~ZEPHYRUS' POV
As the commander and god of war, I stalked the training grounds like a living omen, a fiery wine haired specter carved against the sulfurous twilight of the demon realm.
The sky above burned in muted hues of ash and ember, clouds hanging low as though weighed down by the sins of eternity. Jagged rock walls enclosed the grounds, their surfaces etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly, with dark veins feeding on the heat and violence below.
The air reeked of brimstone.
Of sweat.
Of blood barely scrubbed from stone.
Demons filled the grounds in disciplined rows, massive bodies lowered to the black rock as they pounded out push ups in brutal rhythm.
Their muscles corded and strained beneath skin marked by infernal lineage. Some bore horns twisted like crowns of war. Others were scaled, with their hides thick as forged iron. Those with wings had them folded tight against their backs, massive and scarred, claws digging deep into the stone as they forced their bodies lower and lower.
They were not soldiers.
They were weapons.
Their eyes flicked toward me again and again, each glance carrying fear sharpened by reverence. I was their commander. Their instructor. Their executioner if they failed.
I prowled the line slowly, boots crunching against grit and bone fragments ground into the stone. My gaze raked over posture, form, effort. I saw everything. The tremor in an arm. The hesitation before a breath. The moment resolve began to crack.
Some endured.
Some excelled.
None dared slow.
Not under my watch.
"You call this strength?" I barked, my voice snapping through the air like a whip.
A pair of demons faltered beneath my shadow, arms trembling violently as they struggled to maintain form.
I halted beside them with a narrowed gaze. My dark orbs turning into burning embers while my fiery wine hair began stirring, flickering with touch of red flames.
"Is this all you have?" I snarled. "If you cannot hold your own weight, you are already dead."
One demon, a hulking brute with scales like black iron, buckled. His arms gave way and his body slammed into the stone.
I felt my control snap.
"Pathetic."
I flicked my wrist.
Flame answered instantly, a violent tongue of fire ripping through the air and engulfing him whole. His scream barely lasted a second before flesh blackened and bone collapsed inward. What remained crumbled into charred fragments, and his ash drifted across the stone.
The stench of burned flesh spread thick and choking.
The demon beside him stared, eyes wide with terror which made him force himself faster, movements turning frantic, sweat flying from his horns as he pushed past pain into desperation.
I watched him for a heartbeat.
Then released another burst of flame.
He joined his comrade in ash.
The training ground fell deathly still.
Breaths were held.
Wings twitched nervously.
I prowled the center of the grounds with an heavy presence, with my eyes which blazed like twin coals.
"You think being demons makes you exempt from discipline?" I said coldly. "Stamina is power. Power is survival."
I turned sharply.
"A thousand close-grip push ups. Now."
I bellowed.
The demons moved instantly, claws scraping rock as they lowered themselves once more, muscles screaming while they redoubled their efforts. Grunts rose in unison, the sound of flesh striking stone echoing beneath the runes carved into the walls.
I stood among them with my arms crossed, unblinking, watching as their bodies shook and sweat poured freely. Only when their effort reached the edge of collapse did the fire in my gaze dim slightly and the flames on my head dulled.
I remained on the training grounds, eyes still burning faintly as they struggled to regain composure. Some demons glanced at me with terror flickering across their faces before they forced themselves back into motion. They knew better than to stop.
As I watched, my mind betrayed me.
It plunged backward into memory.
Into a night darker than the deepest reaches of the demon realm.
Torches had lined the throne hall then, their flames guttering as though even fire feared what approached. Shadows twisted along the jagged walls, stretching into grotesque silhouettes that seemed to writhe and whisper.
More than three thousand years had passed.
Yet the wound remained open.
Raw.
Bleeding.
A guard had burst into the hall, armor cracked, his body barely holding together. Where his eyes should have been were burned out sockets, blackened and smoking. His voice had shattered into fragments of horror.
"Queen Ophelia," he had gasped. "Taken. Vampires."
The words had crushed the air from my lungs.
Even now, I could smell it. Old blood. Brimstone. Fear thick enough to choke on.
I remembered Alaric standing beside me, his expression turning to stone in an instant. I remembered my own heart cracking open, shards tearing through me like shrapnel.
