The Devil's Feast had ended, but its echoes lingered. The nobles left their own hall with broken pride, their jewels dull against the weight of humiliation. Lucius had stripped them of dignity without drawing his blade, and the city could not stop whispering. Yet humiliation festers, and humiliation breeds desperation. Somewhere in the city, another noble house clenched its fists and swore vengeance.
The rival house did not bow to the Devil. They believed the kneeling nobles had dishonored all of their kind, dragging ancient bloodlines into servitude beneath a criminal lord. Pride burned brighter than fear, and pride demanded retaliation. They did not march openly, for Lucius's shadows would swallow them whole. Instead, they sent blades in the night, cloaked in silence, sharpened in rage.
The assassins came like whispers of death, slipping through the marble halls of the Devil's newly claimed estate. Their faces masked, their swords slick with poison, their steps as quiet as breath. Silk curtains swayed as they entered, moonlight painting the corridors in silver. They thought themselves ghosts. They thought themselves unseen.
But Darius was waiting.
The hall shifted from silence to slaughter in an instant. Darius emerged from the shadows, his twin blades gleaming. His eyes burned with savage joy, and the assassins realized too late that the Devil's hound was awake. Steel clashed against steel, and the air filled with screams that were quickly cut short.
One assassin lunged toward him, but Darius caught the strike with a grin, twisting his blade so the man's wrist snapped. Another tried to retreat into the curtains, but Darius spun him into the silk and drove his sword through both cloth and flesh. The curtains drank the blood, turning crimson in the moonlight.
The assassins panicked, their plan unraveling with every scream. They had come to restore honor, yet they found themselves butchered in silence, their lives poured out across marble floors. Darius moved like fire, every strike a dance of fury, every kill painted in red.
By the time the last assassin fell, the noble hall was no longer a place of elegance. Silk draperies were drenched, the marble tiles slick with blood, and the once-proud corridors echoed with the silence of death. Darius dragged the bodies into the courtyard, stacking them like offerings. But he left the heads for last.
With ruthless precision, he severed them, placing each one upon the steps of the hall. By dawn, the assassins' heads stood in a grotesque pile, their empty eyes staring at the rising sun. The message was clear, painted in gore and silence.
When Lucius arrived, his gaze lingered on the pile, a slow smile spreading across his face. The nobles who had bent the knee gathered behind him, their bodies trembling as they beheld the carnage. Their enemies had come for them, but the Devil's hand had shielded them in blood.
Lucius stepped before the pile, his boots crunching over spilled crimson. He turned to the trembling nobles, his voice steady, cruel, and commanding. "This is the price of your safety. This is the leash you wear. Forget it, and your heads will join theirs."
The nobles bowed low, fear choking their throats. Their pride had been shattered, but survival bound them tighter than chains.
Ravenna laughed from the shadows, her blade tracing lazy circles in the air. "Dogs bite when cornered. But dogs always bleed when cut."
Adrian adjusted his papers with cold precision, his voice cutting like a blade. "The attempt has only sealed their fate. The law bends as we will it, and this house will be erased. Their lands, their wealth, their name—stripped. They will exist only in memory, and even that will rot."
Victor smirked, sipping his wine as though the massacre were entertainment. "A fine lesson for the city. Those who resist become spectacle. Those who kneel, survive."
Cain stood silent, but his presence alone made the nobles shiver. His massive axe rested on his shoulder, a reminder that mercy was not in their vocabulary.
Lucius raised his hand, and the courtyard fell into silence. His crimson gaze burned into the nobles' souls. "This is not about honor. This is not about pride. This is about survival. You will survive only because I allow it. Never forget whose shadow you crawl beneath."
The nobles nodded furiously, sweat dripping down their brows. They had sought protection, and they had received it. But protection from the Devil was never free. It came with a leash wrapped tight around their necks.
As the sun rose higher, the pile of heads cast long shadows across the courtyard. The city stirred with fresh whispers, louder than before. The Devil had not only made nobles kneel—he had slaughtered those who dared defy him and displayed their corpses for all to see.
By midday, word spread across every street, from taverns to palaces. No longer was Lucius merely a ruler of shadows. He was the executioner of kings, the master of leashes, the hand that held both life and death.
And somewhere in the city, rival houses trembled. Their pride burned, but their fear grew faster. The Devil had made his move, and the game of nobility had been rewritten in blood and silk.
Lucius turned from the pile, his laughter echoing through the hall, cold and merciless. "This is the price of your safety. Remember it well."