Darkness Ignite

Chapter 11

Night Slayer

The great chamber was a massive room that lie in the heart of the castle. It was welcomed to all visitors and nobles on business. The king refused to stay too long in there, not because of the room itself but because of the paintings that adorned its walls.

There were large scale paintings of the Mentioned Gods and their forthcomings. The Siblings of Judgement afloat a sky of dark clouds, their scales melded by gold and balanced between the palm of their hands. Beneath the clouds lay a battlefield of dead bodies and glimmering beings. Among the dead, lie several horses and men. Blood splattered the soil and darkened the rivers beyond.

A dark slender figure stood in the center, arms spread, and eyes glistened with red. Her moonlight hair was tarnished by the sheet of rain that fell upon them. She smiled with cruel intent, a frightening sight. She was the Goddess of Destruction, known for her massive appeal for chaos and world ending powers. She stood in the heart of the battle, drawing in any mortal who dared approach her. They inched forward only to be met by death's kiss and a hard grave.

A lone knight, fashioned with a white aura, was readied with a sword, aiming for the heart of the Goddess. His tales were as old as time and as honorable as the centuries went. The God of Might took it upon himself to thrust his sharp sword at the frightening Goddess. His companion, a man covered in black, fought off the dark creatures that crept towards the God of Might. It was a story known by all and reenacted throughout theaters. The vengeful Goddess who was brought down by the Brothers of Light, Merlick and Zohat.

The Night Slayer scoffed at the paintings. He knew malice and harbored corruption. The Goddess who was portrayed as the epitome of evil intent was nothing. He ridiculed the stories of old that centered around the dark being.

The Night Slayer turned his back to the paintings, wishing to destroy its history, cursing the hand who dared move a stroke to depict such atrocities. He would burn the damned thing, but he found the work tedious.

"Your Highness, the Scribes await your counsel." The king's second in command stood at his shadows, awaiting orders.

"Comev," the king called. Without hesitation, his Second crept up to his side, eyes lowered, and hands cupped. "I hear the little ember has refused."

The man at the Night Slayer's side shuffled before replying, "Yes, she has refused to partake in the Throne Trials. The Scribes have announced so, Your Highness."

The Night Slayer knew the girl would refuse. She was the sort to oppose her nature. It was an amusing sight, though, for her father was much more conniving and accepting of his ill disposition.

As the Night Slayer and Comev, the king's right-hand man, wove their way through the halls, a compelling thought came to the demon. He was amused by the girl's efforts to stray away from the trials. The competition to the throne was a fierce engagement between the richest, the boldest, and the most brilliant. It would be a bore for the king if his little ember was gone from the fight.

"Order the Commander to send five of his best soldiers to escort the Civent's to the castle." The king gleamed at the thought. He was certain the girl and her brother would be a challenging feat for the soldiers. Their uncle was a family man through and through. He chuckled before adding, "At any cost, but bring them alive."

"As you wish, Your Highness." Comev bowed before he scurried away in the direction they came.

The Night Slayer would find delight in the little ember's predicament.

Finally, the king reached two large doors, a guard stood ready at each side. They pulled back the handlebars, and again stiffened to their post.

The grand throne room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the towering stained-glass windows. The room was a symphony of opulence, with high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the kingdom's obsolete history.