Then the nightmare truly began.
Alaric, Lucian, and I had torn through vampire lines like a storm given flesh. Hellfire lit our path as screams echoed into the void. We carved our way forward, driven by a single, desperate hope.
We found her on an altar.
My mother.
Queen Ophelia.
Her body lay splayed like a sacrifice, pale skin drained of life, dark hair spread across cold stone. Her eyes were opened, frozen wide as though she had seen the abyss claim her.
Her lips were parted.
And as we approached, she whispered my name.
"Zephyrus."
The sound still haunted me, carried on every dying wind.
Kaeloth's fangs had kissed her throat. I saw the punctures clearly, twin marks burned into memory forever. The irony had been cruel beyond measure.
My fiery wine hair blazed crimson then, as if fueled by her loss while my soul howled in grief, a primal scream locked behind clenched teeth. I saw her fall, heard her last breath, felt the shatter inside me, a fracture that would never fully heal.
The vampire king had taken my mother's life.
And Alaric had taken his.
I remembered the way Alaric moved then, he had torn the vampire kingdom apart with wrath, and Kaeloth fell by his silver flaming blade, his head rolling to the floor. Alaric's eyes had burned with a fire that rivalled my own on that day.
Yet even as the vampire kingdom fell, the hunger for vengeance did not fade.
A treaty came later.
Signed in blood and ash.
The new vampire king, Dorian, a man rumoured to be as cunning as he was ruthless. Alaric had grasped his hand, inked the pact in blood and ash, trading vengeance for calm, but I had known better,
Vampires always broke peace.
My jaw clenched, fire roaring back to life within me. Demons around me flinched as my hair blazed brighter, crimson flaring through my wine-red strands.
"FALL IN," I roared. "QUADRUPLE THE DRILL."
They snapped into motion instantly.
"You think you are ready?" I continued. "You are not. You think a thousand push ups are suffering?"
I stepped among them, my presence crushing.
"Try fighting vampires with your guts spilled across the ground," I bellowed. "While your mother watches from the shadows. Her eyes accusing. Her voice whispering betrayal."
The demons jolted as one, moving like machines as I prowled among them, rage and grief mingling together, while my eyes burned like coals, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint of fury.
"SPEED," I shouted. "I WANT TO SEE BLURS! STRENGTH! CRUSH STONE WITH THOSE CLAWS! ENDURANCE! YOU'LL OUTLAST THE DEPTHS OF HELL ITSELF!"
A demon faltered, sweat-driven muscles failing, and I incinerated him while the others pushed harder, terror-driven, their screams lost in the din of the training ground.
"STRENGTH," I roared. "CRUSH STONE WITH THOSE CLAWS." I repeated.
Another screamed. Flame took him and ash followed.
"ENDURANCE," I snarled. "YOU WILL OUTLAST HELL ITSELF."
The ground shook beneath their efforts, the air thick with tension and heat. My words tasted like ash, bitter and acidic, as memories clawed at my chest.
"Queen Ophelia died for this realm," I shouted. "YOU WILL NOT DISHONOR HER."
The training grounds burned with infernal intensity. Demons strained beyond reason, bodies pushed to breaking as I raged among them, fire in my eyes, fire in my hair, fire in my soul.
"DO IT AGAIN! FROM THE TOP! NO MERCY!" I yelled, and while the demons obeyed, driven by fear and fire, their movements became a blur as they pushed themselves to the brink of collapse.
Fear drove them.
Fire forged them.
And still I pushed, driven by the ghosts of my past, by the ache in my soul, and by the fire that burned eternal within me. The training ground would be their crucible and I would be the flame that forged them into warriors, into instruments of vengeance, into the blades that would shatter the vampire realm and bring me the peace that eluded me still.
As the night wore on, and the stars wheeled overhead, the demons crumbled, one by one, exhausted, broken, their bodies strewn across the training ground like so many discarded weapons.
And still I stood.
Unbroken.
Unyielding.
The fire within me burned brighter, a beacon of fury in the darkness, a promise of retribution to come.
As they struggled to their feet, I turned away, my hair fading slowly from fiery crimson back to deep wine-red as my temper cooled.
The training ground fell silent, save for ragged breathing.
They had learned.