It started as merely benign curiosity: "The Lord has no heirs. Why is that?" And centuries later, that question remained.

But first, the beginning. A long, long time ago, with humanity only as old as a mayfly, a very, very old Lord said, "Let us gather and stow ourselves away. These humans and their infant souls need room to grow, and once they are able to stand on their own two feet, we may return on equal footing." Godhood, to that old Lord, was so very ostentatious, so those who were once hailed as almighty forces of the still unknown universe by those still naive and young, hid themselves on a quiet island away from all else. That became their new home, and that home was later called Lukedonia.

Kinship was the rule of law. The title of Lord was passed from parent to child, and the same applied to the clan leaders, the heads of powerful families who carried their ancestors' souls in the form of weapons, a symbol of their highly regarded heritage. Those who saw them bowed. Purebloods were the powerful, and blood ties were gospel. That was how things were.

Now, there was a Lord who sat on his throne with his face leaning into a hand and his long, pale blonde hair draped over his shoulders and stately black coat. He greeted all with an easy and benign smile. He was friendly and well liked, day after day, year after year, century after century. Ragnarok was his weapon, was his royalty. He summoned it and playfully drew curves in the air with its point in front of his uneventful and stagnant throne. "Really, what good is this thing?" he asked no one in particular. Just as unceremoniously, he vanished the sword, accomplishing nothing.

The Lord had no heirs, but the previous Noblesse had two, brother and sister: Raizel and Raskreia, who came into being when their mother entered her eternal slumber and split her soul in two. They took after each other, hair as smooth and inky black as the depths of the ocean and personalities as quiet as the night sky. Raizel held his head high, but Raskreia held her head higher. Raizel gazed out the window, but Raskreia found that rather dull. When the Lord paid a visit and they were still very young, it was she who opened the door to their lonely, quiet mansion and greeted him eye to eye, as if she alone bore the pride of the House Of the Noblesse.

The Lord smiled at her.

She did not lower her eyes even in bow. "Lord," she said in her placid voice, deep and mature for a child. "What business do you have to go through the trouble of visiting the Noblesse's home?"

The Lord's smile grew, and he looked at her with precise and unguarded friendliness. "Does it not get lonely out here?"

"I have my brother."

"Oh, but does he not also want to play with others? Raskreia, how would you like to play princess for a day? And your brother Raizel can play prince."

Raskreia looked at him in a scrutinizing silence. Then, she said, "I will invite him."

The two pale, dark haired children, cursed with their bloodline, walked to the Lord's palace hand in hand.

"The Noblesse," Gejutel uttered as they entered through the great, grand doors. He was youthful and strapping, his silky white hair tied back in a short braid, his signature black stripes woven into it. Young for a clan leader—he was only a teenager just having reached his age of majority—the man already had the demeanor of someone who had lived too long and was frankly tired of whatever frivolous project his lord was surely planning next. He bowed at the two.

Collectively, Raizel and Raskreia were known as the Noblesse, but "Today, they are Prince and Princess," the Lord told Gejutel as he grinned widely. "Let's have a ball! Everyone is invited!"

Gejutel might have sighed with exasperation, but he was dutiful, and soon enough, the vast room was filled with people, some eager, others not so much. It wasn't as if anyone had anything better to do, the Lord thought.

The Kertias were the first to arrive, as expected. The clan leader smiled gracefully behind her mask, her golden hair swished with quiet performance as she bowed deeply, extending a willowy arm towards the two children. "My princess, my prince," she played along. "What a treat to see you among us this evening." Gently, she pushed her son forward.

He watched them with quiet, observant eyes, at a standstill. His mother poked him in the side, and he got the message, bowing as well, a hand over his chest. "...Princess, Prince…" Ragar greeted. He straightened. "This is a fascinating game the Lord has prepared for us," he stated flatly yet genuinely. He said nothing more afterwards as the three children stared at each other.

"Lord, this is rather…" Gejutel was less enthusiastic about the arrangement.

The Blersters entered next.

Lady Kertia laughed her charming, twinkling laugh. She leaned down, pushed her son further forward by his shoulders, and whispered, "Oh my, look Ragar, a suspicious someone has entered. Surely, it is your duty to protect your prince and princess."

"That is only Krasis Blerster, Mother."

"We are playing pretend, Ragar."

"Yes, Mother."

They watched as Ragar quietly approached and bowed to Lady Blerster, who towered over his small, slim form. Her shoulders were broad and muscled, her chest generous, and her hair in short, soft curls. She smiled approvingly at Ragar, who then proceeded to turn to her son Krasis and flatly and calmly hurl accusations of treason at him.

It was not long before Krasis had a fistful of Ragar's hair.

