The vision hit Sanctus like a thunderbolt forged in the heavens, a brutal surge that tore through his ethereal core. High in his obsidian tower—a jagged spike piercing the sky where reality frayed and shadows hissed with forbidden power—his form thrashed. Celestial energy erupted from him, slamming into the black stone walls with a force that made them groan like a beast in pain. This wasn’t some vague prophecy. This was a death sentence carved in fire and blood.
He saw it clear as a blade to the throat: himself, atop this cursed spire, finally clawing free from the icy prison that shackled his flesh far below. Victory had been a bitter, intoxicating rush—centuries of schemes and sacrifices poised to pay off in a tidal wave of domination. Then they crashed into the frame—two figures that turned his triumph to ash and made his essence coil in disgust. Fate wasn’t just laughing; it was spitting in his face.
The human was a walking inferno, a golden-armored juggernaut radiating light so fierce it could shame the sun. His boots scorched the tower’s stone with every step, leaving molten scars as if the world itself bowed to his wrath. In his grip, Michael’s spear blazed—a relic of pure, searing divinity that had once hurled Sanctus from paradise in a shower of broken wings and shame. Just the sight of it clawed at old wounds, a phantom sting that roared through his being like a war cry from the past.
But the real gut-punch? His sidekick. A goblin chick—green-skinned, feral, and radiating a middle finger to everything Sanctus had bled to build. Shadows didn’t just follow her; they obeyed her, swirling like a pack of rabid wolves ready to rip out throats. Her orange eyes burned with a defiance that wasn’t just rebellion—it was a promise to bury him in his own ruins. Together, this human torch and shadow queen moved like a single, unstoppable force, light and dark fused in a way that made Sanctus’s grand plan look like a house of cards in a hurricane.
“No!” His roar shattered the air, the tower trembling as if it might collapse under his rage. “Some punk kid and his goblin bitch won’t unravel my empire!”
He lashed out with his mind, clawing through the ether to find them, to crush them before they could rise. Nothing. The Creator’s smug little shield blocked him—subtle, infuriating, and airtight. Sanctus’s fury ignited the room, arcs of black lightning scorching the walls. Trapped in his icy cage, he couldn’t hunt them himself. He’d need boots on the ground—puppets with ambition and zero scruples. Lucky for him, he had just the pair.
With a snarl, he hurled his consciousness across the miles, zeroing in on the Veldrins’ gaudy mansion in Greland—his old stomping grounds before the fall. Time to kick the hornet’s nest.
The Duke and Lady Veldrin froze as the air turned frigid, their breath fogging in the candlelight. Shadows twisted on the walls like they were alive, and then he appeared—a towering nightmare of light and darkness, wings spread wide enough to choke the room, eyes blazing like twin supernovas. Beautiful? Sure, if you liked your beauty served with a side of terror.
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“My lord!” Duke Veldrin dropped to a knee, voice cracking. Lady Veldrin followed, her silver hair whipping like it was caught in a storm only she could feel.
“Get up,” Sanctus growled, his voice a landslide of ice and thunder. They scrambled to their feet, and he sneered at their pathetic little study—gold trinkets, velvet cushions, a sad grab at power. “Cute. You ants really think this is glory?”
The Duke’s jaw tightened, but he swallowed the jab. “We exist to serve you, my lord. Command us.”
Sanctus’s laugh was a blade across stone—sharp, cold, and vicious. “Serve me? You’re barely fit to lick my boots. But fine, let’s hear it—what’s the state of my war machine?”
Lady Veldrin stepped up, chin high despite the tremor in her fingers. “The North’s a beast, my lord. Your whispers are a plague—spreading chaos, feeding ambition. It’s a powder keg ready to blow.”
“The South’s crumbling,” Duke Veldrin added, a smirk curling his lip. “We’ve turned their precious ‘unity’ into a brawl. Old hates are back, and they’re tearing each other apart. When we strike, they’ll fold like paper.”
Sanctus’s grin was all teeth, no warmth. “Good. You’ve done your jobs—for once. Soon, this mudball will drown in blood, and every soul we reap will fuel my breakout. Then?” His eyes flared, wild and unhinged. “I’ll ram that spear down the Creator’s throat and take what’s mine.”
But the smug vibe died fast. His face twisted—confusion, then a flicker of dread. “What the hell?” he muttered, probing the ether. The fireplace flared, smoke swirling into shapes: a kid with a spear that screamed holy vengeance, and a goblin girl with a glare that could melt steel.
“Who’re they?” Duke Veldrin barked, leaning in.
Sanctus’s voice dropped to a hiss. “I don’t know their damn names, but they’ve got the Creator’s stink all over them. A human brat and a goblin freak—nobodies who could torch everything I’ve built.”
Lady Veldrin’s hand twitched to her dagger. “We’ll gut them, my lord.”
“Don’t be stupid!” Sanctus’s roar shook the walls. “They’re warded—hidden from me. You’ll have to sniff them out the hard way. Find a human punk and a goblin girl rolling together—should stick out like a sore thumb. When you do, carve them up and bring me their heads.”
Duke Veldrin’s eyes locked on the goblin’s image, disgust twisting into something darker—his own little scheme brewing. “Consider it done,” Lady Veldrin said, all icy devotion.
Sanctus loomed closer, voice dripping venom. “You better not screw this up. Fail me, and I’ll use your souls to light my victory pyre.” With a crack like the world splitting, he vanished, leaving a chill that sank into their bones.
The Veldrins stood there, silent. Lady Veldrin’s face was steel—Sanctus’s loyal hound. But the Duke? A glint of rebellion sparked in his eyes. This wasn’t just a hunt; it was a chance.
Far west, a kid in some nowhere village strapped on his gear, ready for a pilgrimage that’d rewrite the rules. Up in a brutal mountain pass, a goblin chick clawed her way through another fight, no clue she was about to become a legend. Above them, unseen, angels like Michael and Gabriel sharpened their blades, ready to back the play against Sanctus’s endgame.
Because this wasn’t just a story—it was a reckoning. And Velthorn’s fate was about to get a hell of a rewrite.
Edit: I have updated this prologue with a better and I feel a more engaging hook. Please let me know in a comment or in the poll below what you think.
Second edit: I have updated the prologue. Hope it fits better.
Did you enjoy the prologue and does it feel strong and compelling?
