Chapter 16—The Traitor's Thirst

"He is alive." With beguiling eyes, Daemizio's suspicion was confirmed. He was indeed alive. "What of his condition? "

Daemizio asked, curiosity laced his voice. "He looks alive, a healthy one actually." Caelun said, his eyes reminiscing of his previous encounter with Sera. That vicious woman. "He was accompanied by someone," Daemizio slightly turned his head in query.

"Her—the beast." Daemizio's wide-eyed gaze held a hint of intrigue. Suddenly, his laughter resonated deep within the Underground hub. Mysterious figures averted their eyes, while others stared fiercely, silently asserting their strength. "Well, this is interesting," Daemizio continued. "May their fate be tangled and twisted until they writhe in pain from the truth they'll learn." His words seemed to emanate from a different self—an otherworldly possession.

"I'll need the spheres," Daemizio said, his smirk hidden beneath a cloak. "Kill him as soon as you can. As for the beast, I'll send them all. They can match that woman; take advantage when she's distracted."

Caelun exhaled a smoke that engulfed his body, and then he vanished.

Daemizio, found himself in the dimly lit confines of the underground hub. The air hung heavy with the scent of alcohol, and the low hum of conversation reverberated off the rough stone walls. Daemizio's presence was inconspicuous, his princely attire hidden beneath a tattered cloak. But it was the crimson glow emanating from the sword strapped to his belt that set him apart.

The mercenaries and assassins who frequented this shadowy establishment sensed danger. Their hands instinctively tightened around hilts and grips, eyes narrowing as they assessed the stranger. Daemizio, half-shrouded by his hood, lifted his head from the counter. His face remained partially obscured, but his voice carried across the room.

"I've brought no harm, my friends," he declared, his tone calm yet commanding. The tension in the air was palpable; the patrons were not convinced. What kind of friend accompanied a lone traveler into such perilous territory?

As if in response, Daemizio's hand moved toward the concealed sword. The blade slid free, its edge catching the dim light. The room collectively held its breath. It wasn't just any sword—it pulsed with an ominous red hue, an aura that seemed to seep into the very air. Suddenly, the mercenaries understood: Daemizio's sword was no ordinary companion. It was the blade itself that commanded their respect and fear. As if it was sentient.

"But my friend thinks otherwise." Daemizio's voice cut through the tense air, and the room erupted into chaos. The assassins, mercenaries, and motley crowd surged forward, weapons drawn, their collective intent to eliminate this enigmatic stranger. Yet, Daemizio moved with an otherworldly grace, as if he had foreseen their every move.

Daggers aimed at his heart were deftly parried by the crimson blade. The assassin who had vanished reappeared, attempting a surprise attack from behind, but Daemizio spun, his cloak billowing, and met the assailant head-on. The arrow meant for his skull found a different mark, and Daemizio's grin widened. He was a dance of death, impossible to touch.

Sword, dagger, and arrow—all futile against him. The room pulsed with tension. The attackers synchronized their assault, a desperate gambit. But Daemizio's eyes remained locked on them, unyielding. He murmured an incantation, and suddenly, the ground held them captive. Petrified, they stood—feet rooted, hearts pounding—unable to flee or fight.

Then, in a macabre symphony, their heads rolled. Blood sprayed, pooling around Daemizio's boots. The once-thriving hub now bore witness to a massacre. His laughter echoed, devoid of mercy or guilt. Daemizio, the harbinger of doom, stood amidst the carnage, a force beyond reckoning.

Daemizio, a figure both feared and revered, stumbled into his hidden chamber, the weight of the recent bloodshed clinging to him. His boots left crimson footprints on the cold stone floor. The room, once occupied by King Datura, now served as Daemizio's sanctuary—a place where secrets whispered and shadows danced.

His rage erupted like a tempest. "That was a fucking mess! How could you lose control and kill everyone?" Daemizio's voice echoed off the walls as he hurled his sword to the ground. The blade, its edge still wet with lifeblood, clattered against the stones.

The sword, a sentient entity, responded in a raspy, abyssal tone. "Hunger. I've longed to taste bloodshed once again, boy." Its memories stirred, conjuring images of battlefields, war cries, and the intoxicating scent of spilled life. "Those were the days I missed."

Daemizio's pacing intensified. "You don't get to do that again. I cannot risk my reputation like that." His anger clashed with the sword's primal urges. The hooligans he'd dispatched were mere pawns, but their deaths had consequences. Bounties would soon be placed on his head, and Daemizio couldn't afford such attention.

The room held more than bloodstains. Papers littered his work desk—economy reports from Adri. The numbers, inexplicably positive, hinted at prosperity. "No one can take the crown away from me," Daemizio declared, his eyes aflame. The sword, its menacing energy palpable, laughed—a sound that chilled the marrow in his bones.

"Feed your greed, boy. Satiate your thirst for this crown!" The sword's words dripped with malevolence.

"And if you're ambitious enough, aim for the higher ground. Your greed might even grant you the emperor's seat." The emperor's throne—an audacious thought. Daemizio's laughter echoed, a blend of madness and determination. "Indeed, then I must get rid of Lucas as soon as possible." The path to power was paved with treachery, and Daemizio would tread it without hesitation.

His crimson blade lay discarded on the stone floor, its malevolence still echoing in the room. But it was the sentient sword that whispered in his mind, a voice as ancient as time itself.

"That umbra boy alone can't handle him, can he?" The sword's words slithered through Daemizio's consciousness. "My men can deal with him if he fails, but I still need him for something."Daemizio's fingers traced the hidden string beneath his desk, and the door yielded to a soft knock. "Come."

The man who entered bore the mark of shadows—the jet-black eyes, the red mane cascading down his back. His regal attire belied the clawed hands concealed behind his back. "Your majesty, you've summoned me. What can I do for you?" His voice held no warmth, no humanity. Daemizio's gaze pierced the man. "I know you've longed to kill the beast." The mere mention of the creature made the man's ears twitch, but he maintained his composure. "Indeed, your majesty."

"They're last seen in Valadri right now."

"Find it, and don't hesitate to kill it."The room held its breath. Daemizio's reputation hung in the balance. The beast was a menace, but its demise would come at a cost. Yet, Daemizio had another motive—an intuition that clawed at his mind like a raven seeking entry.

"Keep an eye on Caelun as well, I'm certain he might be hiding something from me." Daemizio's words hung in the air, a veiled threat that echoed through the dimly lit chamber. The shadows shifted, conspiring secrets. Caelun, the trusted confidant, moved silently—his intentions veiled, his loyalties uncertain.