"Hahaha…" Lady Kertia gently and sheepishly patted her cheek.

Krasis's mother yanked him off of Ragar by the arm.

Ragar was quickly by his own mother's side again, his short ponytail now undone. "Krasis does not enjoy this game," he concluded.

Lady Blerster hurried over and bowed. "My apologies," she said seriously. "Krasis is very...passionate about his duties." She presented the band of leather that was used to tie Ragar's hair to him. "I believe this is yours, young Ragar."

Ragar held out his hand and accepted the hair tie. He lowered his head respectfully. "Thank you, Lady Blerster."

Then, Raskreia stepped forward. Her bold voice cut in the air clearly as she addressed Krasis, who was now wearing a simultaneously bewildered and embarrassed expression. "Krasis Blerster, you have wounded one of your princess's knights." Raskreia stood taller and steadier. "You must pay with your blood, lest you forfeit your honor and the honor of your lineage."

Before Krasis could mortally wound himself and bleed all over the floor, however, the Lord's voice boomed in laughter. "Indeed, you make a fine princess, Raskreia."

"Are you sure we should be encouraging this, Lord?" Gejutel muttered, mostly to himself.

"Oh, Gejutel, you're always so serious. This is harmless fun," Lady Kertia said. She smiled down at her son. "Isn't that so, Ragar?"

"Indeed, Mother." His glance drifted over to Raizel, who had remained silent the entire time as a part of the background. "Prince Raizel, are you not partaking in the Lord's game?"

Raizel blinked innocently, like he did not expect to be included in the festivities. Being addressed seemed almost like a novelty to him. "I...will watch," he said quietly. He was a shy one.

The event proceeded without much more violence as the others arrived.

Raskreia, the skilled politician, managed to rally the other children into a parade behind her, and they marched around the edges of the room on a fantastical crusade to nowhere.

The Lord bent down next to Raizel, who was doing a fine job of blending into the walls. "Will you not play with the others, Raizel? Look, your sister is having so much fun."

"I cannot be a prince, Lord," Raizel said quietly, staring forward and watching. "If we are both prince and princess, who will be the Noblesse? I cannot abandon the duty passed on to me by my mother."

The Lord stood up, breathing out and smiling a crooked, wry smile at Raizel. "It appears you have inherited more than her title, Raizel. You have her stubbornness as well."

A slow hum came from Raizel. He lowered his head, blushing.

Suddenly, there was the banging of the doors being slammed open and the commotion of people being shoved aside. The children's parade had stopped, and all eyes were on the bloodied central knight stumbling towards the Lord. He fell to his knees. "Lord! Sir Agvain, he has—he has infected."

All at once, nothing seemed to be very much fun. "Infected a human?"

"Multiple."

"What?"

There was an uproar as broken bodies the color of rot and broken souls poured past the doors. They were shrieking and manic, fangs bared and eyes blazing red.

"He's brought them here?" Gejutel uttered. His face creased with disgust like he was witnessing something beyond perverse. Gejutel knew contracts and knew bonds; he had had a couple himself with the rare humans he came across, and Gejutel knew that what had taken place between the Agvain clan leader and these bound and violated souls was not a true contract.

Others knew similarly that the only relief from this was death.

Humans, broken beyond humanity, flooded the floor and blindly attacked anyone they recognized as alive. They were felled like flies, overpowered by the clan leaders present, but there were more and more. Blood and gore stained the floors of the party.

Above the hoard, Sir Agvain appeared, fanged and wielding Dragus. He pointed his blade at the Lord. "For too long, we have been chained to this miniscule and isolated land, when our powers extend far beyond what you limit us to," he announced with the finality of a suicide mission. "Do you not see how mindless and malleable they are—the humans—and yet you and those who have sat in that throne before you say that we must make way for them?" His eyes glowed and he snarled with venom. "Why call yourself Lord if you are going to bow before something as pathetic as a human?"

In the middle of it all—all the used and human bodies—Raizel stepped forward, his shoes touched with blood. He looked up, his eyes luminesced, and he crushed the Agvain clan leader to the floor.

"The Noblesse, a mere child…" he said through gritted teeth as he was forced to his knees. Then, he smiled cynically. "If you defend them, then you will forever remain a child, knowing nothing and learning nothing. But go ahead, kill me, and serve your pathetic duty and live the rest of your pathetic life on this damned island."

Motionless and expressionless, Raizel summoned his will and the monstrous power of his lineage. Blood erupted in a wide spire as the very air was glazed red. He crushed the clan leader until he was nothing but red dust, and that red dust became nothing, but even his soul seemed to laugh at Raizel and his so called duty as it disappeared. The redness in the air and the glow in his eyes died down, and there was only silence on the bloodied and gore stricken floor.

