Chapter 1: Thine in Power Shall Find Only Solitude

Seated upon a glided throne of cool sandstone and gold plating that displayed the cold glare of Horus at the end of each armrest, the current Pharaoh of Egypt was seated regally, kohl-lined red-wine eyes narrow and amused with cold indifference as his Sacred Court of High Priests argued below his risen throne. Young into his reign, the sovereign of Egypt held no plans for the coronation of a Great Royal Wife, the pleasure of a woman's company was the last venture upon his addled mind, and to his gratitude, his Sacred Court shared the same sentiment.

Instead, his childhood friends and uncle were more preoccupied with the decision to set up a new irrigation system for the following farming season, the benefits of improving the system as clear as day but the issue was the labor. The labor force was already stretched widely with a number of projects, and another could make the possibility of being worked to death a real reality, yet the timing for the irrigation system was to be now, otherwise, they would have to await the following year. Naturally, his priests were divided evenly, three to three.

Atemu rose a hand to his gilded crown, his forehead hidden by the eye of the Millennium Items, as his golden bangs fell over the winged headdress, as ebony spikes that were highlighted with a dark magenta finished his exotic looks. Dancing above his caramel skin, golden plated earrings of an Ankh twinkled at his every movement, his plated necklace hidden under the ties of his dark blue cape. To further state his status, the young Pharaoh gripped his gold and blue crook and flail loosely in ringed fingers; wrists, forearms and ankles embellished similarly with the same golden luster. Underneath his exquisite jewelry, however, the sovereign dressed plainly like his people, a linen tunic with a matching shendyt held up by a golden belt as his Millennium Puzzle rested quietly upon his mid-section.

"Your majesty," His advisor's voice rang as the arguing below him slowed. "If I may make a suggestion to the current issue at hand?"

The king waved a hand, expression bored.

Bowing, the adviser made his piece, all listening as their monarch kept his expression to the distance, not dazed but listening. "The irrigation system can be promoted after the construction of the new Temple of Horus which will be done within a fortnight, in time for the following farming season."

"But what of the workers, Master Shimon?" Mahad, one of the most loyal of his priests; his purple eyes lined with the dark lines of kohl. "More laborious work is not the reward that we bestow those who work on our land."

"They should be grateful to be a part of such a great endeavor." Seto, his cousin and arguably most powerful of his High Priests. "That within itself is be regarded as a reward."

And with an interjection by Isis, the argument began once more, the Pharaoh's gaze into the far lands when a soft stirring purred in his mind, tugging lightly with a gentle pull, coaxing. It's intent was quiet and mysterious but bearing no ill. Before the king could think more of it, it disappeared as quickly as it arrived, silent once more.

In a separate dimension, another monarch watched as his men return from their guard duty, his appearance just as regal as a king should be. Golden eyes that gleamed with a cold ferocity, returned softly to a default chocolate brown, warm and kind. But not foolishly naive as they once were, as the Supreme King bore none of his usual black spiked armory for intimidation and military matters. Instead, he wore a blue sleeveless tunic under a golden breastplate under a blood-red cape held by twin purple gems. With an ebony belt at his hips, his skirt fell at his knees, navy blue as his feet were sandaled by leather hides. Kohl lined his narrowed gaze as his lips were pulled to a default frown, as finally a majestic and medieval, gold crown adorned his brown locks, bangs framing his face of alabaster.

Despite his constant battle and almost failed attempt in holding back from succumbing to the Darkness, he reigned strong. He had Yubel by his side. Her power as his second-in-command allowed his reign to be strong, forceful yet kind. Yes, he was cold and ruthless to his opponents but to his people he was fair and just, not to say that he did not have an occasional quirk that was regarded a bit unpleasant.

But that was unsavory in the appearance of a king.

His palace, however, was not lacking in any aspect. Tall, brooding and spiraled upwards to the heavens with marble columns that symbolized stability above granite brick was his castle, demonic by night and heavenly by day — it was the perfect castle for it's ruler, the wielder to the Gentle Darkness.

"Haou, the North has accepted the treaty that you have offered." Juudai, formerly Jovian, kept his gaze at the moat surrounding his palace which changed into lava at dusk. "Guardian Baou has set off to do same with the South and hopefully, convey to you the same results."

