Kian watched his beloved sleep peacefully as he brushed a strand of hair out of Malak’s closed eyes. It had been two days ever since he collapsed. During this time, Kian stayed by his side. He never left, even for food or water. However, guilt now weighed on him more than anything else.

“He’s here,” Ezrel softly said by the door.

Kian closed his eyes but nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll be there shortly.”

In the middle of the night, Kian rang a small bell on his bedside table without looking away. After a short moment, the maid appeared by the door. Although she didn’t make a sound, Kian sensed her presence.

“Take good care of him,” the king instructed, his voice carrying a slight warning.

With her chin lowered, the maid quickly bowed her upper body. She silently waited for her orders, but Kian had already forgotten about her presence. Despite wanting to stay by Malak's side until he awoke, he had to go. With great pain, he gradually let go of Malak’s hand. Leaving his side was even harder. Before leaving him to the maid's care, he glanced one last time at his sleeping husband on the doorstep of their bedroom.

As Kian walked down the stairs, he unleashed his power. Darkness leaked out of him in waves. Acting according to his will, his power enveloped his body from the neck down. By the time he reached the last step, the shadows had already disappeared. His old wrinkled clothing was replaced by a silk black tunic adorned with gold and silver, dark pants, and a pair of black boots reaching his knees.

“How was our guest?” Kian asked as he walked into the living room, where Ezrel was waiting for him.

The latter maliciously grinned. “Delightful.”

Kian chuckled at his subordinate’s answer. “He must be tired of waiting.”

ᕙ( ~ . ~ )ᕗ

In the dead of the night, Ezrel perched on top of a rooftop. He scanned the city from above. The street lights illuminated every corner of Acrilas creating the illusion of stars. And yet, the streets were empty. Due to the curfew, only the guards were permitted to roam the streets. With each step, their metal armour creaked, alerting the surrounding residents. Their presence was a hindrance to Ezrel’s mission, but he didn’t mind it. He was glad they were there. Otherwise, his assignment would be boring.

Looking up from the streets of Acrilas, Ezrel observed the Lord’s castle. It was easy for him to analyze the architecture of the fortress, even in the darkness of the night. It was as he expected. In the end, all the information he gathered over the years wasn't wasted.

In a flash, Ezrel swiftly jumped from rooftop to rooftop. His jet black clothes concealed his body, allowing him to move with confidence. Landing on an empty balcony of the castle, Ezrel quickly hugged the stone walls. Approaching the glass door, he peeked inside. The dimly lit room was void of life. Unsheathing his dagger, the balcony door opened effortlessly, and Ezrel smiled as he entered.

“Now, where are you?” Ezrel whispered mischievously.

Kidnapping Zakhar Zeytsev, the Lord of the city, was his mission. It was simple and would easily be completed with the use of his magic. But it wouldn’t be fun. Years of bottled-up anger and indignation bubbled in his chest. He needed to relieve some tension.

Ezrel detected the first sign of life and grinned evilly. Slowly walking toward him was a guard. He was heavily equipped, but his heart wasn’t committed to the task. Ezrel patiently waited until the sentry walked near him. Swiftly, he grabbed the unsuspecting man by the neck. Surprised by the attack, he couldn’t fight back.

“Scream, and it’ll be my pleasure to shut you up forever,” Ezrel drawled as his red eyes gleamed dangerously in the dark. In a warning gesture, he tightened the pressure around his victim's neck.

The guard tried to answer, but only a whimper escaped his throat. Ezrel revelled at the sound. He could sense the man's distress as his eyes were fixed on the dagger, which was dangerously close to his heart.

“How many guards are there?” Ezrel asked softly before relaxing his grip on his victim’s throat.

“F-fifty,” he whimpered. “Please don’t k-”

Ezrel violently stabbed his dagger into the stone wall behind the frightened sentry. The weapon barely missed him, as a drop of blood trickled down his cheek. Around them, the clang of the dagger still resounded.

Ezrel shushed him as red tendrils of his power leaked out impatiently. “Just answer my questions.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he whimpered as he peed in his pants.

Unbothered by the smell of ammonia, Ezrel pulled his dagger out from the wall. Cold and unforgiving steel caressed the sentry's cheek while smearing his blood all over.

