King of Scandals

The king of scandals wears his crown of whispers—glittering, gaudy, and forged from every rumor he refuses to deny.

King of Scandals

I made my entrance into the tiny, magically concealed town of the hunters. The moment I stepped onto the cobbled main street of the Rosenstein Alley, the atmosphere shifted. Every eye turned toward me, some hunters froze mid-stride, and I even heard the unmistakable clatter of a pint hitting the floor. I took a moment to survey the scene, my gaze sweeping over the gathered hunters with a confident, seductive smile.

As I continued on, I noticed the faint clicking sounds of cameras capturing my every move. I struck a few poses, reveling in the attention and making sure the photos would be as scandalous as possible. With that accomplished, I proceeded to the imposing building of Babel.

Of course, I didn't expect a smooth entry. In a place where even tattoos were seen as sacrilege, my appearance was bound to be provocative. Just as I anticipated, a hunter soon blocked my path to the Babel.

"Dirty mixed-blood!" he spat. "Haven't you brought enough shame to our clan?"

I didn't bother to respond; instead, I grinned with insolent satisfaction. The hunter, enraged, charged at me. I effortlessly sidestepped his attack, letting out a soft, amused chuckle as I continued on my way. With an air of composure, I headed straight for the boardroom favored by my old nemesis.

I entered without knocking, immediately drawing the attention of Willingham and Gábor Roubál. I could have sworn the old man nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Unfortunately, he didn't exhibit any signs of sudden demise, so I offered him a mischievous smile and took a seat in one of the chairs.

"Don't mind me," I said, waving dismissively. "Carry on."

Willingham's eyes, sharp and cold as steel, were fixed on me. A vein pulsed dangerously on the old man's forehead. The two continued their discussion while I pulled out my phone and brazenly started a loud zombie-slaying spree. After a while, I paused the game and turned my attention back to them.

"Hmm, are you done?" I inquired, my tone nonchalant.

"What are you doing here, Shaytan?" Willingham asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.

I casually slipped my phone back into my pocket. "Just thought I'd drop by," I shrugged.

Gábor Roubál sighed deeply. "You're unbelievable, Shaytan. Can't you try acting like an actual king for once? And what's with the hair?"

A predatory grin spread across my lips as I kept my focus on Willingham's face. "I protect my men as their King," I said. "This is a warning."

Willingham didn't bring up my brother's situation during the meeting, but I wasn't foolish enough to think this meant I'd won. My grin widened. Then, to my genuine surprise, the usually disgruntled and grumpy old man let out a soft chuckle. My own grin faltered for a moment as I stared at him, taken aback.

"Go and do something about your hair," he said, motioning toward the door. "And your nails."

I shot Willingham a final, absent-minded glance. My eyes clearly conveyed a threat: if he didn't leave Des alone, I'd have his hair dyed pink next. I was confident that with Mazen and Lil collaborating, even the most skilled mages wouldn't be able to reverse the damage.

I left the Babel building with a smirk. As I walked through the street, I couldn't help but feel a bit smug about the chaos I'd left behind. I reached for my phone.

"Hey." I greeted the most annoyingly persistent cat in the world, my voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"What?" came his gruff reply, clearly irritated by my call.

"I've got a new job for you," I said, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "We'll be visiting some friends, too."

Rolo's grumbling was barely audible as he processed the unexpected news.

"What do you need me to do?" he finally asked, his curiosity barely masking his annoyance.

"Destroy the reputation of a restaurant chain," I stated nonchalantly as if it were the most routine of tasks.

Rolo fell silent for a moment, clearly taken aback. I could almost hear his brain grinding to a halt as he tried to comprehend the absurdity of my request.

"Why?" His voice was laden with disbelief.

"To avenge the honor of our comrades, of course," I said, almost proudly, savoring the dramatic effect of my words.

"Dark mages are preparing for war against us, and you want to waste our time on this?" His incredulity was evident, the gravity of the situation not lost on him.

"Not my time, your time," I corrected.

He cut the line with a decisive click. I didn't let his initial response deter me. I redialed his number again.

"Don't be so grumpy," I said cheerfully when he answered, my smile evident in my voice despite his grumbling. "I promise you won't regret this."

"You haven't convinced me yet," Rolo's voice was still skeptical.

