The light and shadow (eminence in shadow)

chapter 7

The grand office, usually a symbol of Doem’s power, now seems suffocating. Doem, dressed in his red noble suit, stood at the center, his long brown hair tied in a ponytail, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes burned with fury and confusion as he faced the mysterious intruder in golden armor—a man who had appeared out of nowhere. Soren, cloaked in a white hood, stared at him with cold, calculating eyes.

“Who are you? Why have you come here?” Doem shouted, his voice filled with indignation. “You dare challenge me in my own domain?”

Soren tilted his head slightly, amused by Doem’s anger. “You talk too much for someone so vulnerable.” His blade flicked in a lazy arc, parrying Doem’s wild swing effortlessly. “Your form is atrocious.”

Doem growled, launching a series of powerful strikes, each more desperate than the last. But Soren dodged them with almost playful ease. “You lack balance. Heavy on your feet—an amateur mistake.”

“Shut up!” Doem spat, fury rising in his chest. “Who are you to lecture me?”

Soren’s expression remained unchanged, his cold gaze piercing through Doem’s frustration. "Someone who has no patience for the likes of you." He dodged another strike, stepping closer to Doem, making their faces nearly level. "But I have my reasons for toying with you."

Doem’s breath hitched, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion. “What… do you want?”

Soren’s eyes darkened. “Information. The Cult of Diablo. Your plans to resurrect Diablos, to improve the Tears of Diablos—all of it.”

Doem faltered for a moment, his eyes widening in realization. “how do you know such information…!” He swung his sword again in desperation, but it was easily deflected.

Soren’s cold smile widened. “So you do understand. Yes, let's say the ex-queen is a little bit talkative once desperation kicks in.” His voice turned sharper, filled with disdain. “You thought you could eliminate the royal family and take control of the kingdom with your little cult. How pathetic.”

Doem stumbled back, his chest heaving with a mix of fear and rage. “You… bastard!”

Soren advanced, his movements precise and unnervingly calm. “You’re the bastard here, Doem. You don’t even realize how outmatched you are.”

He lashed out with a series of light-infused strikes, so fast that Doem couldn’t even see them. Each blow landed, not to kill, but to torment. Doem’s sword clattered to the floor, and he dropped to his knees, helpless.

Soren towered over him, no sympathy in his cold gaze. “I was never here to fight you seriously. You’re not even worth that. You were just a distraction.”

Doem, gasping for breath, glared up at him. “You… think you’ve won?”

Soren’s smile faded, his expression hardening. “I’ve already won.” He crouched down, bringing his face close to Doem’s. “Now, tell me everything about the Cult of Diablo. Or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be.”

The office, once filled with Doem’s bravado, was now suffocating with fear as Soren’s dominance left no room for doubt. The king’s son had come not just to defeat, but to extract what he needed with cold precision.

Truth be told, Soren wasn't having any of it. The years of damage this cult had inflicted on his family, all without him realizing, gnawed at his patience. He wanted nothing more than to end it all quickly, to be done with their schemes. But first, he needed answers. After all, you don't fight a war without ammunition.His gaze fell coldly on Doem, now on his knees, struggling for breath. Psychological warfare truly was a potent weapon, especially when wielded correctly.Without a word, Soren crouched to Doem’s level, grabbing the man’s index finger. With one swift motion, he bent it at an unnatural angle. A sickening crack echoed through the room. "AAAAHHH!!"