The tyrant Brandon ruled the city-state for twenty years. Heavy taxes, massacres, and dissidents hanged in public. He shut himself away in the depths of the throne room and saw no one. Some said he was ill. Others said he was mad. No one knew he was turning into a monster.
General Alvin raised the banner of rebellion. Victor was merely one of his many junior officers, in charge of fifteen men and tasked with guarding an unimportant side gate. The coup succeeded. Brandon died, his corpse rotting away into ashes before the eyes of everyone present, leaving behind a deformed skeleton of dark purple bones.
Victor picked up a fragment from the remains and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't know why he did it.
Strange purple markings began to appear beneath his collarbone. The throne room glowed through the night in the distance. Alvin stood beside the throne, his hands trembling. And Victor began to hear breathing from underground, low and slow, as if something were waking up.
This is not a story about a hero's rise. It is the beginning of an ordinary man being slowly devoured by power, a curse, and a throne that eats people.
Overthrow the tyrant, then become the tyrant. That is the iron law of this city-state, and no one can escape it.