"How about a very special and rare magic?" I offered, my tone coaxing.

"And how does that fit into ruining a restaurant's reputation?" he questioned, his interest piqued but still wary.

"Have you ever seen tattoos with magical runes?" I asked, letting the intrigue hang in the air.

That question seemed to shift Rolo's mood completely, his protests fading away as curiosity took over.

"Fine, fine," he relented, sounding more intrigued than irritated. "But if this is a waste of time…"

"Call Mose, too," I hung up.

(...)

When I arrived home, Rolo and Mose were already waiting for me. We didn't linger for long; soon we were heading out to Hird.

As we approached the seemingly ordinary house, Rolo and Moses exchanged glances but kept their questions to themselves. I pushed open the door without knocking and made a beeline for the kitchen. Laughter spilled into the hallway even before we entered.

Inside, the kitchen was abuzz with the Behemoth's crew: Purple Hair perched casually on the counter, spooning a honey-colored, reddish mass from a glass. Red Hair was in animated conversation with Green Hair, their laughter echoing through the room. Blue Hair was seated at the kitchen table with the alcoholic apprentice mage, who was surrounded by an array of tiny bottles filled with strange, magical-smelling paints. The apprentice mage held a brush-like instrument, its sharp end glittering with arcane energy.

"Hello," greeted the apprentice mage with a friendly smile.

"Oh, Your Majesty!" One of the punks exclaimed with an enthusiasm that bordered on overwhelming.

"Hello," I replied curtly, turning to Rolo and Mose. "First, the work, then the sightseeing."

Moses sprang into action as if caught off guard, while Rolo raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I sent you a link," I explained. "I'd like you to leave a hundred or so negative reviews."

Rolo's surprise was palpable.

"Guys, help Mose out," I instructed the punks, steering Rolo and Moses into another room. "You're particularly good at this."

The punks leaped to action with unchanging enthusiasm, leaving only Blue Hair and the apprentice behind. I took a vacant seat at the table, observing with mild boredom as the mage worked on Blue Hair's hand. It was only then that I noticed the tiny, sharp needle at the end of the brush. I could feel the mage's magic pulsing through it as he worked, his swift, precise movements etching intricate lines and curves into Blue Hair's skin.

Blue Hair's sweater lay nearby, revealing a collection of strange, interlocking designs. His arm bore elaborate, arcane symbols, and a magical circle was etched onto his back. The newest tattoo looked like a greenish blob that stretched from his shoulders to the middle of his chest.

"What's this one going to be?" I asked.

"Poisonous touch," the mage replied between brushstrokes.

"Oh," I said, intrigued.

During my encounters with the Behemoth, I had witnessed firsthand the power of these magical tattoos. Though they could only be used once, they were capable of shifting the tide of a battle. Some punks could summon fire into their hands, enhance their speed, or increase their strength. I found tool tattoos particularly fascinating—like the one on Blue Hair's wrist, which resembled a small blade. Although the users lacked magical affinity, these tattoos allowed them to cast real spells temporarily.

The apprentice soon finished, and Blue Hair grabbed his sweater, stepping out of the kitchen. The apprentice mage sighed, wiping away imaginary sweat from his forehead, and flashed me a goofy grin.

"I didn't know you were interested in magical tattoos," he said.

"I'm not," I replied.

"Oh," he said, his azure eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Mose is into rune magic," I added, noting the sudden understanding in the mage's eyes. "And Rolo is interested, too."

The apprentice's interest was piqued as he hummed thoughtfully. Red Hair arrived next, removing his shirt and taking a seat. The apprentice mage immediately set to work.

Red Hair's hand was covered by a jet-black sword tattoo. The hilt adorned his shoulder, the blade stretched across his upper arm and forearm, and the point reached halfway down his hand. Above his heart, a small design resembling a shield was inked, and a light blue mark encircled his neck like a collar. Red Hair's dark skin contrasted sharply with the vivid new tattoo. His scowl suggested the magic infusion was not entirely painless.

"What's this one?" I asked.

"Enhancement," the mage replied patiently.

Given Red Hair's proud reaction, I suspected the spell would have a dramatic effect. I sighed and began examining the array of colorful jars on the table. One reddish jar radiated an intense warmth as if liquid lava had been sealed inside, emitting a smoky, acrid scent. Another dark blue jar was chilling to the touch, coating my finger with a visible layer of ice as soon as I touched it. I withdrew my hand, and the apprentice wizard chuckled at my less-than-amused expression.