Just beyond the open doorway, staring back at Raizel with wide, shaken eyes was little Urokai Agvain, now parentless and the youngest clan leader ever remembered. A horror passed over his face. Then, he ran up to Raizel with a desperation that could only be tragic on a child and threw himself to his knees onto the floor. His small, trembling hands became bloodied as he lowered his head at Raizel's shoe. "Please forgive me, Sir Raizel!" he cried with shaking breath. "Please forgive my clan! I—I, Urokai Agvain, swear loyalty to the Noblesse and the Lord and Lukedonia. I promise, as clan leader, I will lead the Agvain Clan in the right direction. Please…"

Raizel, at that moment, looked just as terrified as the redheaded boy begging for his life. He was frozen.

Someone stepped forward and grasped his hand. Raskreia gave it a squeeze and looked with a firm determination at Raizel.

"I…forgive you," Raizel said quietly, because that was what he was supposed to say.

Heavy tears fell from Urokai's young face as he looked up with trembling relief. "Thank you!" He lowered his head again. "Thank you, thank you, Sir!" He thanked like he begged, groveling. It was difficult to watch.

A quiet bitterness sunk into the Lord's face.

The festivities were over.

The following day, further contracts were banned.

Raskreia opened the doors to the quiet study where her brother remained, day after day, before that window.

"I am going to the palace," she said. "Will you not come?"

"I decline…" Raizel said.

"Hmph." She turned on her heel, her black cloak swishing with the motion. The sound of her boots echoed against the halls as she marched away.

"Princess!" The Lord greeted as she opened the doors.

"You continue to call me that even when I have come of age. That game is long since over, Lord."

The Lord leaned forward in his throne. "Oh, but perhaps it is especially because you have come of age." He smiled mysteriously and settled back again. "Raizel remains in his home?"

Raskreia nodded.

He sighed long and lightheartedly. "He really is stubborn, that guy. All I'm asking is that he step outside from time to time. But, Raskreia, what exciting news have you brought for me today?"

Perhaps it was the shift in her eyes, or the way her lips dropped into a slight frown, but a seriousness passed between them, and the Lord noticed, straightening himself and listening attentively as Raskreia said, "A generation has passed between most of the clan leaders, even the youngest, Urokai Agvain, has surpassed his age of majority, and Lagus Tradio has finally decided to have a child himself to eventually succeed him. I have heard discussion among the elders, Lagus Tradio and Roctis Kravei; they question why you alone remain without heirs. They are worried."

The Lord laughed airily. "Oh, that old business." He tilted his head. "What is the rush with having a child?" He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. "We nobles have all the time in the world. Perhaps that is the only thing we have, time…" He grinned, full of mystery. "People are far too concerned with their bloodline—with their 'purity,' but why does it matter so much, to be 'pure?'" Something sparkled in his eyes. "But this is such dreary discussion. How about something more fun? You know what is fun? Presents. Raskreia, how would you like to have Ragnarok? I can give it to you."

Raskreia's face twitched in dumbfounded surprise. "Lord...are you aware of what you are saying?"

"Oh, of course; these words are coming out of my own mouth, are they not? Think of it...as a birthday present."

"Is it...my birthday, Lord?"

"I don't know; it does not matter… Happy birthday."

Raskreia sighed. "Even if you were to give me Ragnarok, I would not be able to use it."

"Do you think I put it to any use? But it is very pretty, you know, very decorative. Maybe it could even be something for Raizel to look at as well."

"Lord, I urge you to reconsider."

The Lord sat back and laughed grandly. "I see you are no less stubborn than your brother. You are not to be outdone, I'm sure, but, Raskreia, I will tell you...neither am I." His smile twinkled with mischief.

One day, the Lord said to the Noblesse, "Come to the palace. I have opened my home to you. Stay for as long as you'd like."

"I accept," said one half of the Noblesse.

"I decline," said the other.

There were whisperings, gossip down the grapevine.

"Have you heard? The Noblesse has moved into the palace."

"Which one?"

"Lady Raskreia."

"How strange…How strange…"

"Why do you imprison yourself here, Raizel?" Raskreia asked on one of her visits home.

Raizel was sitting across from her. "I need not be anywhere else." It was a true answer, but it was not an honest one. But then he said, "What our duty entails, Raskreia, have you forgotten it? Those you face and who face you, you must pass judgment upon them; do not forget that."

Raskreia's face creased in annoyance. "I have not forgotten. But it seems as though it is you who has forgotten that our duty does not deny us our own lives."

"When it is our duty to take the lives of others, how can we flaunt our own lives in front of those we may execute?" Raizel gazed downward, hands calmly folded in his lap.