Yubel materialized beside him as he kept himself unmoved, well aware that she would carry out his wishes for him with his subordinate. Glancing at his primary weapon in his kingdom, the king moved past his ceremonial gold blade for his deck of chosen monsters, traps and spells; sending them a foregoing glance as he realized that it was a while since he had dueled for his own enjoyment against an opponent that allowed adrenaline to run his veins.

His friend was protective as was his men which was endearing, seeing how the former was his childhood friend and the latter were sparring partners that bonded over fights and mock battles. But at times, the line was forgotten that while he was, their friend, he was also their king. But such times were long gone, as now with the glow of golden eyes that promised blood to be shed, there were no doubts that he was indeed, the Supreme King. Enemies that were not courageous enough to face him if they were so displeased were not worth his interest, chasing after such ill-passionate opponents were a waste of energy that he did not care to spurge.

"Haou." Juudai turned, chocolate eyes questioning with a sardonic rise of an eyebrow. It was Chaos Sorcerer, his blue lips in a permanent smile as he knelt at one knee, hand over his chest in salute.

"The prisoner has revealed that he would return to the North and inform his people to rebel against the empire if able to escape."

Juudai was silent before he blinked slowly, his gaze turning back to the outskirts of his kingdom. The vassal bowed deeply before speaking with a wide smile, revealing fanged teeth under his curved hood and glowing yellow eyes. "If I may suggest, Haou...?"

Juudai waved a ringed hand, granting permission.

"To release the prisoner would be counterintuitive to our cause and your rule; such insolence is only repentant in death, my lord."

"Yubel." Juudai summoned. And she appeared, her ebony and leathery wings unfurling with a fearsome flap as she bowed at his feet, ready to proceed with his orders. And with a single look, she knew.

As the death of a prisoner was none of his concern, the Supreme King turned back to his sights, his eyes flickering gold. Putting the mild stir in his thoughts out of mind, it was silent once more in his internal strife, the twilight ending his appearance of a kind sovereign. With the fall of night, the monarch donned his ebony and gold armor once more, two spikes extending from his back and four at the shoulders. Instead of his golden crown, a black helmet with a sole purple diamond at the center took its place at his head, hidden slightly by a high collar attached to a red cape that danced at his feet. And with a open of his eyes, golden orbs gleamed with a glimmer of impatience as his expression formed a thin scowl, disapproving.

Hundreds of miles and years past the other two monarchs, standing in the Temple of the Crimson Dragon that only the chosen six wielders were allowed entry other than servants under the rule, was the Emperor Yaotl of the Aztec Empire, or the People of the Stars. As the leader of the Signers — his priests and closest friends, the circle of friends that swore their undying loyalty to him; Yatol bore the crest of the Crimson Dragon on his back unwavering, burned into his flesh when he was of age in proper ceremony. The dragon head upon his right arm glared brightly every since that day, the great god having chosen his vessel and his followers that day. While the complaints from the Council of Elders were persistent that his Signers of a priestess, thief, general of his army, and twin peasant children were unbecoming to be regarded so highly to be a vessel of the fearsome god; Yaotl quickly silenced them after his crest burned with the fury of a thousand hells, his sapphire eyes having become a cold ruby and marked body glowing otherworldly.

But that was a few moons ago, the young emperor sighed as the pool of water he knelt in rippled softly, as if quietly reprimanding him for his lapse in concentration, feet bare in the cool waters. Soaked to the bone in azul-dyed cotton, the ruler bore an uncharacteristic tunic over his chest and skirt that cut angularly to a frontal point, embroidered with patterned scenes of war as a golden belt clasped his midsection. Wrists and arms were bound by gold bangles as calloused fingers dipped idly in the dark waters, a soft breath escaping tired lips, sun-kissed skin peeking out of his ceremonial wear. A golden pauldron covered his broad shoulders and neck as turquoise gems glittered softly in the torchlight, the center of his chest twinkled his symbol of royalty, the crest of his fearsome god, with five coins of gold dangling from the center circle, representing each of his original Signers. Extending behind his person, was a blood-red cape, hidden under the pauldron as gold and turquoise beads hung from his ears. Finally, upon his spiked ebony locks, highlighted by the gold of the gods, nestled his headdress of the Crimson Dragon, snout narrowed to a point on his front before extending to his spiked hair in a single large ruby and flurry of white feathers that danced behind him. If there was a blemish upon the young sovereign, it was the scar upon his left cheek, light upon the tanned skin.

