Boring. Tiresome. Annoying.
Those are the only words I can think of every day I sit on this cold, stony throne. Of course I could very easily change these conditions at a moments notice if I so wish but I do have to keep a strong image.
Today is the annual check-up on this World. My World. Go to the meeting room, speak with the Lords I chose to watch over it and keep in check. If they do a horrible job, I won't hesitate to kill them.
Then, check on the camps, see how many of those creature's I have killed already.
If they mess up their job, that proves weakness of Aezane, weakness of me for choosing them as a person I "trust" to work for me.
I don't really trust them, not one bit, but they are strong. And they seem loyal enough.
That pest of a Grandson, Cyril also hasn't been causing any more troubles.
Well, after taking his little family of two away, he hasn't seemed defiant at all and has actually been doing good.
Still, cursing him is probably one of my only and biggest mistakes. Though he seems to be behaving well, he remains a thorn in my side.
I'm sure I broke him enough not to try and overtake me again, he's been playing nice for the past five centuries now, so I doubt there is anything to worry about.
Now, what is this pest in front of me speaking about?
❝We have made strong advancements into amaralian territory, and taken five-hundred-and-eight new prisoners for questioning and extermination. Noteworthy names are: Illusta May Cabron, Elluise Tybur Sanchez,❞
I don't care about these people. They aren't worth my time, my presence. Besides, how incompetent do these people have to be in order to not be able to do these things on their own. Take it up with your Overseeing Lord, rather than me.
Leaning forward and grasping my chair, I let those swirls of darkness run loose, let my power take over the room.
The small man in front of me immediately went quiet.
Holding your breath, are you?
Some people have said that my power felt suffocating and will-bending. Good.
As I stand from my throne, the small-fry in the room get down on their knees. Except for one.
Only bending a single knee, how unacceptable. He feels no need to fully submit himself to me, does he?
One crack. Another. And another.
He screamed for a short second, yet caught his own breath and voice whenever I let my magic run wild, breaking his fingers, bending them into shapes that shouldn't be possible.
❝I'm sure you know what you did wrong?❞
He does. Getting down on both knees and planting that disgusting face into the dirt beneath my feet.
❝You will not get that healed. You will let it naturally heal until it stays in that shape. Only then will you get a healer, who will not take away the pain. If you do, I will be seeing you myself personally again. Have I made myself clear?❞
The answer I expected was exactly what I got. That title. A title that should be used to address me by everyone in this Universe. The Cycles as well.
❝Yes, my Lord.❞
Fortunately for me, he was the last report that I would get today by these common-folk.
Whisking away into my own personal quarters, the first thing I saw was my reflection.
I looked at a man, in around his middle 20's. Short, wavy black hair with a single strand of gray. Not one of age, simply one I had to get as a trade for what I am today.
YOU ARE READING
Tales of The Nightborne: The Reign Of Ashes
FantasyCYRIL IS A WARRIOR He has lived many lives, mastering the art of survival and war. But like all who have faced his grandfather's ruthless reign, he dreads the shadow of his past. Cyril will soon learn that reclaiming his future will come with untold...
