Roz

Aftermath

In the heart of Algearim, the infernal realm that stood as the throne world of Zarther, the grand throne room was a majestic yet intimidating sight. Red and gold tapestries adorned the walls, their intricate patterns illuminated by the flickering flames of enchanted torches. The throne itself was a dark, imposing structure, carved from obsidian and adorned with glowing runes that pulsed with a sinister energy.

Zarther, draped in regal robes, sat upon the throne, his gaze fixed on the shadowed figure that knelt before him. The figure, a demon with an almost predatory grin, awaited the latest news.

A messenger demon entered the chamber, its wings folded tightly against its back. It approached Zarther with a bow, its eyes gleaming with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation.

"Speak," Zarther commanded, his voice echoing with an authority that demanded immediate attention.

The messenger demon cleared its throat. "My lord, the situation has taken an unexpected turn. Roz, has indeed killed Mizzonith. It appears Ezequiel might also be dead, though there is no confirmation as of yet."

A dark scowl crept across Zarther's face, a blend of annoyance and intrigue. "Mizzonith's failure is a setback, but an opportunity nonetheless. Ezequiel's potential death is troubling, but it opens a path for us to explore."

Zarther raised his hand, summoning a larger, more menacing demon from the shadows. The figure emerged, its presence exuding a palpable sense of dread. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and it grinned with an unsettling calm.

"Bring forth the Roz," Zarther instructed. "It's time to see what other pieces can be moved on this board."

The grinning demon bowed low, its eyes fixed on Zarther with a mixture of fear and eagerness. The throne room fell silent as plans began to form in the mind of the dark lord, each movement calculated to exploit the chaos that now reigned.

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Roz shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the brick wall of the building. The city was quieter now, almost too quiet. He stared at his hands, still trying to process everything that had happened. His voice was a murmur, barely above a whisper. "So.. what now?"

Ezequiel glanced at Roz, his expression unreadable. "I need to confront him. My uncle. Zarthar owes us the truth."

Roz's gaze didn't leave his hands. "You really think he'll just tell you? He's been keeping us in the dark for a reason."

Ezequiel's wings twitched, a sign of his agitation. "I have to know, Roz. I can't keep following orders without understanding what's really going on. Not after... not after what we've learned."

A heavy silence settled between them. Roz finally looked up, his eyes meeting Ezequiel's. "I get it. But you don't have to do this alone."

Ezequiel hesitated, then shook his head. "No, Roz. You've been through enough. Besides, I need to do this myself. Zarthar's been playing us both. It's time someone stood up to him."

Roz frowned, his mind racing. He felt a strange mix of emotions—anger, fear, and a growing sense of determination. "We're stronger together. Whatever Zarthar's been planning, we can face it. But splitting up... that's what he wants."

Ezequiel looked away, the weight of Roz's words sinking in. After a moment, he sighed. "You might be right. But if things go south, I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."

Roz stepped closer, placing a hand on Ezequiel's shoulder. "We're in this together, whether you like it or not."

Ezequiel met Roz's gaze, and for a moment, the tension eased. They were brothers, even if the truth had been kept from them. The bond between them was undeniable. Ezequiel finally nodded, accepting the reality of their situation. "Alright. We face him together."

A faint noise broke the moment—Jake's voice, calling from inside the apartment. Roz and Ezequiel exchanged a quick glance, both understanding that the peace they had found was temporary. But for now, it was enough. They would face whatever came next as a team.