Raskreia left shortly afterwards, and he was once again alone.

There were rumors. It was first thought to be a rogue noble, taking after the previous treacherous leader of the Agvain Clan. Then, it was a monster, a beast—the so called Devil spoken about in old stories. Then, it was a human, a doctor.

Those who initially pursued him were either never heard from again or returned with minds so scattered and raked apart that they hardly knew who they themselves were, much less the name and face of the man who had captured them. But they always spoke of fire, of cold, dark fire whose edges flickered blinding violet and whose touch was rot.

Gejutel, grown into his aged, gruff stature, took on a grave expression. "The great number of mutants that have been causing the humans harm, they have been eliminated...by a single human."

Ragar nodded, confirming. He stood tall and with his legs close together, making his figure willowy.

"A human with such power..." The Lord sat back on his throne. He gazed upward thoughtfully. "How...fascinating. I would like to speak with him in person. Do you not think that is a great idea? Gejutel, Ragar, go bring him to me, and we will see to his fate."

They bowed. "We obey your will, Lord."

When battle broke, the very earth roared.

"Cadis Etrama di Raizel allowed the human to stay at his mansion?"

"Yes, he told us that he will accompany the human to see you once his wounds have healed."

The Lord laughed uproariously. "Well, that's not too bad, I suppose. It will be better than that child spending his time alone."

"But there are other matters we must report, Lord," Gejutel said. "The human claims that corruption runs not only among the knights but also higher—the clan leaders."

Somberness was unusual on the Lord's face, but it sat there unmoved. "This is not unheard of, as you both might remember…"

"The Agvain incident, yes. It is fortunate that Urokai Agvain does not take after his father."

Ragar turned. "But how do we know that, Gejutel?" His downcast eyes were thoughtful; he was rereading the human's words in his mind. "How can we know, when we have always trusted each other's honor without question? The human asked us if we can swear on that. I do not think we can…"

"Hm…" Gejutel furrowed his brows.

Ragar looked up at the Lord. "There may be many conspirators; there may be few; the truth is, we do not know, but we do know that the mutants are noble originated. That is undeniable."

The sound of a bold heel on the floor drew their attention. Raskreia emerged from a side door. "You have a point, Ragar," she said. She swept her arm, fluttering her cloak behind her. "Then, with the authority of the Noblesse and with the blessing of the Lord, I will open an investigation. No position, no matter how high, will escape scrutiny. It is, to me, rather unacceptable that a human has had to clean up our mess."

Ragar and Gejutel bowed. "We obey your will, Lady Raskreia."

"Have you heard? The Noblesse has opened an investigation."

"Which one?"

"Lady Raskreia."

"How strange…How strange…"

The mansion's silence revealed only the vast loneliness of its sole occupant: a Cadis Etrama di Raizel who stood staring out the window with his back to a vagabond human who played at ruthlessness and recklessness, who was a fiend and a killer, and who was now a butler, apparently.

It was merely a hasty lie: "I work here."

And then it became law: "He works here." Just like that.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel, who had an authority even over the clan leaders, knew it was a lie, but just for him, he made it truth. Frankenstein, for the life of him, could not figure out why.

But there was a way that Raizel's eyes passed over him in measured gaze that told Frankenstein that when he looked at him, he was passing judgment on a man, and he had deemed that man, Frankenstein, as someone worth giving a room and a bed and time to recover. The mansion's master, whoever he really was, asked for nothing in return, but Frankenstein, the prideful man he was, was no freeloader. He said he was a butler, so a butler he was, and he was a scrupulous and dutiful one.

A few days later, he received his first guest: Roctis Kravei.

"You are here to see Sir Raizel?" Frankenstein asked at the door.

"No. Actually, I am here to see you." The man smiled amicably. "I only wanted to meet the one Sir Cadis Etrama di Raizel has decided to keep around. It is beyond me why he would do so, but I will not question his will, but I will say, even if you are a human, if you ever bring harm to him, you will not be forgiven."

"So you've come here to threaten me." Frankenstein crossed his arms and smirked scathingly.

Roctis maintained his sunny, gentle expression. "You are mistaken. I am only keeping the best interest of both you and Sir Raizel in mind."

"Of course you are."

"Roctis." Raizel's deep, smooth voice came from behind Frankenstein. He turned around and bowed his head, as a butler should.

Roctis bowed more deeply, his hair falling forward. "Cadis Etrama di Raizel," he greeted. "I am glad to see you well." He straightened. "I would like to step inside, but I am afraid my business here is concluded and I must take my leave," and leave he did, promptly and with practiced leisure.

Frankenstein scrutinized his turned back with suspicion until he disappeared into the forest.

This AU was discussed with an-earl in a group DM.