“I can forgive you, but you have to tell me where your Lord is.” The guard opened his mouth, but Ezrel tightened his grip around his neck. Seeing the soldier gasp for air and claw at Ezrel's arm, he watched the colour drain from his face. “Think before you answer. I don’t like liars,” he warned, carefully observing his enemy to avoid killing him by mistake.

As he released his grasp, the sentry coughed as he took a deep breath. “T-the highest floor. There’s only one room.”

“You’re not lying, are you?” Ezrel tilted his head to the side as he used his powers to scan the layout of the floor in question.

“N-no!”

Having confirmed the location of his target, Ezrel smiled wolfishly. He released his grasp and took a step back. “Thank you.”

“You’re letting me go?” the soldier asked incredulously.

“If you can leave, that is,” he shrugged with his dagger dangling in his hand.

Carefully, the sentry walked around Ezrel and dashed for the door. As he thought he was free, he did not notice Ezrel's barrier surrounding the room, which had been in place since the beginning, and ran right into it. Landing on his ass, the young demon slammed his fists on the barrier while screaming for help. Across it, the castle continued to sleep peacefully.

“Now, what am I going to do with you?” Ezrel drawled as he feasted on his victim’s distress.

“S-stay away!” the sentry shrieked, thrusting his sword at his opponent while getting back up and scrambling to his feet.

“Please, don’t be a disappointment.”

ヽ ( ꒪д꒪ )ﾉ

Ezrel sat on top of a mountain of corpses as he leaned his head back. He breathed in the cold night air with his eyes closed. Unlike the bloodied corpses, Ezrel’s clothes were still sparkling clean. Despite being covered in multiple layers of black leather, his armour remained unscratched. At some point, all the remaining soldiers guarding the Lord’s fortress surrendered before Ezrel could have his fill of bloodshed. Unsatisfied, he jumped off the mountain of corpses and burned them to ash with a lazy flick of his hand. He didn’t linger to watch remains burn and headed toward the highest floor where his target was still sound asleep.

In front of the towering double wooden door, Ezrel didn’t bother to knock and slammed it open.

“Rise and shine!” he chirped.

“W-what?” Lord Zeytsev shook in confusion when he suddenly sat up in his bed. “Who are you? Guards!” he hollered, his voice raspy.

Silence reigned in the fortress. Ezrel stood by the door and waited for anyone to come. “Seems like you’re the only one left.”

“How is that possible,” the Lord mumbled before scurrying for his sword that was discarded on his wooden table near his bed.

Expecting it, Ezrel unleashed a wall of fire between them. Zeytsev cried out in pain as his arm burned. Holding his injured forelimb, he pushed himself against the headboard of his bed.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“It hurts my feeling that you can’t recognize me,” Ezrel shook his head before walking toward his target. “Let me help you freshen your memories.”

Stepping into the moonlight, Ezrel revealed his identity. It only took the Lord a second to get everything together. A combination of shock, fear, and anger characterized his facial expression. In desperation, he once more attempted to grab his sword. This time, Ezrel let him.

“Lunatic, don’t come any closer!” Zeytsev ordered while barring his teeth and pointing his sword at the intruder.

“So, you do remember me,” Ezrel drawled as he took a step forward.

Trembling, the governor took a step back. “Why are you back?”

“You really can’t tell?”

Coldly eyeing the sword, Ezrel pushed it away with a finger. Unsuspecting of his strength, the weapon flew into a dark corner of the room. A desperate whimper escaped from Zeytsev’s throat.

“I-I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a choice!” the Lord went on his knees at Ezrel’s feet. “Albimbert, that traitor, he forced me to help him!”

Ezrel's unforgiving stare met his eyes when he glanced up. In a panic, Zakhar Zeytsev started to beg him for mercy and claimed his loyalty still lay with the previous king. He was desperate for life right now, so anything he could say to avoid death was acceptable.

“Please, believe me. I had to keep my people alive. Every night, I waited for His Majesty to come back, to grace us with his presence. He is my hope,” he pleaded with tears soaking his cheeks.

Ezrel sighed while rolling his eyes. “Shut up.” The Lord swallowed his tongue and glanced up at Ezrel in hope. “His Majesty is expecting you.”

Horror seized the kneeling man. “He’s back,” he whispered to himself.

“He is,” Ezrel confirmed harshly. “And his patience is not unending.”