A Game of Blood and Empire
Ren sits atop a mound of broken bodies, his armour slick with rain that runs red as it mingles with the blood pooled beneath him. He does not move. He does not indulge in emotion. The battle is over. The dead do not need his thoughts.
Above, the sky churns, thick with clouds the colour of bruised flesh. The rain falls in sluggish sheets, heavy and weighted with the blood it carries, painting the world in diluted crimson. He listens—not to the cries of the fallen, but to the silence stretched between each droplet's descent. It is quiet in a way that does not soothe, only lingers.
Then—footsteps.
Soft. Deliberate. A rhythm that cuts through the rain's relentless cadence. Ren does not turn. He does not need to. The presence coils through the damp air, familiar, unwavering. A silhouette materialises through the haze.
She has come.
"It's been a while, Ren. Since the very beginning, hasn't it?"
Her voice carries through the storm, neither tender nor cruel. It is not a question—it is a reminder.
She moves like a shadow, sudden yet effortless, standing before him. A hood conceals all but the gleam of her eyes, crimson black, reflecting his own.
Ren watches as she slowly lifts a hand, peeling away his mask. The rain touches his cold and indifferent skin, his long white hair bleeding into red, streaked with the battle's aftermath.
She tilts her head, amusement flickering in her gaze.
"Did you enjoy my game?"
Her words curl in the damp air, lingering, insubstantial. "That was only the beginning," she continues, tone light, teasing, a promise laced with inevitability. "You may have beaten them, but there is always more. Wouldn't it be quicker—for you, for your empire—to take the whole world at once?"
She leans in, pressing her lips against his. It is not an embrace of passion or comfort—just another motion, deliberate, meaningless motion in the storm.
Ren does not react.
His hollow gaze remains fixed beyond her, past conquest, past battle, past even the weight of her presence. He listens—not to her words or the echoes of war, but to the storm, rain, and silence between.
And he thinks.
He knows how many lives he has ended.
He knows the number.
It is simply too large to mention.
The Only Thing That Can Kill You
She does not stand before him—she settles onto his lap, unhurried, as if claiming a seat that was always hers.
Rain streaks her cloak, bleeding into the darkness that clings to her form, but she does not acknowledge it. She is weightless against him, insignificant compared to the bodies beneath, yet undeniably present.
Ren does not move.
He does not shift beneath her. He does not react to her closeness or the familiarity she wields so effortlessly.
His face is bare, the mask discarded, forgotten. Rain touches his skin, indifferent, streaking his features in diluted crimson. His white hair bleeds into red, soaking into the memory of war's aftermath.
Her gaze burns beneath her hood, crimson-black, mirroring his own—a reflection, an echo, an inevitability.
"You knew it was me from the beginning, didn't you?"
Her voice drifts through the damp air, curling like smoke, delicate yet unshakable.
"After all, we are connected."
She tilts her head, her presence unwavering, effortless.
"There is nothing you don't know—unless you choose to shut it off. But me? No. You can't turn away from me."
The storm churns above them, swallowing the battlefield in its blood-hazed gloom.
"And Emperor Shadow?" she muses, eyes tracing the contours of his bare face. "Still restraining that part of yourself?"
A pause—then, amusement simmering in the space between.
"Last I knew, that wasn't working so well."
Her hand lifts—not to remove his mask, for there is none—but to trace along the sharp edges of his jaw, a touch neither gentle nor harsh.
"All those lives lost," she sighs, a mockery of sympathy threading through her tone.
"The ones I sent to kill you."
A breath, soft, amused.
"I knew they would fail."
She leans closer, her words little more than a whisper against the storm.
"The only thing that can kill you is you."
The silence that follows is not empty.
It is heavy. Unshaken. Absolute.
Her smile does not falter.
"So that makes me one of the only things that can end you, doesn't it?"
Slowly, deliberately, she raises her hands, pulling back the hood.
Ren stares.
She is—him.
Not merely similar. Not merely familiar. A mirror. A twin. A force equal in power.
From an alternate reality.
The Curse of Power
"But that also means you can kill me. And I can kill you."
She leans in, close enough that the rain clings to her lashes, her words barely more than breath against his skin.
"Not that it matters."
Her fingers ghost along the edges of his jaw, tracing the crimson-streaked contours of his bare face.
"We don't stay dead for long, do we?"
There is no emotion in her voice—only certainty, only truth.
"We revive instantly. The curse of too much power, of immortality. An empire that cannot fall, rulers who cannot die."
Her lips curve, the faintest shape of amusement.
"The strongest beings in the world. What a tragedy."
Her crimson-black gaze flickers, lingering on him with something almost indulgent.
"I've missed that handsome face of yours."
The Shadow of His Creation
"Like I said, Ren—you haven't answered my question."
She shifts slightly in his lap, tilting her head, watching him with patient amusement.
