On the hottest afternoon in history, I stood over a heap of burning corpses, the chaos of battle raging around me. Smoke filled the air , the stench of flesh and the screams of the dying followed.
For any sane human, this would be hell.
For a man like me, it should have been business as usual. But today, it was personal.
From the distance, a voice screamed, "Victor Zefar! You devil, I'll kill..."
It was cut off by a blade, steel ripping through his throat.
I didn't look back. I didn't need to.
I climbed down from the pile of scorched bodies; my black cloak barely kissed the ground as the wind met me.
By the time my foot hit the blood-soaked sand, my enemies had been brought to their knees. What force on earth could do this?
I called them Slayers. They were my army, my sons: my wrath made flesh. We were humanity's peacekeepers, the only armed force in Babel. In the Empire of Men, we were soldiers. So why were we here?
The captives kneeling before me were the damn reason.
"I am Victor Zefar — King of the Slayers. I come to you as judge and executioner. Eleven years ago, I met the woman you called queen. I helped her — and I knew exactly why you sent her."
She had been sold to me as a slave, sent as an assassin but, my truth set her free. When she realized I knew her mission, she never begged for herself.
No… she begged for you.
I froze, my rage barely hidden behind my glass mask. It reflected their guilt, their sins, their ignorance.
"She begged me to spare you disgusting savages, you traitors!
Demons in human flesh, how did you repay her? How did you reward her loyalty? Tell me, people of Oma… how did your queen die?"
Silence fell. Heads lowered.
My Slayers stood behind each captive, waiting for my command. The silence of the so-called Sons of Oma dared the heartless killer in me.
I brought a hand to my neck — a gesture my Slayers followed. Their daggers dropped to the Adam's apple of every Son of Oma.
I wasn't here to waste time. I hadn't started this war to play games or show pity. I wanted answers first; vengeance second.
I turned away, trying to tame my rage with reason.
Their reply to my moment of restraint was an arrow to the head.
I caught it, letting it barely graze my mask. The Veil of Glass wasn't just a face protector, it gave me the sight of many men. Through it, I saw the assailant fleeing in the distance as my Slayers hunted him like prey.
Still, the Slayers holding the Sons of Oma waited — a minute, a breath, a heartbeat just
hoping one of them would choose life.
One of these animals would definitely choose life over death… right?
But steel met flesh. Blood perfumed the air. The dying gasped and I had no regrets.
I was the monster they made, the devil they paid and heaven's answer to the evil done against Rose, my first and only beloved.
A charred rose among the ashes made me pause. A sad smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the day I met her.
Offered to me by foreign slave traders, she gleamed like a black diamond — too proud to bow. I offered her freedom without payment. It was the honorable thing to do.
She repaid me with a look of utter disgust.
"I am Rose Oma, princess of the proudest tropical tribe… and I will not be a tyrant's trophy."
At her words, my son Hunter lunged for his blade, ready to kill. I caught his arm. Rose's glare burned hotter than steel. I should have felt anger. I'd had people killed for less.
Instead, I was intrigued.
She was the first in years to speak so boldly to my face. I dismissed Hunter and stepped closer, drawn to this wild woman.
"Lady Rose," I teased, voice low. "Is that how your queens speak?"
She hesitated, then answered, "Lord Zefar, will you slay me yourself? Is your pride too fragile for that boy to see?"
"That boy is my son," I said. "And no. I won't kill you."
We walked Babel's gardens in silence until she asked, "Then what do you want? They say you never let things go."
I chuckled. "Rumors plague every royal. You'd know that."
I expected defiance. Instead, her gaze dropped.
"You're right. I judged without knowing you. I was ripped from my home — a princess made a slave. I suppose I owe you thanks, even if all you saw was a pretty face."
I stopped. "I'm sorry you felt that way. You're more than beautiful, Lady Rose. You're the boldest woman I've met."
Her smile was shy, almost sad. "So what now? Do I marry you? Become your slave?"
"No," I said softly. "Neither. I want you to know me — the real me. Tomorrow may hold hate, or tears, or love. But for now — do you want vengeance?"
She almost gave me a cheeky reply. I could sense something fierce rising before she froze to ask, "What did you say?"
"The traders call me wicked," I told her. "Let me prove them right."
She rushed into my arms.
"Thank you. But no. I just want help to find my people. Can the great Zefar do that?"
I drew back, removed my glass mask, and showed my face. For the first time in years, I vowed to a stranger.
"If that's all you want… then it is done."
And it was. I found her tribe, on a continent I never bothered to conquer. I even prepared to escort her to the border myself.
That night, in my throne room, she came to me with a shaking breath.
"Zefar… there is something I must tell you."
I tried to ease her mood. "Don't worry — you'll get the first word tomorrow. Even the King of Slayers knows when to speak."
She cut in quickly, desperate.
"No, Zefar. This isn't a joke. I'm serious. I have to tell you what brought me to Babel.
I have to confess why I came after you."