Algernon Black

(Chapter 90) God's Aren't Born, They Rise

"So you finally got a decent artifact user in your control," Loy said to Trist once they were sitting down for the celebration dinner that happened later in the same evening as his coliseum battle. It was as lavishly decorated and stocked as the orgy but thankfully not held in the same room.

"Cyril is quite impressive." The king remarked, though still upset with his loss, Trist still had no one better to replace him with at the moment.

"To say the least," Loy added, swirling around his wine and seeing how some specs remained on the glass when the liquid settled to the bottom. "Another two or three years and he'd master it." The prince said but hoped he wouldn't. Cyril hadn't even unlocked his weapon's ability yet, and doing so might make him much more than just an impressive warrior, it might make him an actual threat.

"By that time he'd be too old too," Trist noted, taking sips of his green nectar of the gods. "We have plenty of prospects to inherit once he's proven himself unworthy. Our army is constantly recruiting and training the best soldiers amongst us."

"Of course," Loy said. "And those that aren't up to par will still be put to good use when you wage war against Emora."

Trist's back straightened and the king panic proved Loy's budding theory.

"Don't worry, Trist," Loy said brining his glass of wine to his lips. "I have no desire to intervene, or involve Etilia with any type of war."

"But you can't," Trist whispered urgently. "With all the rumors I'm hearing we need all the artifacts banded together to defeat this boy." The king's eyes locked on Loy, with a seriousness he had not seen yet in the young monarch. "He has already mastered his artifact to the point that even his own country fears his powers, saying it's unnatural how strong he is for just a human," Trist ranted, recalling every unsettling detail he had heard in recent years. "They say he wasn't even born a man, but born a god."

"Gods aren't born." Loy shot back, glaring at the boy king with hardened eyes, "They rise."

The king paused and smiled to himself seeing Loy wipe a drop of wine from overspill on his lip.

"Well said," Trist replied. "But does one not have to die before they can rise?"

Loy put down his glass to watch Selice from across the room prevent Beal and Cal from making a mountain of food so high it toppled over their plates. He started to clear his throat and Trist's wicked grin widened.

"I'd prefer to kill him while he's still human," Trist said, looking down at Loy's necklace and giving no mind to the rattling choking noises. "I don't know if that's possible with just one artifact, but I know its much more likely with two."

Selice heard the commotion, and looked to the king who flaunted a very twisted smile. She started to approach the table when Loy grabbed at his throat.

"Sorry, Loy," Trist unapologetically lamented, as his old friend continued to vigorously clear his throat. "But you were never really going to do much with your weapon anyways." Trist reached a veiny hand towards Loy's artifact. "I'll make sure to put it to much better use." The king said, hooking a bony finger around the chain. "After all," He added, recalling the only teaching of his father that had stuck, "Kings are only kings when they are the best killers of them all."

Loy coughed and grabbed onto Trist's small fingers before they could tug on his necklace. "I couldn't agree more." Loy perfectly annunciated as he stood. "That's why it's important to do all the killing yourself." Trist flinched back, his chair falling over as the prince approached him with lethal anger building behind a controlled exterior. "Instead of letting others fail for you." Loy lambasted, picking up the young king by his neck with one hand.