SENECA VEYLOR
My brothers and I had ruled for more than a decade, carving the world into quarters when the demons rose and the humans lost their fight. Orion claimed the South, Vorath the East, Malrik the West.
The North was mine.
We never bothered with maps or fences, but there were lines even we didn't cross. The humans knew it too.
One brother's prey wasn't another's, not unless he was looking for a fight. We respected that, and the humans did too. For years, they bowed, bled, and served.
Then a few weeks ago, right under our noses, a group of humans who call themselves rebels tore the Eastern domain down, like it was nothing.
My chest burns so hot it feels like I can't breathe.
The room is wrecked around me, tables overturned, glass broken, dark curtains pulled over the windows shutting the daylight out.
I slam my fist into the wall again, the room trembles from impact, dust raining over my arm.
"I killed the strongest of them!" I roar. "I captured them. Enslaved them. The rebels were finished!"
The dragon sneers in the back of my skull. "You finished nothing."
My teeth grind. "They were broken."
"Broken men still bleed and rise." Its growl shakes me inside. "I told you he would not forsake his people."
I pace through the wreckage, glass shattering under my bare feet, doesn't cut me—never does—but my hands won't stop shaking.
"Cowards!" I roar, voice breaking. "Vorath is gone because they came like thieves in the night. Fucking cowards!"
The dragon purrs deep in my skull, calm in the way that makes me want to rip it out. "And yet they won."
My scream rips out before I can hold it in. I punch the wall again. Blood smears this time but my knuckles heal before the pain can even stick.
"Vorath was soft," it hisses.
"He tried," I choke, on the lumps in my throat, on the sadness in my chest. "He fucking tried."
"Which is why he's rotting."
I seize a chair and fling it across the room. It explodes against the wall, wood and nails scattering like shrapnel. Shelves buckle. Liquor soaks the carpet. I stand there shaking, breathing hard, and still the voice doesn't stop.
"You can mourn him. Or finish what he started. The humans chose war. What will you choose?"
Stop.
My fist tightens.
I want to punch a wall again.
I spin in a circle, clutching at my head.
All I can picture is my brother, helpless.
All I can picture is his body, hopeless.
I want it to stop.
But it never does.
"When they come here, you'll make them beg for mercy," it continues, purring. "That is when you raise one of your own. To rule and break them again."
Stop
My head hurts.
It hurts to breathe, to stand, to think.
But my chest hurts the most, the grief in my heart weighs down on me the most.
I press my palms into my eyes, breath ragged. Logic tells me to wait, to plan, to strike when I know where they hide. But the dragon keeps burning through me, urging me to burn more humans first.
"Evil survives only through force," it whispers. "Goodness is a lie that feeds on your hesitation."
My chest heaves.
STOP.
"Burn them. Tear their slums down before they crawl to your door. Burn them now."
I clutch my head so hard my nails dig into my scalp.
Skin splits, hot blood sliding down my temples. The pain in my chest rips out of me in a scream so loud the walls tremble.
Smoke fills the room without the fire.
And the roof is seconds away from falling.
Until, the BANG comes against the door, and a hoarse voice shouts. "Dominus Seneca, your brothers call for an attack on a human camp found inside our territory!"
***
The ground rumbles under my weight when I land, and my brothers pause their slaughter just enough to glance my way.
"Under your scorched nose!" Orion growls, platinum hair plastered to his forehead, smoke rolling off his skin. He doesn't blink at the burning camp. He never does. The shrouds snap bones at his feet like dogs tearing scraps.
Malrik wipes blood from his knuckles with the hem of his sweatshirt. Gray sweats, black tee stretched tight over his chest like he just walked out of a gym instead of a slaughter.
He grins at me, teeth white against the ash. "You're late again, big brother."
"You trespass," I fire back, heat building in my throat. "The North is mine!"
Orion's jaw ticks. His grief's all teeth, no softness. "Then maybe you should've protected it."
Malrik swoops his dreads off his face, laughing. "Don't act like you wouldn't torch them yourself. Look at you shaking." He nods at my fists, at the fire creeping up my arms. "Hungry."
The shrouds hiss, dragging half-burned bodies into the dirt.
Smoke fills the day, mixing with the stench of blood and sulphur.
Orion steps closer, growling. "Vorath's dead. They made him bleed like a man. I won't wait for them to do the same to you."
Malrik spreads his arms wide, like he's inviting the flames to take him. "So burn them all. End the sermon and pick a side."
"I don't need your theatrics." My chest heaves as I spit the words. "You might be Dominuses, but I am your Alpha. This land answers to me. You had no right."
None of them.
But the oldest of us who constantly takes it upon himself to dare me.
Orion's glares. "Alpha or not, you were sitting on your grief while humans regrouped under your nose."
"Under my nose?" I roar. "I kill them by the thousands. They hide in sewers, in ruins, like rats, and you think I don't see?" I slam a fist into my chest. "I see everything."
I turn, scanning what's left of the camp. What seems like a steel factory lies in ruins. The walls are collapsed, rusted cars serve as barricades and there's smoke and fire consuming everything.
The rebels have made their settlement here for years.
Years.
Now it's rubble. Screams cut through the flames as bodies burn, some still running until the shrouds knock them down. They tear into them alive, snarling, chewing until the cries go hoarse.
My eyes lock on them, flesh burning, skin blistering, voices breaking into nothing.
And for one second, the rage is drowned out by something else.
Little ones. Shrouds swam around a group of little ones cuddled together amidst the chaos, tears gushing from their eyes.
"LEAVE OUT THE CHILDREN!" I bellow, the sound ripping through my chest so hard the air itself vibrates. Fire explodes off me, rattling the ground, sending half the demons screeching back.
Malrik smirks, dragging his dreads back. "Please. You've never touched a child in your life, Seneca. Like hell you'd start now."
Orion doesn't find it funny. "And that mercy will be the death of him."