At the heart of the Demon City stood a tower that eclipsed all others. Its twisted spires reached toward the bruised sky like skeletal fingers, and its walls were etched with grotesque carvings that seemed to breathe in the darkness.
This was the seat of the Council of the King's Heart or, as the commoners whispered behind closed doors, the Killers of the King's Heart.
Inside the council chamber, stone pillars pulsed with etched demonic symbols. A fiery pit at the center cast a menacing, orange glow, making the shadows on the walls writhe like living things.
The air reeked of brimstone and old, malevolent energy.
The room fell into a deathly silence as the heavy doors swung open.
Malachi strode in, his presence vibrating with such authority that the air itself seemed to tremble.
The nobles, who usually carried themselves with arrogance, shrank into their seats as his piercing red eyes swept across the room.
He was the definition of otherworldly beauty, sharp jawline, chiseled features, and horns so black they seemed to absorb the firelight.
His dark wings shimmered, casting a massive shadow that swallowed the council table.
He sat with a commanding posture, his gaze daring anyone to speak first.
"Long live the King,"Thecouncil chimed, bowing their heads in a practiced, shallow display of loyalty.
"For what reason was I summoned?" Malachi asked, his tone dripping with condescension.
"Your Majesty..." one councilman began, his voice quaking. "The Serpent of Carnage has broken its seal."
The Serpent of Carnage, a two-headed Serpent of green horns and black scales was a war machine that survived on blood alone. Human, demon, or celestial it didn't matter. It had been sealed for centuries because it was untamable.
Malachi's brow twitched. "And this is too much for the 'Killers' of the King's Heart to manage?"
The nobles clenched their fists, their faces flushing with suppressed rage.
"I meant... the Council," Malachi added with a cold, sharp grin.
"Your Majesty," the oldest member cleared his throat. "You should not take this lightly. The beast has been starving for hundreds of years. It is crazed with hunger."
Malachi waved a dismissive hand. "Uphior will handle it."
The room erupted in confused murmurs. An elderly woman stood, her voice tight with disapproval.
. "Your Royal Highness, with all due respect... Uphior cannot handle a blood-crazed god-beast alone."
Malachi's horns and feathers began to glow in synchronization a sign of his rising temper. The temperature in the room plummeted.
"Are you implying that my Right Hand and Commander-in-Chief is incompetent?"
"We dare not, Your Highness," she whispered, shaking like a leaf.
"I am occupied at the moment,"
Malachi said, his wings flapping aggressively. "If you trust Uphior, he will summon the Ghost Army and behead the serpent. That is my final word."
"Does His Majesty care so little for his people that he would send them into the mouth of death?" a young noble asked, his voice laced with hidden venom.
In the corner, Mephisa sat poised and elegant, a mocking smile playing on her lips. She placed a finger to her jaw and looked directly at the King.
"Does Your Highness care to tell the council what is so preoccupying? Is roaming the human realm and wasting away in books considered a royal priority? Uphior isn't the King... you are."
The sound was like a thunderclap.
In a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow, Mephisa was slammed against the stone wall.
Malachi's hand was a vice around her throat, his long, razor-sharp nails drawing blood.
"Look me in the eyes and repeat what you said, hag," he hissed.
Mephisa spat a glob of black blood onto his royal tunic. "You don't scare me, brat."
Malachi's grin turned predatory. "Is that so?"
With a casual, terrifying flick of his fingers, his nails slid through the base of one of Mephisa's horns. The sound of cracking bone filled the silent room. The horn fell, clattering and rolling across the floor like a piece of worthless timber.
"This is me being generous," Malachi whispered into her ear as she gasped in agony. "The next time you tease me, I'll have your head hanging in my gallery.
This meeting is adjourned."
He turned and stomped out of the chamber, his wings snapping shut behind him.
Mephisa slumped against the wall, clutching the bleeding stump on her head, her eyes burning with a new, murderous resolve.
The council members stared at the severed horn in horror. To a noble, a horn was their honor, their birthright.
"He is becoming a tyrant," the oldest man whispered.
"We need to get rid of him," another added.
Mephisa looked up, a twisted smile returning to her face despite the pain.
"We don't need to kill him ourselves. We just need to ensure he is the one who faces the Serpent. A blood-crazed beast is a match even for a King."
They were indeed the killers of the King's heart. And now, they had a reason to strike.