Moments after the "king" had been bested by the Mixel school children...
Far beneath the streets of Mixopolis, long before the concrete jungle had even been conceived, the Nixel's land had existed far below ground, with winding caverns and twisting tunnels. Unlike the homely feel of the ones dug by the Cragsters though, the rocks had long since been doused in black and white, without the sparkle of gems or gold anywhere. Stalactites hung menacingly from the ceiling, while stalagmites jutted up from the ground, giving the illusion of razor sharp teeth or claws around every corner.
Beyond the main planning and gathering area, looked over by an enormous screen, there was a door marked by a black and white crown, locked from the inside. Leading up to the throne was a strip of black carpeting, lined on either side by stalagmites. The throne itself was a deep, void-like black that seemed to draw in any light that came in contact with it. Its design was completely geometric, and lacking in any decorative flourishes. It simply existed to serve its purpose.
It was still and quiet in the underground throne room where the King of Nixels could simply exist without being bothered by any Nixel or his Majors. The throne's occupant was sitting still as a statue, his eyes closed in concentration, though, he soon began to twitch in irritation.
A sudden hissing noise sounded out, like steacon being tossed on a hot pan, and the eyes of this being snapped open as a blood curdling scream ripped through the underground, echoing for miles. He threw himself from the throne, not caring to uphold any shred of dignity to any potential onlooker.
He fell to the floor, holding the right side of his face, and writhing in pain as he tried to find some kind of relief for his burning skin or agonized eye. He'd let out a cry or scream every once in a while, waiting for it to pass.
It felt like hours until he could rise from the floor again, the wounds still weeping from the burns. Placing one clawed hand on the throne, he pushed himself from the stone ground, and glanced into the perfectly polished reflection on the backrest of his throne.
Looking into the mirror-like surface, he was appalled.
The damage itself was terrible, but paled in comparison to the injury inflicted on his right eye. Even with his lids open as wide as day, he came to the realization that his eye had been permanently damaged, and it was completely inoperable on that side. His face twisted painfully into a livid glare, showcasing every curved fang in his mouth.
Another sound tore through the underground. This one a roar of unbridled fury.
After the tail end of the echoes died off, they were replaced by ragged breathes, and all the King could think of was one question:
What in my name has that stupid little puppet done?!
YOU ARE READING
Mixels: Descendants (Prologue)
FanfictionMixopolis was finally at peace, the Nixels were no longer a threat, every Mixel was content. Until a few months after the celebration of the Nixel's defeat, something begins to disrupt the lives of some of the Tribal Leaders and their siblings... So...
