The ruins groaned beneath the weight of the storm as Shax's chosen gathered in a broken hall, the ceiling split wide to the night sky. Purple lightning illuminated their faces, twisted with hunger, cruelty, and ambition.
Stolas leaned against a shattered pillar, his shifter form sleek and restless. "If she's weakened, why not break her slowly? A queen stripped of her throne, her crown, her dignity. There's pleasure in watching a predator crawl."
Phenex snarled, grinning with sharp teeth. "Or use her power. A demon's blood runs black with fire. Harness it, and we could bend armies."
Forneus's voice slithered into the silence, her silver hair gleaming like chains. "Leviathan has not walked this world in centuries. To possess her, to make her kneel—it would shake the balance of every kingdom. Rich men would sell their souls to touch her. To claim her."
Shax's eyes narrowed, glowing brighter with every word. He stepped forward, his talons clicking against the stone, his wings unfolding until the room was drowned in shadow.
"You speak of toys and trinkets," he said, his voice a low growl. "But Leviathan is no trinket. She is mine. Her strength, her beauty, her pride—everything she has ever been will belong to me. And through her, the world will learn that even queens bow to dragons."
Pazusax let out a soft, cruel laugh. "And the witch?"
Shax's lips curled into something almost like a smile. "The witch is leverage. She is the thorn in Leviathan's side, the spark in her chest. Break her, and the queen will break with her. Imagine her fury—helpless, chained, watching her precious protector reduced to nothing."
Forneus's eyes glimmered red. "Or sell the witch first. Her blood is rare, her body young. The collectors in the northern markets would pay handsomely."
Shax silenced them with a snarl, the thunder outside answering his rage. "No. The witch stays alive. Not for their coin—but for her suffering. Leviathan must see her fragile companion dragged down, humiliated. Only then will she surrender."
The group fell quiet, the weight of his words sinking like a blade. Each of them imagined it: the demon queen, proud and terrible, shackled and kneeling, her golden eyes shattered as the witch cried at her side.
Stolas licked his lips, whispering, "Then let us hunt."
The storm broke, rain hammering the ruins as the Black Shadows spread into the night—predators with a scent, circling closer to their prey.
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