"Have you missed me?"
Her voice lingers between them, curling through the damp air like smoke. "I've sure missed you. How could I not?"
A gloved hand drifts along the edges of his face, fingertips ghosting against rain-streaked skin.
"You are the only thing that is my equal—the only man I can truly give myself to."
She exhales, slow, deliberate.
"In my world, they fall at my feet. Puppets, desperate, bending like obedient creatures. But you…" She lets the words settle, sharp yet reverent. "You don't submit."
Her lips curve, satisfaction threading through her gaze.
"You know, it's not my fault you created everything."
The rain thickens, the storm pressing against them like a living thing.
"And because of that—because of you-I exist."
When Restraint Breaks
"I've met other versions of us, you know."
Her voice is light, almost amused, but beneath it lingers something more profound—something vast.
"From different realities. Different lives. Each one shaped by choices neither of us made."
She shifts slightly in his lap, rain streaking her cloak, pooling in the folds of fabric as if the storm acknowledges her presence.
"Our worlds are similar, yet different. In mine, I rule an empire of my own."
A gloved hand lifts, tracing the faint edges of his face—rain-slicked, blood-streaked.
"I could add it to the Eternal Empire. Just for you."
Her lips curve, satisfaction threading through the storm.
"I've conquered countless galaxies while you take your time, pacing each step like it's fragile. I embrace my power fully."
She leans in, her crimson-black gaze unwavering.
"You restrain the dark version of yourself."
A pause, deliberate.
"And I—restrain the good."
She exhales, something close to amusement curling at the edge of her words.
"Funny, isn't it?"
Her fingers ghost against his jawline, not tender, not cruel—just inevitable.
"I wonder what would happen if we abandoned restraint entirely."
A quiet beat, heavy with meaning.
"If we merged with our true selves."
Bound by Power
"You know, we really should get married."
She says it without hesitation, as if stating something inevitable rather than offering a proposal.
Rain streaks through the silence, painting the battlefield in diluted crimson, but she remains at ease, perched upon his lap, unbothered by the ruin beneath them.
"I'm still a virgin, by the way," she muses, tilting her head, watching him. "Not that you care about such things."
Her crimson-black eyes gleam, flickering with quiet amusement.
"Who cares—really? As long as you're the one who gets to keep women by your side."
There is no softness in her tone, no warmth—only understanding. A truth laid bare, stripped of sentiment.
She does not move.
She does not press for an answer.
She lets the words linger, settling into the weight of inevitability.
The Name That Cannot Be Ignored
She remains perched upon his lap, undisturbed by the ruin beneath them, unbothered by the rain streaking through the battlefield.
"I've already thought of their names," she muses, absentmindedly tracing idle patterns against the fabric of his cloak. "Our children. They'll be perfect."
Her tone is light, almost teasing, yet beneath it lies something absolute—certainty, inevitability.
She shifts slightly, tilting her head.
"I'll dress them in silks spun from conquered empires," she continues, her voice dipping lower. "Watch their first steps. Witness their first taste of power."
Her fingers pause, resting lightly against his chest.
"You'll teach them, won't you? Shape them into something stronger?"
Silence.
The rain presses against them like a quiet witness, waiting, watching.
And then—finally—he speaks.
"…Veyna."
Not reprimanding. Not indulgent.
Just acceptance.
Her lips curve slightly, satisfaction threading through the quiet.
"You feel it now, don't you?"
Not a question. Not really.
Because, of course, he does.
She Was Only Waiting
The corpses pile beneath him, a throne forged not from stone or gold, but from surrender.
Blood drips from the sky, soaking into the ruined battlefield, staining his cloak and skin—but neither moves.
Veyna remains on his lap, untouched. The rain of blood falls, streaking down his form, pooling at her feet, but she does not flinch.
She waits.
Not impatiently. Not demanding.
Just there.
Her fingers trace idle patterns against the fabric of his cloak—not out of hesitation, but out of habit as if keeping herself anchored in this moment, in the space between them that has stretched for millennia.
Above them, the clouds churn—not grey, not black, but red, deep and endless, mirroring the devastation beneath them.
She already knows the answer.
She doesn't need him to say it.
And yet—she wants him to.
Not for reassurance or permission, but because some truths must be spoken aloud.
Ren does not move.
Not yet.
The weight of everything settles between them: the centuries, the silent battles, the cities fallen and rebuilt.
He knows.
She knows.
Yet still, she waits.
Because there is something in his silence that stretches, not just time, but everything between them.
The blood falls. The corpses sink into ruin.
When he speaks, the silence finally breaks, and the universe will recognise that Veyna Blackdragon was never gone.
She was only waiting.
Blood-Stained Eternity
His hand finds her face, fingers tracing the perfect symmetry of features unchanged by time.