"My prince."

Kohl and lightly shadowed eyes did not even twitch, before they revealed pristine royal blue sapphires; kind and wistful before they became icy and steely. The emperor did not have to wait long before the servant realized his mistake. Groveling even lower than he did before, the servant dared not to breathe.

"M-My apologies, my king. It has only been…"

"I have no wish to hear you grovel upon your concern for your life." The living god was unmoved as the servant was as still as stone. "What is it that you have come for? I was to be undisturbed."

"The Council of Elders has wished for you to grant them an audience, my king. Concerning the execution and your orders upon the…"

"My purification ceremony is not to be completed until the following moon." That was in two days. The execution was scheduled to be within an hour. The emperor lifted a gold ringed hand out of the still waters, droplets dripping down his fringe. "Inform the Council of Elders that the Signers shall proceed as planned, with or without their approval."

"Yes, my king."

"… Begone with you and do not allow your mistake a second time. Tecuhtli and the others are not as forgiving as I. Now, get out before they see you."

And with a scamper, the servant was made scarce. Leaving the ruler alone, Yaotl veiled his eyes before lifting his knees from the cold granite he knelt upon, instead allowing his legs to hang off the side of the depths of the pool, stretching to the shrine on the other side.

Yaotl's short and current reign was a welcomed breath of relief after the rule of his uncle, Coatl, who burned the crest of the Crimson Dragon upon his chest and the Dragon Head upon his arm to usurp his right to rule while hiding his mark of the Dark Spider. And with him, his group of Dark Signers manipulated into his bidding until Yaotl had become of age and rebelled against his uncle for his right for the throne with his Signers. After much bloodshed and the summoning of many beasts, Prince Yaotl was the victor. And upon his bloodied form, as the newest monarch of the Triple Alliance of the Aztec Empire, he decreed his uncle to be obliterated upon the dawning of the morning sun and the formerly Dark Signers to join hands with his unit of Signers.

That had occurred less than a quarter of a moon ago, when the plotting he had done with the Council of Elders had come to a head. And naturally, his tactics proved true. The elders did not take kindly to his sparing of the Dark Signers. But they did not see the tortured souls under the ungodly manipulation.

No matter. The young sovereign mused. His general did mention that a political clean-up was long due.

As if picked up upon particularly murderous thoughts the emperor felt his crowned mind flutter softly, enough to be faintly surprised before it fled, mulling over it for a moment before deeming it a mere flux in thoughts before his quiet mulling began once more, clearing his mind as his form dripped upon the surface water with the intervals of a soft metronome.

Later upon the mummification of the first, the sealed entombment of the second, and the sacrificial burial of the third; the three were revered as the three kings that had the ability to summon beasts and monsters to their beck and call, feared and awed as prominent figures in their history that it was considered blasphemous to not know the kings, their wrath upon these who did not properly display respect well-known. The first for his penchant for driving his prisoners to the brink of insanity, the second for his quirk to pitch enemies into lava for mortar, and the third for his whim to methodologically curse his opponents to a fate of being consumed by his summoned beasts; each brutal and grotesque in their own right. As the three did rule in turbulent times, the first in sealing away the Dark One, the second with the Light of Destruction, and the third with the Dark Signers; they had no time nor room for moral issues regarding what was correct and wasn't.

Because as far as they were concerned, they were.

But the question remained, how did three monarchs that ruled in three differing timelines display the same powers of summoning monsters to do their bidding? How did the pharaoh summon gods of his empire, the king with his chosen knights of light and darkness, and the emperor with majestic dragons of legends?

Amused, the pharaoh shifted upon his throne, arms folded.

Cupping his chin in hand, the king rose a brow, eyes betraying mirth.

The emperor blinked with light interest, tilting his head in the darkness.