The Sinful Young Master

[WARNING: The following content contains graphic violence and grotesque wordplay.]

The portal sealed itself with a thunderous crack, leaving the massive grotesque fist as the sole remnant of its dark magic.

The fist loomed ominously, its immense size blocking the view of the pathway behind it.

The horrifying construction of twisted bodies—some fresh, others decayed—seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive with some dark energy.

The foul stench of decomposing flesh and blood hung thick in the air, an almost tangible presence that made breathing unbearable. It wasn't just a smell; it was a vile energy that seemed to sap the very strength of those who dared to remain near.

The figures dragging the platform beneath the fist moved like puppets, their vacant expressions and lifeless eyes betraying their trancelike state. They were neither alive nor entirely dead, their bodies forced to obey the will of an unseen master.

Patrol soldiers, hastily dispatched to the scene, formed ranks along the grand pathway in an attempt to stop the macabre procession.

Yet, as they raised their weapons and moved to intercept, an invisible force erupted from the fist, a shockwave of raw energy that hurled them aside like leaves in a storm.

The platform and its grotesque cargo continued onwards, unimpeded.

The news spread like wildfire through the Imperial City, reaching the palace within minutes.

Inside the Imperial Palace—a fortress of marble and gold, its spires piercing the heavens—the Emperor was swiftly informed. He, along with his Prime Minister, made their way to the palace forecourt, flanked by a retinue of advisors, generals, and courtiers.

The Emperor, a man in his fifties with a regal bearing, his beard neatly trimmed and streaked with silver, stood tall despite the grim news.

Beside him was his Prime Minister, a figure who contrasted sharply with the Emperor's stately demeanour. Handsome and imposing, his muscular physique hinted at a martial past, though his role now was that of a strategist and diplomat.

The group ascended the marble stairs of the palace's forecourt, which provided a clear view of the pathway leading to the gates. Stay tuned for updates on My Virtual Library Empire

From their vantage point, they watched as the monstrous fist approached, its sheer size and grotesqueness striking a chill into the hearts of even the bravest among them. The back of the fist faced the palace, its towering height blocking out the sun momentarily, casting long, ominous shadows over the courtyard.

As the fist halted briefly, a flag unfurled atop it—a blood-red banner bearing the unmistakable symbol of Chittera Province.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed at the sight, his expression hardening as recognition set in.

"Chittera," the Emperor muttered, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and anger.

His Prime Minister nodded grimly. "Yes, Your Majesty…"

The gathered crowd murmured in shock and confusion.

Chittera was a province governed by a council of lords, separate from the Empire and known for its ferocious warriors, rumoured to carry the blood of ogres. While relations between the Empire and Chittera had been neutral, this grotesque spectacle was no diplomatic envoy—it was a declaration, a message written in blood and horror.

The showing of fist towards the empire was like a direct insult to the Vroulan dynasty.

Among those present was a man who stood out even in this august assembly: the Great General of Arshiks, Remin, one of the Empire's greatest military minds. Clad in unadorned armour, his presence exuded an aura of authority and calm that steadied those around him. Unlike the others, who hesitated in fear, Remin's eyes were fixed on the approaching fist with unwavering determination. Despite his composed demeanour, he radiated an intensity that marked him as a man of action.

The fist came to a halt directly in front of the palace gates, its monstrous form casting an even darker shadow over the gathered soldiers. The stench became overwhelming, and the soldiers stationed at the gates faltered, their faces pale and their stomachs churning.

Some retched, unable to withstand the nauseating odour and the sheer horror of what lay before them.

If one looked closely, one would see that the bodies forming the fist were civilians, common people, farmers even children. Their faces, frozen in expressions of pain and despair, seemed to plead silently for release.

The soldiers raised their weapons again, but the invisible force that had stopped them earlier held firm, an impenetrable barrier between them and the grotesque display.

The tension in the air was palpable, a powder keg waiting to explode.

General Remin stepped forward, his expression calm but resolute.

With a single gesture, he waved his hand through the air, and the invisible force dissipated like smoke in the wind.

The soldiers gasped, realizing the barrier was gone, but they hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

The fist platform creaked and groaned as it came to a final stop, its twisted, horrifying cargo looming over the palace gates. The smell of death was overpowering, and yet, the Emperor did not waver.

Against the warnings of his Prime Minister, he descended the stairs, walking toward the abomination with General Remin at his side.

The Prime Minister called out to him, his voice tinged with urgency. "Your Majesty, this could be dangerous! You must not approach!"

But the Emperor ignored him. His steps were measured, his gaze locked on the grotesque display before him.

General Remin followed closely, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, ready for any eventuality.

Together, they approached the monstrous fist, the soldiers parting to let them through.

As they drew closer, the full scope of the horror became apparent. The bodies were not just twisted and fused; they seemed to writhe faintly, as if still alive, their mouths opening and closing soundlessly. The Emperor's face was a mask of grim determination, but even he could not suppress a shudder at the sight.

"What madness is this?" the Emperor muttered under his breath.

General Remin remained silent, his eyes scanning the grotesque monument for any sign of danger.

And then, as if in response to the Emperor's words, the fist began to move.

Then a voice rang out; it was loud and disturbingly eerie like hearing the voice would make one want to crouch. Strange yet domineering voice, they were astounded that a voice alone could dominate them.

"We, of Chittera Province, greet the fool of an esteemed and majestic emperor. Your rule as the emperor of the great Vroulan dynasty is remarkable, and so we bring you the gift of your people, the fist of bodies and blood; take in all the glory of the fist and imprint it in your minds because we declare war against you, and the next time, we come for you and your family, your people." The voice stopped, and everyone froze; the voice sounded like a vile, beastly, darkness-taken voice, so strong and bassful.