"The jars contain magical ink," he explained. "Elemental magic is particularly strong in these, so I wouldn't touch them if I were you."

I nodded in understanding and excused myself, heading out to check on the progress of Rolo and Moses. I paused behind Green Hair, who was furiously typing on his phone with a wicked grin:

One star.

[The restaurant's playlist was so annoying, I think I'm now allergic to the sound of saxophones.]

I raised an eyebrow and pulled out my own phone, glancing at the other comments.

One star.

[My waiter had the personality of a soggy napkin. I will never come here again!]

One star.

[I waited three hours for my food! THREE HOURS!]

One star.

[The meat tasted like it had been dipped in the toilet. No, thanks.]

One star.

[My salad was so wilted, I thought it was a new species of seaweed.]

Wow, Mose, nice one! I was sure from this tiny group Mose was the only one who appreciated salads.

One star.

[I asked for a table by the window, but the only view was of the dumpster. Thanks for the ambiance.]

One star.

[I am not satisfied with the quality of the food.]

One star.

[I am not satisfied with the service. The waiter never once smiled at me.]

I kept scrolling, curious to see how creative people could get with their complaints.

One star.

[The décor was so outdated it gave me a headache.]

One star.

[The chef must have been having a bad day; my pasta tasted like disappointment.]

One star.

[The only thing worse than the food was the awkward small talk with the waiter.]

One star.

[The menu was so confusing, I ended up ordering dessert for my main course.]

One star.

[The portions were so small, I had to use a magnifying glass to find my meal.]

One star.

[My soup was so cold, I thought it was supposed to be a sorbet.]

One star.

[The lighting in the restaurant was so harsh, I felt like I was under interrogation.]

One star.

[The only thing hotter than my coffee was the argument I had with the waiter about it.]

One star.

[I've never eaten here before.]

I chuckled at that one. It was probably the most provocatively mundane comment ever, and I guessed it had to be Rolo's work.

As I continued, I found some truly intriguing reviews. True gems.

One star.

[I tried to enjoy the meal, but the couple next to me had so much PDA I started taking notes on how to get a date.]

One star.

[The love songs playing in the background made me realize how single I am. They should play breakup songs for balance.]

One star.

[Why am I still single? Anyone, want to meet????]

I couldn't help but smile at that one.

One star.

[The dim lighting was supposed to be romantic, but it just made me look like a sad shadow of my former self.]

One star.

[My table was so close to the couple's, I ended up being the third wheel to their date. Awkward!]

One star.

[I asked for a table for one, and the waitress gave me a pitying look. Thanks for making me feel worse about my love life.]

One star.

[This restaurant is full of couples. They don't take into account the mental well-being of single people!]

One star.

[Why do couples get a discount???? And there are none for me???? This is discrimination! Discrimination against singles!]

One star.

[The only thing that was served hot was the tension between the couples around me.]

It seemed like one of the punks was having a serious love crisis.

One star.

[The boss lady is so ugly it makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe it's good that I'm single]

One star.

[The waitress wouldn't give me her number. Sighs. She wasn't even pretty.]

I scrolled through the latest reviews, my amusement growing with each comment. The lovesick ones were a highlight. With a final chuckle, I shook my head in amusement. The small group around me looked on expectantly, and I nodded in satisfaction.

"Alright, team. We've spread enough joy and heartache for one day. Let's wrap this up before anyone else needs a therapist or a date. Add twenty more and we are done for today."

Rolo stretched, then jumped up, and, having finished his work, began observing the apprentice mage. Moses gazed in awe at Red Hair's completed tattoo, his eyes wide with wonder as if he had never seen anything so fascinating. To my surprise, he even shyly asked one of the punks if he could touch the tattoo. The punks, puffed up with pride, eagerly agreed, and most of them quickly removed their sweaters so Moses could admire the colorful ink splattered across their bodies.

"This is amazing!" Mose exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Rolo began to inspect the tattoos, though with much more caution than Mose, keeping a respectful distance of about a meter. After examining the completed tattoos, they shifted their attention to the apprentice mage's practiced movements. Rolo watched intently, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, while Mose peppered the apprentice with questions.

