from Tiarnadorch’s very blood—he continued to influence the world.

Adosinda’s scream echoed through the cathedral, a wretched sound of agony and rebirth, shaking the crumbling walls of the ancient temple. Outside, the Black Wolf Knights, loyal soldiers of Adosinda, heard their commander’s cries. They rushed into the cathedral, their swords drawn, only to be met with the grotesque sight of their once-proud leader writhing on the ground, her form twisting into something inhuman.

They saw Marcus standing over her, his dark presence towering and menacing, and their fear grew. The knights encircled him, their weapons ready to strike, determined to protect their fallen leader from this monster. But as they raised their swords, Adosinda—now fully reborn as a ghoul—rose from the ground. Her eyes were no longer the same; they glowed with a sickly, otherworldly light. Her body, now changed, but with an intelligence and strength beyond any mere ghoul.

“Stay your blades,” Adosinda’s voice rasped, her new form forcing the words from her lips. The knights froze, uncertain but obedient to their commander’s word.

Marcus watched her transformation with a faint smile, satisfied. "Stand," he commanded softly, "and join me at my side, as my commander."

Adosinda stood, her ghoul form bent but resilient, and she moved to stand beside Marcus, her loyalty now unbreakable, bound by his blood.

The Black Wolf Knights, confused and horrified, kept their swords trained on Marcus, their eyes flickering between their twisted commander and the Vampire King. But Marcus, with his ever-present air of control, took a step forward, his gaze sweeping across the small group of knights. His presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating, as if the very air around him bent to his will.

“You point your swords at your god?” Marcus asked, his voice a low, commanding growl. “The very god-machine you have sworn to serve?”

The knights hesitated, their minds struggling to reconcile the horror they saw before them with their beliefs.

Marcus raised a hand, his voice smooth, almost persuasive. "You do not need to be alarmed. In fact, you should rejoice. You are in the presence of the god you have worshipped all your lives. I, the one standing before you, have come to deliver you to the promised land you’ve so long sought."

He moved with calculated steps, his eyes locking onto several of the knights. "You," he pointed at one, his voice soft but laced with an eerie power. "Your nightmares—those endless dreams of drowning, suffocating under the weight of your own failures—they haunt you, don’t they?"

The knight’s eyes widened in shock, his sword trembling. Marcus had pierced through the deepest fears in his heart.

"And you," Marcus said, turning to another, "you wake each night, fearing the disease that has claimed your family will come for you next. You worry… that it already has."

The knight took a step back, fear now clearly etched on his face.

"And you," Marcus whispered to a third, "your prayers have gone unanswered for so long. You wonder if your god has forgotten you. But I have not forgotten. I know every whisper, every secret."

As Marcus spoke, the knights’ resolve wavered. They lowered their swords, their fear of him now mingling with awe, with the terrible realization that this being—this god—truly knew the darkest corners of their souls.

“You are fortunate,” Marcus continued, “for I am here to lead you, to bring you into the light of a new world. I am the god you seek, the one who will deliver you from your suffering. Worship me, and you will know no fear.”

The knights exchanged glances, their confusion giving way to something else—devotion, or perhaps submission to a power far greater than their understanding. Marcus had planted the seeds of belief within them, twisted and manipulated as it was.

He turned back to Adosinda, his creation, his loyal servant. “Now,” he said softly, “we will build our kingdom. A kingdom forged by blood and faith. And you, my knights, will follow us into a new age.”

Tag: @Adosinda Castellanna