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Amraphael Zinvi II hummed absentmindedly, the clacks of his boots against the marble floor filling the grand hallway surrounding him. He casually glanced out one of the many wide windows overlooking the courtyard, his silver gaze scanning over the guards standing post around the castle walls.
Lush fields of various crops covered the landscape, everything enclosed within a perimeter of tall Never Trees.
Zinvi spotted the Golaytian flag flapping in the wind on one of the tall towers nearby, the golden pegasus outline within the center gleaming in the sunlight with every ripple.
Taking over this country was too easy.
Only Zinvi and a select few from his Demonic Hybrid army knew about Lord Pontiff masquerading as the King of Golaytia.
Demonic Magic is so efficient with switching skins.
The Zilvalian placed his hands into his coat pockets, grinning to himself.
It's almost time to sacrifice those children and open the portal to the Demonic Dimension. We need more serums to keep creating Hybrids that'll obey our commands.
Just as Amraphael continued walking again, he spotted something in the corner of his eyes. A figure stood reflected in the glass of the window, their finger pointed at him accusingly.
When Zinvi swiveled his head to properly take a look, there was nothing there.
That's peculiar...
Zinvi waltzed down the hall and took a sharp right turn, pushing his way through double wooden doors leading into his bedroom. The large open space was neat and orderly, just the way he liked it.
I probably just need to lie down for a bit.
His king-sized bed had golden curtains surrounding it, slightly parted to the sides for easy access. The polished furniture stood lined up against the walls, leaving the floor clean and clutter free. Sunbeams seeped in through the closed curtains, leaving just enough light for Zinvi to see where he was going.
There's too much dust in here, the Zilvalian thought as he squinted at the pools of light illuminating the air. I'll get a maid to clean this up after my afternoon nap.
Amraphael crawled into his pillowy fortress, closed the curtains around him, and sank into the soft mattress and blankets.
My duplicates never returned from Lord Pontiff's Castle...
Zinvi rolled onto his side, attempting to get comfortable as he shoved all thoughts of fighting Soraya and Jonathan away. It was odd thinking about Tishva's daughter. Every time he pictured her he saw a little kid raising her arms up so he'd hold her. Even the desire to protect Soraya would creep into his blood, flooding his veins with a sickening sense of love and adoration.