"Does a mage need a specific type of magic to create these rune tattoos?" Mose asked.

The apprentice mage shook his head. "While creation magic is the most powerful, other types of magic can be used as well."

Moses nodded enthusiastically. "So runes and ink really are the essence of magic, aren't they?"

"Exactly," the young mage replied.

"Have you come with these runes?" Mose continued. "I recognized some, but not all. Is that your specialization?"

The apprentice mage looked a bit flustered by the question, but before he could answer, a velvety voice interjected with a hint of irritation.

"It's just a hobby," said the newcomer, the tone laced with resentment. "Although, it's true that he's more proficient with this so-called hobby than with his magic."

All eyes shifted to the newcomer. Violan's displeasure was evident, but even his grumpy demeanor was striking. It was hard to tell whether Violan was male or female at first glance. His figure was graceful, though hidden beneath a billowing, bluish-white cloak. Violan was of average height, and his voice, deeper than a woman's yet still melodic, matched his enigmatic presence. Long, wavy blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face as flawless as a painting. Despite appearing to be around eighteen or twenty, Violan's caramel-colored eyes held a timeless power and wisdom.

"Master," the apprentice mage greeted with a mix of reverence and awe.

Violan merely nodded, then crossed his arms and directed a rather intense gaze at me.

"What is this new look?" Violan asked, irritation evident in his voice.

I chuckled. "What? You don't like it?"

"No, I don't," Violan replied curtly, striding over to me. "Black suited you more."

With graceful steps, as if walking on clouds, Violan took my hand and ran his fingers over my nails, causing the polish to vanish instantly. I was certain my hair had reverted to its original color.

Violan then flashed a smile that could have made thousands swoon. The mage before me was Violan, the grandmaster of the pink-robed mages. Despite the nickname, most of Violan's followers wore long, bluish-white robes, similar to the Grandmaster's own attire. Violan's robes, however, were distinguished by tiny gems that sparkled like stars, and their dark blue and lighter blue hues gave the appearance of capturing the first light of dawn.

So, why the name "pink-robed mages"? Mages refer to them as such, though the term is a mere taunt. These spellcasters, despite their reputation, are admired for their magical creations and services. No, they don't sell their bodies; instead, they craft love potions, create lifelike illusions, and conjure unparalleled pleasure. Violan, the grandmaster of these mages, is revered as a god of love and is often hailed as one of the most beautiful beings.

"How are you, Vio?" I asked.

"Hmpf," Violan turned away, clearly offended. "You're still asking?"

"You know my master?" the apprentice mage asked in shock, realization dawning. "Oh, of course, you do."

Rolo raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"My master... really appreciates beauty," the apprentice mage explained.

Rolo seemed momentarily unsure of how to respond, then chose silence.

Violan sighed deeply, and his annoyance seemed to dissipate. "All right, all right," they said, patting my arm.

I chuckled, and Violan responded with one of his trademark wide grins.

"So, who are your friends?" Vio asked, immediately stepping in front of Rolo.

Rolo met Violan's gaze with an impassive calm that seemed almost unaffected by his renowned allure. Despite most people's hearts racing at the mere sight of Violan, Rolo remained unflinching, as if blind to the enchantment.

"Hmm, not bad," Violan said thoughtfully, "but not quite good enough."

Rolo seemed momentarily at a loss for words, but before he could respond, Violan had already moved on to Mose. Mose, blushing furiously, introduced himself with an awkward smile, unable to maintain eye contact with Violan's mesmerizing figure. Violan smiled slightly and affectionately patted the top of Mose's head.

"I'm sorry, little mage," Violan said cheerfully. "Clumsy lambs are not my type."

Mose's blush deepened, and he seemed on the verge of sinking into the floor with embarrassment. "I... er... no... er," he stammered.

"It's all right," Violan said with an angelic smile. "Everyone reacts to my appearance like that. Don't beat yourself up about it. Feel free to admire me."

Then Violan gave me a playful look. "Everyone loves me except for him."

I saw a flicker of understanding in the apprentice mage's eyes—a tiny sapphire spark that told me he was piecing things together.

"Shay... you..." he began, his voice trailing off.

I giggled, offering him the answer with a wide smile.