Obsidian's Reign ¹

∷ Chapter 15 ∷

THE UNDERWORLD, THOUGH divided into three distinctive levels, was the same all around—shrouded in darkness and covered with a thick miasma that seemed to add to the almost suffocating atmosphere. Little to no light penetrated the recesses of the cavern-like realm, with visibility lessening the deeper one ventured.

Contrary to vast speculations, the Underworld was unbearably cold. It was a desolate place that reeked of melancholy and malaise at every corner. The demons who were damned to live for all eternity in the Underworld grew just as despondent as the place itself; thriving only on the little excitement and the rush of adrenaline violence and the like brought them.

It was for this reason that the Lower Level—where the majority of the demon population lived—were largely avoided by those who had no business going there. The weaker the demon, the more prone they were to the Underworld's effects and the consequences that came with it. They could neither live with the dark energy nor without it, a contradictory cycle that would see no way of ending.

Atop the outcropping of boulders lining the Higher Level, stood the heart of the Underworld—Farrador Fortress. It was built upon the highest and most strategic point in the realm, overlooking the Underworld in its entirety. The fortified castle was made to withstand any and all attacks from the dwellings below, should a coup of any kind occur at any point during the royal family's reign. The high walls prevented anyone from scaling them, their widths too thick to carve through.

But the castle's components were not the only thing keeping its occupants safe, for surrounding the fortress was a moat filled with molten magma; the spurts of burning lava scaring away any who dared venture too close.

As it stands, the only way for the average demon to gain entry into Farrador Fortress was to cross the moat with the help of a drawbridge, one that was bolted shut and hardly ever used. Those who were unfortunate enough to be in service to the crown never left the castle once they stepped foot within, doomed to a life of servitude until they were disposed of.

None were ever permitted an audience with the king, and any contact with the royal family was prohibited, or strictly kept to a minimum. Only the king's trusted advisors and his personal attendants were allowed to speak to him—with those deemed as untrustworthy immediately rid of.

The Averos were the family that had occupied Farrador Fortress for centuries. They were a family of strong-willed and tenacious demons who were gifted with exceptional powers; powers that gave them an upper hand in securing their position and instilling fear in the hearts of those who dwelled in the Underworld.

Through the years, the Averos remained unchallenged for the throne, though repeated attempts for the crown had cost the lives of many in the family until only one remained—the king.

The king in question, Carolus Avero, sighed as he surveyed the lands he ruled over, unease blooming in his chest the longer he looked at the grounds beyond. Yet again, the fatigue he felt at being the reigning monarch nipped and gnawed at his being. Despite looking as though he could not be more than thirty years of age, he was, in actuality, much older, and as the days stretched on before him, he was certainly starting to feel his years creeping upon him.

A listless sigh escaped his lips.

"Your Majesty, is anything the matter?"

The voice was accompanied by a shift in the surrounding darkness as the shadows seemingly parted to reveal the king's closest companion and chief advisor, Lucan. The latter's arrival urged the king to move away from his position by the window and proceed to settle himself on the throne to address the newcomer.

"It is nothing for you to worry about," he said. "I was just . . . thinking."

"Might I enquire as to what has you so preoccupied in your thoughts?" Lucan asked, noting the discomfort evident on the king's face.