We are Helven
Another kingdom falls…
The walls crumbling, the populace dead or dying of disease or mortal injury, the head of their government cut off like that of a snake. Only to be replaced with an even larger, and more menacing serpent.
The king's chamber, once proud and full of grace, not long ago became a home to corpses and ruin itself. The king himself lies on his throne, his face frozen in the pain of death, and his queen in at least two pieces at his feet.
"Humans, what a waste of space."
Against the wall, a loyal servant to the throne lays, clutching a deadly wound in his chest. The King's Mage, a Wister Elf born centuries ago, winces as he feels his life start to fade. He manages to look up to where the voice came from.
A tall entity stands before him, his long black hair falling almost to his waist, his pointed ears are elf-like, but this can't be any ordinary elf. His light blue skin and yellow eyes…unnatural! His sick face twisted into a grin of what could only be known as pure evil.
"You think you're some kind of elf?" the mage cries out, "you're just some sick freak!"
The large elven looking being glares at the mage, his grin not faltering for a second. Slowly, he walks over, placing his sword into the sheath on his back. He raises his hand, blue electricity crackling and sizzling in random spots all over his hand.
"An elf?" he chuckles, "no, we are Helven!"
With this he blasts an electric arc into the mage's face. His last feeling isn't of being shocked to death, but somehow, a strange burning feeling coursing through his body. His last scream resounds throughout the chamber as he is slowly reduced to ash.
"Malakar! Malakar!" a voice cries from the hall, "is the-"
The figure runs in, his long black coat almost covering the mace at his side. He also shares the same yellow eyes and pointed ears, but he is a bit shorter, and his white hair only barely touches his shoulders. His skin a very light red, one could almost say pink.
Malakar watches as his servant slides to a halt as he runs in, a sadistic smirk slowly covering his face.
"I can see I missed the real fun."
"Yes, Lettic," Malakar says, "you were having too much fun with the populace, again."
Lettic scratches his head.
"How do you expect to fully be my second in command when you're always out having fun," Malakar says, "when there is work to be done."
"Sorry," Lettic smirks, "these fools are just too much fun."
"Perhaps Bulkar would be a better fit." Malakar says this as he gestures to a large figure kneeling by the throne.
The large Helven creature stops cleaning his large blade and stands, standing a good two or three heads taller than Malakar himself. His bald head and dark green skin almost ignoring the fact that there is torchlight nearby. He is different from each of the others, in that his eyes are a light blue, possibly an effect of the power he was given.
Now it is Bulkar's turn to smirk, and Lettic would never admit the fact that this makes even his skin crawl.
"I think that title would suit me well, don't you think?" Bulkar says as he turns to the dead king.
"See? Not even royalty disagrees with me," Bulkar says as he picks some brain matter off his shoulder, and tossing it into the king's gaping mouth with precision.
In the castle courtyard, the agonized corpses of men, women, children, nobles, servants, knights and rogues lay still. Their cries already carried off by the wind, and thrown into the depths of the sorrowful ocean.
Malakar walks through the field of dead, bored with this victory. Another kingdom falls, another worthless challenge. Can no one give him a worthy fight?
Three figures approach, each tall as Lettic, yet not so distinct as he, Malakar, or Bulkar.
Two of the Helven before Malakar's trio share the same dark hair, yellow eyes, and height. But they are all the same shade of light green. The first, Crouley, whose only distinguishing feature is his eye patch over his right eye, almost as menacing as Malakar, and as devious as Lettic.
Crouley lets out a laugh.
"We really showed these bastards not to screw with us!" he gestures to all the dead, "heh, didn't we , Gaviro?"
The next, Gaviro, wears a muzzle over his mouth. The muffled sound of insane laughter coming out from underneath it. The chain wrapped around his body rattles as he laughs, and the spear tip at the end almost scratches the ground.
The shortest, and perhaps physically weakest of all the Helven chuckles. While he is similar to the other two lesser Helven, he was created with some other purpose. His light green hair almost matching his skin, which is the same as the other two in his trio. He takes a moment to clean his monocle before continuing.
Entiro flashes a smile, very rare for his kind indeed.
"They didn't stand a chance sir," he says to Malakar, "as I predicted, they barely put up a fight this time. We even managed to save some for assimilation."
"Very good," Malakar says.
Before he can continue, a sobbing sound is heard from among the sea of corpses.
"Hear that?" Malakar says, "I think we left someone alive, which unless they're worthy of assimilation, we cannot allow."
The group heads over to the sound, the source of which causes a chuckle throughout.
In front of them, a small girl kneels, her hands shaking the body of some knight. Her cries fill the air, and the tears stream down her cheeks. Her eyes are brown, and her hair a light brown. A scar crosses her right eye.
"Well well, looks like we forgot the good knight's squire," Malakar says.
The girl gasps and looks up, having not noticed the group heading towards her. She cries out and stands, but is unable to move as her legs tremble.
Malakar walks up to the trembling child, almost looking on her with pity for just a moment.
"Your master, is dead," he says, "you should have taken your freedom when you had the chance child."
Malakar takes a step closer.
"When you learn that freedom is for the strong to take," Malakar says, "only then can you truly be liberated."
The young girl takes a step back, unsure of how to process this.
"Alas," he says, "it is far too late for you."
Malakar raises his hands, his index and middle finger lighting up with a yellow glow. He places his fingers on the girls stomach, her face winding up in fear. Roaring he sends a blast of pure yellow energy straight through her, the blast only dispersing when it hits the stone wall behind her.
Her mouth quivers and her eyes widen, she clutches the wound as she falls, and within moments her trembling ceases.
"There, it is done."
Malakar signals for his trio to follow him out of this place.
One last victim lays killed among the rest…..or so they would think.
The super race would continue on, slaughtering innocents and wasting kingdoms for years to come, until someone would finally come to stand in their way.