Blood streaks through her thick, long white hair, the rain soaking it into something almost alive—a crimson thread woven into eternity itself.
She holds his hand against her skin, pressing into the touch she has waited for, the presence that has never truly left her, no matter how many centuries passed.
She smiles.
Soft. Certain. Undeniable.
They were both dead once, when they were mortal—when the constraints of their first worlds still bound them to fleeting existence.
Ren was the first to transcend.
But she was the first to follow.
Not after him. Not beneath him. Beside him.
And now, as blood rains from the heavens, bodies sink into ruin beneath his throne, and the empire itself bends to their inevitability—she is here.
Always.
Take It All
"I have missed you, I…"
His voice lingers in the storm, caught between memory and presence.
Before he can say more, she kisses him again.
Blood streaks through the rain, staining her white hair, their skin, pooling around the corpses beneath them—but none of it matters. She sits on his lap, untouched by hesitation, pressing into him as if claiming what was always hers.
Then, she stops.
Her lips curve slightly, satisfaction threading through the storm.
"Are you happy with my gift?" she murmurs, holding his gaze. The Iron Concord—once rebellious, once defiant—now kneel beneath her command.
"They listen to me," she continues, brushing a blood-drenched strand of hair behind her ear. "You may have beaten them, but there will always be more. Always another battle, another conquest."
She tilts her head slightly, watching him.
"Why wait, Ren?"
Her voice is light, teasing, but beneath it lies something inevitable—something undeniable.
"Why not take it all in an instant?"
A Million Years to Wait
He was going to speak.
But her finger stops him.
It presses gently against his lips, silencing the words before they form.
Her smile is soft, unreadable.
"It's fine," she murmurs. "I already know your answer."
Even if he were to deny her gift, even if he claimed refusal, it wouldn't change anything.
"That's fine with me," she continues, tilting her head slightly, watching him beneath the blood-soaked sky. "Because I know the real you, Ren. And you know the real me."
They are the same. Connected. Undivided.
And yet—her thoughts drift, stretching far beyond the moment, beyond the ruin, beyond even conquest itself.
"I can't help thinking about the future," she muses, tracing light patterns across his hand. "Raising our children together."
Her voice doesn't waver, doesn't rush.
There is no urgency.
There is only time.
"But we can wait for that," she says, her smile deepening, unhurried.
A breath passes.
"Maybe we should have children when we're at least a million years old."
A million. Not a century, not an era—a period beyond comprehension.
Her fingers trail against his, pressing his hand against her face. She anchors herself in the moment even as she imagines something far beyond it.
"That way, our children can play through all the galaxies we have conquered together."
Galaxies, not worlds.
Not kingdoms.
Not even empires.
Everything.
She is not merely imagining offspring—she is envisioning eternity, shaping their legacy before it even exists.
I'll See You Soon
"I have to go now, Ren. I'll see you soon—I promise."
Her voice is steady, but there's something beneath it- unspoken, only he can understand.
She kisses him one last time, the blood-soaked rain streaking through her hair, pressing into the silence between them.
Then, as she pulls away, her lips curve slightly—not in amusement, but in knowing.
"By the way," she murmurs, brushing a crimson strand behind her ear, "tell your three wives—Bai, Talia, and Mariko—your lover Cecilia, and your newest lover, Sakura, that I said hi."
A pause.
"Introduce me to the new ones when I finally meet them."
There's no jealousy in her words, no hesitation—only certainty, only the quiet dominance of someone who has always existed beside him, no matter how many names are added to his empire.
But even as she speaks, there's something in her expression—unsettled and reluctant.
She doesn't want to leave.
And yet—she must.
The Iron Concord is hers now. Or instead—was.
"I suppose I'll have to name it something else now," she exhales softly.
The Zenith Union—once America.
The Volkstrat Dominion—once Russia.
They had lost.
If you could even call it a war.
A Reflection in Blood
Ren watches as Veyna pulls her hood over blood-streaked hair, her presence fading into thin air, unseen but never gone.
The battlefield remains.
The bodies remain.
And he stands among them, his cloak heavy with rain and blood, his breath steady—too steady.
Once, he knew himself.
Once, his choices were simpler. A kill was only ever justified if it was necessary. If there was a reason.
But now, the reason is blurred.
The Enemy That No Blade Can Cut
He could choose to turn it off.
Like flicking a switch—no hesitation, no doubt, no regret.
A single thought, a shift, and his emotions would cease, leaving only the hollow instinct of conquest.
No grief. No memory.
No hesitation.
But what would be left of him?
There might be consequences.
Not now—but later.
Later, there is the enemy that no blade can cut through.
Drenched in Crimson
The world around him blurred into crimson—the sky, the ground, and rain, all heavy with blood.
He sat.
Let it soak into him.
The air was thick with iron, with something old, something inevitable.
His hair clung to his skin, drenched in red, streaking across his face like war paint.
