The Lords against DJ

DJ in the Reward

The aura he carried was always daunting, with a fierce command in every step and an assertive demeanour that challenged stubborn souls. Only a look from him made people submit, bow in respect, and sing his praise for he was the ultimate Sire.... Lord of the empire, Yael Doukas claimed as his. However, reality was far different from what Sire wanted it to be. The empire he deemed fit for his ability was rightfully owned by Lord Yael, ruled by the ruthless man towards new heights and perfectly managed under the powerful control which made sire and his companions writhe in discomfort.

Consequently, Yael emerged as a wild competition in the field of supreme power, detested at all costs for his unrelenting behaviour and challenging to the villains of his life. Nevertheless, Sire wasn't ready to admit defeat, nor were his people.

Supporting an ugly frown on his face, pissed at the urgent call for a meeting yet indifferent to the matter, Horace seemed worried over the phone. Sire marched his way through the corridors of the silent building....another contributor to the conspiracies against Yael. He banged open the door of the main meeting room, simultaneous to the rowdy thunder outside, and barged in... carrying along the spoiled mood and ticking temper.

Horace jumped on his seat, eyes wide and mouth agape, for the sudden bang startled him out of his soul. He watched as Sire graced the otherwise intense room with his presence, glanced at the third member of their small group pondering in the corner by the luxurious fireplace, before he focused on Horace for a very needed explanation.

"What's the matter Horace, you called me for something urgent, I hope?" the older asked, a composed look on his face paired with eyes exasperated to their core. Horace nodded tiredly, closing the distance between the two, and offered a glass of liquor to Sire.

"Chevy is restless Sire..." Horace began, breathing exhaustingly, "He has been calling me nonstop, insisting on meeting you as soon as possible, he explained briefly while Sire listened attentively and Cillian rolled his eyes.

"Incident in the club has taken a strange effect on him." Horace added in the detail "He wants to kill the boy of Yael... since apparently, that detective is far more than he appears", he quoted what Chevy had told him over their heated encounter earlier. Sire, though, waved a dismissive hand in the air and walked to the chair near Cillian, he placed the glass aside and sat on the cushiony seat majestically and looked at Horace as if not impressed by the purpose of the meeting.

"That's just his wounded ego barking, Horace. The boy he had to face defeat from has become his obsession, nothing else," he commented disgustingly, "Chevy is a man useful for merciless killing and inhaling money... all he can do is pester and waste my time." Sire concluded as he leaned back on the chair. Horace waited for a doable solution, one that could stop his misery of dealing with the gangster of Malia, while Cillian gulped the remaining of his drink.

"Tell him to leave for Malia tonight..." The older directed, eyes shut and posture relaxed, "Advise him to stay low and don't attract any problems. Yael and that boy are flailing for opportunity, and if Chevy got caught....then half of our efforts will be ruined, he said, apprehension dripping from his words.

"Of course sire, I will handle it right now" Horace bowed, understanding the assignment, as he pulled out his phone to dial the gangster.

"Also, Horace..." Sire's voice interrupted Horace's act and the man turned to face the older "Spread around a picture of that detective as well, advertise him as wanted and make sure the issue is conducted through the owner of Havana. I want to see the reaction of that mighty Lord of Pyro, he instructed thoughtfully, eyes now open and staring in distance.

Horace nodded, disturbed by the plan, and sauntered towards the corner of the room with his phone. After he left, Sire's attention shifted to the lonely friend of his and frowned at the worrisome expression of Cillian. The older couldn't find in himself not to address the other's problem as he leaned on the table and called Cillian in a friendly manner.