Target to a Demon

Prologue

A brilliant white flash of lightning illuminated the dark room, roaring thunder following soon after. The raven haired male tightened his fists at his sides, a grin spreading upon his almost perfect lips as his blood red eyes peered onto the sight before him. His enemy lay on the ground, coughing up spurts of blood with his fists curled against the marble tile of the castle floor. The man watched in amusement as the fragile king turned pale, and his gaze averted to his soon-to-be-murderer.

"Phantos..." he spat, inhaling sharply through the pain. A wine glass lay shattered next to him, wine spilled all over the white floor. The poison would soon kick in and King Christopher would be at his demise.

The two kings had feuded for decades, and Phantos could admit he was the greater of the two evils.

But after all, everyone was a hero in their own story.

"What is it?" Phantos cooed, his low demonic voice almost soothing to Christopher's ringing ears. He knelt to the white-haired male as he continued to cough up blood. He struggled to stabilize himself onto his forearms, but Phantos simply kicked him back down and spoke through gritted teeth; "Cat got your tongue?"

Christopher grunted, falling back against the marble tile. He looked up to Phantos weakly, his eyebrows furrowed in spite. "Why d-did it have to c-come to this?" he stammered, biting his lip. "We c-could of had a t-treaty."

"I want your land, and that's one thing you would have never given up, my dear friend." Phantos grinned, fantasizing about the magic he would be able to milk from Christopher's land. Their countries bordered each other, separated by a magical barrier King Christopher had put up himself. Phantos had found a way to infiltrate it, carefully planning the death of his foe for months. Christopher'sland had a magical sense to it, more powerful than anything Phantoscould even begin to explain.

The dying king glared at the power-hungry man in front of him. Phantos could notice him growing weaker. He had been afraid the poison wouldn't work on a powerful being such as Christopher, but much to his luck, it had.

Thunder roared again as Christopher's breathing became jagged. Phantos heard him murmuring prayers into the floor between his deep breaths. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up. That shit doesn't work." his foot connected with Christopher's ribs, earning a sharp gasp.

Phantos made his way over to the door now, letting Christopher lay to die. He looked back over his shoulder, smiling at the man. "Say hi to Narcissa for me." he said, referring to Christopher's deceased wife. He passed through the door now, shutting it behind him. Thunder cracked once more, lightning illuminating the dark castle hall. His shadow loomed over himself, his demonic horns present on the shadow although unseen upon himself. He knew the servants were asleep, only to soon wake up to find the king dead in the morning.

He walked past the doors, his footsteps as silent as death itself. All of them stood closed except one that was cracked open about halfway. Phantos stopped in his tracks, raising a brow at the sight. "Hmm." he hummed, peering into the room.

Lightning lit up the room and there lay a sleeping figure in the bed. It was small and petite, far too petite to be any of the servants. Curiosity got the best of the demon although he hesitated, eventually walking in, squeezing through the cracked door. The rain was particularly louder in the room, and he came to realize the window was open. Water spilled onto the wooden floor, and Phantos scrunched up his perfect features, silently closing the window to create some sort of silence. He peered to the figure now, meeting the sleeping face of a young girl. Her skin was that of a porcelain doll, her hair long and black across her pillow. He noticed the tips of her hair were as white as snow itself. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, and with each clap of thunder, she winced.

A child. he thought.

Well, not a child. More of a teenager.

He crept down to her level, trying not to wake her. She couldn't have been any older than his own son, Matthias. He figured she was a year or two younger, or maybe he was just a mature seventeen-year-old.

Where did this child come from?

All of Christopher's children were grown, and Phantos knew that all too well. There was no explanation other than she was adopted, considering she looked nothing like his now dead enemy. He felt the flames of rage lick at his insides. How did this get past him? How did Christopher hide it so well?

He had an heir.

Phantos curled his fists at his sides. He couldn't take Christopher's throne when he had an heir. What was he going to do?

He had to kill her too.

Oh but it would be so obvious, now wouldn't it? But Phantos didn't know what powers she possessed, or what she even was. What if she woke up and exposed his presence? He had to think harder, had to delve deeper into his plan.

"God," he muttered under his breath. "Nothing ever wants to go my way."

The girl stirred at his words, humming words in her slumber. He smiled at her, his eyes wide in a sadistic manner. He looked over the girl with obsession, licking his lips. He pressed a strong pale hand to the side of her cheek, brushing back a black lock of hair. He looked to her nightstand which held a golden music box, and read the name 'Grecia.'

"Don't worry, Grecia," he whispered. "I'll be back for you soon enough my dear." his voice was like music, and her eyes shot open. But it didn't matter;

He was already gone.