"There's something you must do for me, Morgan."
"Sire."
Kian looks down on him steadily. "You will take my Ethan to his chambers and assign him an aide." His cold, dead eyes. And the marks of a tyrant already ruling.
"I shall make sure of it."
Still on his knees, this devil turns to me. And breathes deeply. His lips curl—
But he quickly wipes his face clean.
"He will be well cared for, Your Majesty. I shall escort him myself. Will the Pearl Palace do?"
Does he, too, hate humanity? But it was too quick for me to see.
Silence. And then Kian squeezes my hand. Hard. "No." He says. "Place him in the side room of my chambers."
Murmuring. Gossiping—
Morgan's lashes cover his eyes. And I feel a strange pressure. The piercing. The strangling—
The murmuring snuffs out abruptly; the servants choking on air. "As you wish, Sire," he says calmly.
And then, Morgan gracefully ushers me before him without another word. I clench my hands. If I go, will I ever make it back out of here?
Kian. He turns his back on me.
He's…leaving…me…
The longing. The greed. I can't keep my back from burning…
I touch it. Briefly. And feel his presence disappearing. His rooms better be worth my coming. He better not be lying.
***
The eyes of his servants are wandering all over me. Judging me.
My body vibrates. How dare they—?! I'm not some young prostitute for them to gawk at! Not even a brothel worker would be given such undivided attention—!
"Come with me, Sir…Ethan, was it?" Lukewarm blue eyes. And the aura of calm brutality as he bows lowly before me.
And the servants begin scrambling.
He guides me expertly through the swallowing wall, hardly sweeping eyes at me. I feel someone at my back; the shadow that's always behind me. It's him. The General. Guarding me.
Kian, he's imprisoning me.
"I confess. This is the first time I've seen His Majesty so taken with a Human…" Morgan keeps walking, taking a turn there. Another here. I can't keep my eyes on him; the structure clenching and releasing, then waving and weaving—
All around us, it's there. I can feel it breathing.
"Not entirely welcoming, is it?" He pats the surface, watching his white hand engulfed in white wall.
His hand. It's gone as if cut. How strange. And eerie. And there's no sign of it returning even as he pulls, tugging—
The suction is real; the wall refusing to release his body.
"It's dangerous for a human. They might just take you away."
Aura ripples. I can hear it screaming—! And his hand is released just that easily.
"It's quite simple really. Just the remnants of the past regime."
Remnants?
"Oh, and I do mean that literally. Sire built this with their bones to remind us of our Beginnings." His eyes flash. "I still remember the smell of their burning flesh. I reveled in it, immersing myself in their dispersing aura. It was beautiful…A sight I'll never enjoy again..."
Then he sighs. "Certainly, these are different times. How we deal with the outside world now is far from how it once was…"
He bows. "The Soulmate of our Sire will never be turned away. No matter their…affiliation…"
My body stills. Soulmate? What is he—?
"…You seem to know nothing of our Lord." He dips his head inside the wall. And half of his body is gone before I know it; his white fingers motioning me forward.
I shudder. It's disturbing. But what can be done? I wouldn't be a man if I went back on it now.
I put my hand through. And feel my flesh squeeze like rubber—
I—can't breathe—!
My aura's bracing. And my skin's contracting—tightening—
My heart. It's tensing. And there's a loud, abrasive roaring—
And then, my hand's taken. And I'm dragged through this wall that I could never navigate myself.
Coughing.
Hacking.
My hands, they're on my knees as I catch my breath belatedly.
Morgan's absentmindedly rubbing his horn. "It seems our ancestors quite like your body…it must be My Lord's aura inside you."
I watch him warily. Because his eyes are flat and I can't tell what he's thinking. "How much farther?"
"Hmm? Oh, not far now."
"We're inside the King's Palace now. Don't worry. Those feral halls are simply meant as a connection, of sorts, to each of the Palaces. A more convenient mode of transportation for those who can't teleport."
"It was one of the first things Sire did after ascending the throne. As you can imagine, no one thought he would win. The seraphim eventually caved…and the Daemons consistently fought…there were dozens of fires…they…the…"
My eyes are roaming even as Morgan drones on and on, telling me this history I'm not even interested in.
Though Kian's history would be another story.
There are murals in the hallways of battles and bloody things; the red oozing as if the wall itself is bleeding.
Turning. Turning. And through a doorway, pristine walls bearing windows; the light streaming against pearlescent statues; the carvings thoroughly detailed as if they are amongst the living.
There are winged figures. Horned creatures. Terrifying monsters. The winged knights lean against their swords. And golden shields reflect the light.
Beauty. Beastly. And frightening.
It's all the more chilling because of the austerity of the murals from before.
But the acceptance of every creature, big or small, is contained within. Unlike humanity, it seems the Heavenly Realm, or perhaps Kian himself, is quite fair.
And equally as fair, his pain, his rage, and his despair…
Coldly. Calculatingly. He took revenge. Is that not fair? No one can say it was too far…
I, myself, live to see those experimenting bastards die.
***
Kian places his hand against the large double doors of the forbidden library; guards standing at attention as his aura pulses and throbs.
The doors swing open, and he recalls his shadow men inside, letting them follow as the doors close behind him.
"Yes, Sire."
Layers and layers of books, ladders, and moving staircases; flowers and vines swinging above. And the sounds of water running beneath.
"Report."
"Sire?"
Kian elegantly sits behind a desk worthy of a king; the Blackwood perfectly complementing his black, silky hair, and the flower engravings twining around the sides.
"The humans. I'm going to kill them."