And still, he closed his eyes.
Not in surrender.
Not in regret.
But in something more profound—in acceptance, in knowing.
The storm raged, the blood poured, and he remained.
Unmoved. Unbroken.
And the heavens did not dare to challenge him.
The Illusion of Choice
The water ran red.
Steam curled into the air as the blood slid from his skin, streaking down the drain in long, winding trails—the last remnants of a war already decided.
It felt refreshing. Not cleansing—just necessary.
The corpses remained outside, a silent warning, a lesson carved into history.
They should understand now—should accept it. The Eternal Empire ruled their land, and under its dominion, they would prosper. It would be beneficial to both sides.
Yet, Ren understood rebellion.
He understood the defiance of those who still clung to control, who thought themselves rulers of their fate.
But were they ever truly?
Could they ever resist the force that shaped their world?
What difference would it make to fight?
They had already lost.
And should they try again, Ren would know.
He always knew.
A single thought, a moment's recognition of rebellion before it could take form—and he could end it with a snap of his fingers.
It wasn't kind.
But cruelty was not the enemy.
The true enemy was the illusion of choice, the belief that freedom existed where absolute power had already decided otherwise.
The Last Name He Spoke
The water had long run clear, but Ren didn't move.
Steam clung to his skin, wrapping around him like something that wished to soften what could never be softened.
And then—he thought of her.
Cristina.
The last. The final tether to what once was.
She had understood him in a way no one else could—not because she knew everything, but because she knew enough.
He could still see her eyes—sad, but happy—as she looked at him in her final moments.
And yet, her presence remained in the spaces between his thoughts, in the quiet moments.
Now, hesitation no longer had a place.
He did not hesitate.
And yet—he still saw her.
The Tenth General's Name
The war council was gathered, their voices measured, their strategies sharpened—until Ren spoke.
"Veyna Blackdragon says hello."
The words settled, deliberate, unwavering—not loud, not emphasised, but carrying the weight of something undeniable.
Some exchanged glances. Who was she?
A name unspoken until now. A presence implied but never confirmed.
And then, one among them—careful, calculated—spoke.
"Prince Ren… is she your sister?"
The question did not come lightly. It carried understanding—the knowledge of tradition, the weight of history.
"It is a tradition that the eldest son carries the name Ren, after your ancestor. But I recall that long ago, there was also a woman—Veyna Blackdragon."
"She was known as his twin sister. A general herself."
A pause. A breath drawn between revelation and uncertainty.
"It's not widely known, but the Eternal Nine Generals were never just nine."
"There were ten."
The air shifted—not with sound, but with the quiet gravity of recognition.
Ren did not hesitate.
"Yes, she is."
The confirmation came without embellishment—simple, unquestionable.
"If twins are born, it is Ren and Veyna. That tradition has never changed."
Expected. Logical. Unchallenged.
The weight of his words settled into the chamber, unshaken.
No further explanation was needed—only the knowledge now spoken aloud.
War Council Scene – Veyna Blackdragon's Influence
The question hung in the air, casual but charged.
"How come we've never seen her around?"
Veyna Blackdragon. A name that carried weight, but not presence. A force that had shaped the Eternal Empire, yet remained unseen.
Ren didn't hesitate.
"That was her idea," he said, his voice measured, final. "She doesn't seek the limelight. She prefers to act where she's needed, in ways that serve the Empire beyond what you can grasp. You may not have seen her, but you've felt her influence."
Silence followed—just long enough for the understanding to settle.
No one pressed further.
They knew better.
Ren moved on.
Not a Princess to Save
"She might visit soon—or maybe she won't. Who knows? But if she does, you treat her with the same respect you give the Eternal Nine's royal families. Understood?"
"Veyna Blackdragon is a great asset to our imperial family. She's my little sister, which makes her a princess—but don't mistake her for a typical one."
"She can protect herself. She knows how to fight, strategise, and control people to do her bidding. Try not to get on her bad side—you might regret it."
"She's not as tolerant as I am."
Silence followed, not out of hesitation, but out of understanding. No one would question Veyna Blackdragon now—not after hearing her name spoken aloud.
Then, the discussion shifted.
Ren had followed Empress Bai's directive flawlessly, ensuring fear was planted where it needed to grow. The others had also played their part, manipulating the political narrative, threading doubt through the ranks of the Iron Concord until the fractures began to show.
It was unfolding exactly as planned.
The assassination attempt on Ren had sealed their justification—the Iron Concord had struck first. Their aggression had given the Eternal Empire the perfect reason to claim their lands, to press forward with an unrelenting hand. But those who understood the deeper workings of this war knew the truth.
The Iron Concord had never stood a chance.
And now, with Ren acknowledging Veyna's name, the realisation settled. She had been shaping this war from the shadows all along.
She was never absent. She was simply unseen.