God, Help Us All [Monster Evolution/Progression/LitRPG]

The grand chambers of the Duke of the Elven Empire were a masterpiece of elven artistry—vaulted ceilings carved from living wood, lit by floating orbs of mana-infused light that danced to an unheard melody. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender and old magic, a heady mix that could almost lull one into a trance. Almost.

At the center of it all, seated on a throne of twisted silver and jade, was the Duke. His slender fingers traced the contours of a skull, its surface polished to a gleaming white. He turned it idly in his hands, the light casting shadows that danced across its hollow sockets. His emerald eyes, sharp and calculating, studied it with an unsettling intensity.

"He trusted me until the end." The thought was neither bitter nor remorseful. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the clinical detachment of a surgeon examining his handiwork. The skull felt warm in his hands—not physically, but in the way memories lingered like ghosts.

A soft knock broke the silence.

"Enter," the Duke said, his voice low and melodic, each syllable carefully measured.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, revealing a tall figure clad in flowing robes of emerald and gold. C the Wise, the Elven Avatar, stepped inside, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders like a waterfall. His gaze was steady, his demeanor regal, yet there was a faint tension in his shoulders as he approached the throne.

"My lord," C began, his tone respectful but firm. "I bring news of the Human Avatar."

The Duke's lips curled into a faint smile. "Ah, the great A. What does he want now? To beg for mercy? Or perhaps he's finally come to surrender?"

"Neither," C said, his tone unyielding. "He demanded an audience with you. Wanted to discuss, as he put it, 'why you've gone batshit crazy.'"

The Duke chuckled, the sound rich and resonant. He leaned back in his throne, placing the skull delicately on the armrest. "And what did you tell him?"

"I refused, of course," C replied. "I sent him away with a warning that his presence here was unwelcome. But before he left, he gave one of his own. Said he would 'get to the bottom of this.'"

The Duke's smile widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "A warning, was it? And this is supposed to concern me? The mighty A, whose strength lies not in his frail body but in his lumbering mechanical giant? Please."

C's brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"Tell me," the Duke continued, his tone shifting, "what is the current progress of our campaign?"

C straightened, his voice steady. "The invasion proceeds as planned. The human defenses are crumbling. Their alliances with the dwarves and dragons are fractured. Resistance is sporadic at best. Our forces advance with minimal losses."

"Good," the Duke said, his fingers returning to the skull. He traced a line along its smooth surface, his expression contemplative. "Do you know why I do this, C? Why I had to take these steps?"

C hesitated. "You have always said it was for the glory of our people, my lord. To secure our rightful place as the rulers of this world."

"Yes," the Duke said softly, his eyes distant. "But there is more to it than that." He held up the skull, letting the light catch its surface. "My brother... he was a fool. A trusting, naive fool who thought peace could be brokered with lesser races. He believed in harmony, in diplomacy. He was blind to the truth."

C's gaze flickered to the skull, then back to the Duke. His expression betrayed nothing.

The Duke's voice grew colder, each word a dagger. "He never saw it coming. The poison in his goblet. A simple trick, really—no grand displays of magic, no convoluted schemes. Just a sip of wine, and it was over. He looked at me, C. Looked at me with those wide, betrayed eyes, as if he couldn't fathom why his own blood would do such a thing."

His hand tightened around the skull, the knuckles whitening. "But it had to be done. He was weak, and weakness cannot be tolerated. Not when we are on the brink of destiny."

The Duke rose from his throne, his movements fluid and deliberate. He stepped toward the massive mirror that dominated one wall of the chamber. It was enchanted, its surface shifting to reveal the world beyond.

There, stretching as far as the eye could see, was his army.

Rows upon rows of elven warriors clad in gleaming silver armor, their banners rippling in the wind. Their mounts—land dragons and lesser wyrms—snorted and roared, their scales glinting under the pale light of the elven moons. The sound was a cacophony of discipline and power: the rhythmic march of boots, the guttural roars of beasts, and the thunderous chant of voices.

"Long live our Duke!"

The Duke's lips curled into a smile, his chest swelling with pride. "Look at them, C. Behold the future of this world. Our race, the most beautiful, the most gifted. We are the only ones blessed by the gods to wield magic, to shape mana, to bend the world to our will. It is our birthright to rule, and I will see it done."

He turned to face C, his eyes blazing. "This is not an invasion, C. It is a cleansing. A purging of impurities. When we are finished, the world will know only one race. Our race. And it will be perfect."

C nodded solemnly, though a flicker of unease crossed his features. "Your vision is unparalleled, my lord."

The Duke's expression softened slightly, his gaze returning to the mirror. "Do you know why I carry this burden, C? Why I must do what others cannot?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Because I understand what must be done. My brother lacked the will. But I... I see the truth. And the truth is this: the strong must rule, and the weak must perish. That is the only way forward."

He raised the skull high, his voice reverberating through the chamber. "Long live the Kaos Clan."

The air around him darkened, shadows twisting unnaturally as his eyes glazed over black. A sinister mark glowed faintly beneath his right eye, pulsing with a malevolent light.

C stepped forward, his head bowing slightly. "Long live the Kaos Clan," he echoed. His tongue flicked out briefly, revealing the same mark etched onto its surface, glowing like a brand.

The Duke's smile returned, cold and unyielding. Together, they turned back to the mirror, watching as their army surged forward, the chant of "Long live our Duke!" growing louder, more fervent.

The world was on the precipice of change, and the Duke intended to be the one to shape it.