Kian steeples his fingers slowly. "There has been no changes here, I assume."
"No, Sire. All is well. Morgan has strict control when Your Majesty leaves."
"And Ingrid? She has no thoughts of returning…I can hear her nagging…"
"She…she hasn't been in contact, Sire. We…don't know."
They cringe as eyes like green ice roll over them. "Has Gilbert not returned?"
"No, Sire."
"He's taking a bit too long…"
The guards stiffen. And look down further. Gilbert. His entrails will soon meet his mouth if he takes that long.
He's earned the King's ire. His Majesty isn't as patient as he once was.
Not with the enemy brazenly out in the open like this, blatantly displaying their arrogance and disrupting his peace; their insistence on chasing immortality inviting devastation upon their kin…
They tense as he gets up again, pacing right in front of them.
Of course, the King will patch Gilbert up again. After. Because he's of use. They've watched it happen before. Certainly, it won't be the last. But at least he treats each race just as equally…
Just as cruelly.
It wasn't like that before.
"The Moon Heart Sect. Could there truly be someone worthy of his time there? Should I go there? My good General is watching over the boy…Yes, there's no going back now…"
Silence. And they feel the chill of burning. "Well? What say you?"
Presence. Pressure. And the immense weight of aura.
One guard chokes, falling from his knees and onto his back. The pressure—! It's too much for him!
"Sire—!" The other's gritting his teeth; his muscles pulsing and straining within his armor.
"If…if that is your wish…Sire." He says carefully. Softly. "We will inform you of any changes here."
The King smiles faintly. "Yes. I think I'll do that. It's been a long time since my hands have been wet…"
The guard flinches. The red of blood splashing. The waste and refuse.
Nameless. Faceless. Would he die here and now without anyone saying his name?
But a flash of light. And the King rips a new hole in the forbidden library; taking his leave without looking back.
The guard slumps. His heart—
It was beating too quickly.
He gets to his feet unsteadily. And though his hands shake, he checks on his comatose partner carefully. How disturbing.
The other guard sits up with some difficulty even with the extra help. He leans heavily to one side, listlessly groaning.
"…Should we have told him?"
"Told him what?"
They grab their weapons and retreat back to their posts; the heavy doors closing behind them.
"About Ingrid. She—"
"Hush!"
"But—"
A sharp ring as armored fist meets armored shoulder. "We don't know, damnit! Would you tell him something like that? When he's anxious to spill blood!"
A heavy breath. "Think a little before you speak. What we overheard has nothing to do with us. Morgan will bear the brunt of his fury."
"If you say so."
Back to their post. And the retreating sound of the hole closing.
***
The pathways aren't long for Kian. Dark and restless, things wriggle and thrive within.
An unusual occurrence happened twice within a single day. The King of the Heavens. Taking the pathway of the Daemonic.
Yes. Hardly has he stepped foot within the Human Realm since his ascension…
At that time, his rage had taken him beyond the veil of mediocrity. The immortals who though him trash felt his awakening. And trembled.
It's funny. Truly.
If they had taken a look at the world around them, perhaps they would've survived his fury…
Betrayal had left him hollow. And pain soon blinded him.
That is how the Kingdom of Heaven tumbled. That is how he killed the King.
And hough the journey towards awakening had been perilous, his newly found powers had manifested properly.
Though Kian, himself, can't say if those powers weren't swallowed from that beast called King.
An inherent trait? Or the remnants of a foe defeated…
Perhaps it's better not to know.
***
Gilbert's heart stops in the midst of torture. The King. He's here! Just beyond the wall.
A tremble. And a black boot rips through that web of space dividing—
And he feels the weight of the King's stare boiling him straight to the bones!
He trembles; his fingers curling upon themselves as he flops to his knees. "W-what bring you here, Master?"
"You made me wait an awfully long time, Gilbert."
The sturdy, yet small man hunches forward, inadvertently pulling upon the string tight in his fist—
A painful groan. And the seat behind him wriggles and tilts.
The bright lights of a chandelier. And the sounds of heavy, disruptive panting.
The disgusting mass of bleeding flesh listlessly cowers from the swaying light. The dark. The light. And then, the speech that softly follows.
"Hmm?" The sounds of tapping. "That woman, is it?"
Gilbert lifts his head slowly. Steadily. "That it is, Sire." He roughly pulls the wire—
And a new groan soon emanates.
The King touches the wire, watching his fingers bleed. "Quite the device, Gilbert. But what have you found for me?"
"Well, woman, speak!"
A hoarse whisper. And he jerks the string anew.
"—I—don't know! I don't know anything! Mercy! Please have mercy! I'm dying! It hurts so badly! Please! Just kill me already—ugh—!"
Gasping. Heaving. She's doing nothing but screaming—
The string. It's tightening. Around her wrists. Around her feet! And inside her stomach, she feels the piercing squeeze—!
Blood. Blood. And more inky, black blood.
The taste of salt and sweat. And the smell of metallic refuse.
"Ah…it was poison? A surprising touch from you, Gilbert."
Gilbert flinches. Disgraceful. Utterly. He had to stoop to such a level. But what have you? "Right you are again, Sire. She gave me a right bit of trouble, she did."
His mouth dries. Because of what's coming. "Yes. A bit of trouble she caused."
He sighs. "There were…beastly things. Inside her sect. Things you wouldn't believe…" His face wrinkles in distaste.
"She was eating them, Sire."