It had been three years since the upheaval. The land of Boccher was a peaceful place beforehand, and very different from today, I might add. A dark assassin by the name of Torme arrived in Boccher one day. The assassin possessed uncanny supernatural powers, and the king of the land became suspicious upon hearing of this man.
The people of Boccher were attracted to Torme. His seductive power made people gravitate to his will. It wasn't long before Torme had hundreds of followers who would obey his every command, however wicked. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. By the time the king realized how much of a threat Torme was, it was too late. The king ordered an attack on the assassin and his minions, but the king's men were severely outnumbered.
Torme used his immense power to turn the rest of Boccher against the king, forcing the dethroned ruler into exile. An era of great peace and prosperity now came to a halt, ushering in an era of darkness. Torme ruled with a hypnotic hand and an iron fist. None of his subjects questioned him, as they were all completely enamoured by his spell.
The king, in exile, fled to the distant mountains. He prayed for many fortnights, asking and pleading God to help him take his kingdom back from the wretched hands of Torme.
One evening, as the king sat praying by the fire, God appeared to him through the flames.
"My beloved child, I know the evil that has overcome your land. If you trust in the Holy Spirit, I will bring your kingdom back to you."
"My Lord, I trust in you as I trust in no other. Look into me and you shall find that my faith in the Holy Spirit is strong."
"Then do as I say. Travel to your land, and you shall not be harmed by evil. My hands will guide you, and they will free your land of tyranny."
The king did not question the Lord. He knelt and praised God, then slept soundly for the coming day's departure.
It took the king a fortnight to reach the outskirts of his kingdom. In the distance, he saw dark, swirling clouds which spread like a plague against the sky. Vegetation was scarce as he traversed his old lands. Dead and decaying animals were found often as he continued his trek.
Pressing on, he found it harder to keep focus on his purpose, but the sensation did not overpower him. The battered king trudged onward, remembering the words God had spoken to him. Along the way, people looked suspiciously upon him, but none stopped to question him.
The king eventually came to his castle. There were many people wandering about their business, all with soulless eyes and empty hearts. This inspired great anger and despair in the king, but he entered the castle walls nonetheless. By now, he could feel Torme's supernatural darkness pressing around the edges of his soul. Dark matter was all around him, pushing and prodding at him, looking for a way in.
He came to the doors of his (now Torme's) throne room. They were now draped in black and violet cloth, the colors of Torme's new regime. The king did not knock; he pushed in the doors, as he'd done many times before.
"I knew you'd come back," spoke a cruel voice from the throne, "You're disgustingly pure."
"You're disgustingly impure," retorted the king.
The assassin snorted and twirled a dagger in his hand. He rose from the throne and stepped down onto the creamy marble floor.
"Tell me," barked Torme, "why you have chosen to come before me. Why have you come, knowing that death awaits you? Your kingdom is gone. My kingdom, on the other hand, is thriving. The world that was once yours is now indubitably mine."
He drew closer to the king as he spoke, but the king did not move.
"You're a liar, Torme," the king declared, "You have exerted false power over my people. I come to represent the truth."
Torme stopped just in front of the king and smirked.
"The truth is dead, my king."
A swift jab to the stomach and the king crumpled to his knees. A gasp of pain escaped his lips as he clutched his gut. With a monstrous roar, Torme brought the dagger down upon the king. It whirred through the air at lightning speed before shattering to a thousand pieces. The king remained unscathed as metal pieces darted across the room.
Torme stared in bewilderment at the small hilt which now sat lonely in his hand. It dropped to the floor, meeting the marble with a dull clash.
Golden light pierced the eyes of the king and the assassin. It flooded the hall and sent Torme's black and violet decor alight with terrible fire. Above the king appeared a magnificent figure, draped in gold robes and wielding a sword made of pure white light. The assassin backed away, shielding his eyes with his hands.
A powerful, taught voice spoke.
Torme. This kingdom is not yours.
The assassin hissed violently and shrieked as he grew in size and transformed into a monstrous black shape. It roared and shook the marble floor below it, causing the king to fall upon his back.
In the blink of an eye, the sword of light pierced through the monster, splitting it apart. The black monster erupted in white flames, and its pieces melted into thin air. An explosion of golden light eradicated any traces of darkness from the room and spread throughout the rest of the castle, then through the many streets of Boccher.
When the king arose, the scent of roses filled his nostrils, and he breathed in a new scent of life through his lungs. The darkness that had attempted to molest his soul had now disappeared. The king found that he was now draped in golden clothing, just as the angel had been.
He went out to the front side of the castle. People were looking around, as if they had just awakened from a daze. The king held up his hand.
"My people, for too long my kingdom has been ruled under a veil of lies. Let us come and rebuild ourselves from this black oppression."
And so it was. For a time of three years, Boccher thrived in peace.