THE MEETING OF THE FACTION HEADS
The heavy wooden doors had barely closed behind the retreating figure of Kazima, the upstart god who had dared to declare war in the very heart of the Rulers' fortress. The air still hummed with the echoes of his defiance, and now, the leaders of the most powerful factions stood in silence, waiting for their king's fury to erupt.
And erupt it did.
Krelious, the Crimson King, slammed his fist onto the war table with such force that the maps and goblets rattled. His red cloak billowed behind him like a living thing, as if even the fabric could feel his rage.
"How dare he?" His voice was like a blade dragged across stone—harsh, grating, deadly. "In my own halls—under my roof—he declares war upon us all! This insult will not stand!"
The others in the room reacted immediately.
Akermos, the seer, bared his teeth like a wolf ready to strike. His eyes were hard as flint, and his hand hovered over the hilt of his axe. "We should have slit his throat the moment he spoke," he growled. "Letting him leave was a mistake."
Zielan, the ever calm and composed, stroked his long beard thoughtfully. Unlike Akermos, he was calm, calculating. "Killing him would not have solved our problems, Akermos. It would have ignited a wildfire. His allies are already mobilized—this was no spur-of-the-moment defiance."
Nealon, the youngest of the chiefs, scoffed. She was still new to the brutal politics of the Rulers, and her voice carried the naive confidence of youth. "Our problems? We have none. The throne is secure. The factions are united."
Akermos turned on her, his voice a deep, dangerous growl. "Open your eyes, Nealon. Enemies surround us like wolves in the dark. If Kazima declared war, it's because he believes he can win. And that means he's not alone."
Dainen, the grizzled general, exhaled heavily through his nose. His face was lined with years of endless battles, and his weariness was like a living thing clinging to his shoulders. "Not a moment's rest. Endless fucking wars. When does it end?"
Krelious' golden eyes burned with apocalyptic wrath as his gaze swept over them. "Enough talk!" His command shook the hall like thunder. "This 'little war' will be crushed before it begins. We will make an example of them—carve their defiance into the bones of every race who dares covet my throne!"
His fingers dug into the edge of the table, the wood splintering under his grip. "I will not yield my crown to any upstart, any god, or even the Creator himself. The throne belongs to the Rulers. It will remain ours—forever."
A chorus of loyalty erupted from the gathered leaders.
Zion, the zealot, dropped to one knee, his voice fervent with devotion. "Yes, my king! It shall be as you decree."
Nealon, now chastened, bowed her head. "I stand with you."
Dainen and Tavis echoed in unison, pressing their fists to their chests in salute. "By your will."
Krelious turned to Dainen, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Mobilize the armies. When the battle comes, show no mercy. Leave none alive—not their soldiers, not their families. Wipe their name from existence."
Dainen's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "It will be done."
Then, the king's next order froze the room in terror.
"And bring me Kazima's head."
Zion recoiled as if struck. "My king—! His head? Surely—"
Tavis stepped forward, his voice urgent. "The head of a lowly god would only defile your halls!"
Krelious turned on them, his expression so venomous that the air itself seemed to curdle. "Did I ask for your opinions?" The silence that followed was suffocating. "Shut your mouths. Obey."
The two men swallowed hard, their defiance crumbling under the weight of their king's wrath. "Yes, my king."
Krelious locked eyes with Dainen. "His head. Understood?"
Dainen's nod was grim. "Understood."
KRELIOUS' BED CHAMBERS
A King's Rage and a Queen's Fear
The doors to the king's private chambers burst open as Krelious stormed inside, his fury still burning like a wildfire. Sted, his queen, rose from the edge of their bed, her emerald gown pooling around her. Her smile faltered when she saw the storm in his eyes.
"My king," she began, her voice soft and tentative, "how was the—?"
Krelious crossed the room in three strides, his hand closing around her throat. She gasped, her fingers scrabbling at his wrist as he lifted her off her feet.
"You," he hissed, "dared to intervene. You begged me to spare Kazima. Explain yourself."
Sted's lips parted, her breath ragged. "I—I don't understand… Please, you'll hurt the baby!"
For a heartbeat, the king's grip tightened—then he released her. She crumpled to the floor, coughing, her hands flying to her bruised neck.
Krelious loomed over her, his voice a whip. "You carry my heir—the future of our race—and yet you plead for the life of a traitor?"
Sted's voice was broken, but she forced the words out. "Forgive me… But killing him before the factions would have made you more enemies!"
The king's boot slammed into the floor. The entire citadel shuddered—tapestries swayed, chalices toppled, and somewhere deep in the fortress, stone cracked. His roar shook the walls.
"ENEMIES? I am drowning in them! My own brother betrayed me! Spies lurk in every shadow of the Cronoverse and beyond! And you fear making more?"
Sted trembled, tears streaking her cheeks. "I only wished to spare you the weight of a lowly god's blood. Your anger… it consumes you. Let go of the past, my king."
Krelious stared at her, his chest heaving. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—doubt? Grief? Then it was gone, buried beneath the ice of a ruler who could not afford weakness.
The Weight of a Kingdom's Fury
Krelious, still trembling with the remnants of his rage, felt the heat of his anger ebb as Sted's words seeped into his mind. Her voice, soft yet unyielding, was a balm to the storm inside him. He exhaled sharply, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of his own recklessness.
"Yeah… you're right," he admitted, his voice rough but quieter now. "I shouldn't have lost myself to anger in the halls."
His gaze flickered to her swollen belly—a stark reminder of the life they were bound to protect. Guilt twisted in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He reached for her hand, his calloused fingers brushing against her delicate skin.
"I'm also sorry, my queen," he murmured, his tone laced with remorse. "For taking it out on you." His grip tightened slightly, his next words a command wrapped in desperation. "But don't you dare do anything so reckless again. Your goal—your only goal—must be to protect yourself and our child. Should anything go wrong…" His voice cracked, the unspoken horror lingering between them.
Sted's lips curved into a gentle smile, her eyes shimmering with forgiveness. "Yes, my king," she whispered. "And I forgive you."
Then, in a heartbeat, the air between them shifted. Lust darkened her gaze, her breath hitching as her fingers moved with purpose. Clothes fell away in a whisper of fabric, her body bared before him like an offering. Before Krelious could protest, she pushed him down onto the bed, her touch igniting a fire he couldn't deny.
"I have still not forgiven you, Sted," he growled, though the heat in his voice betrayed him. A smirk tugged at his lips, his resolve wavering. "Don't think for one second that sex will make me change my mind."
But their bodies had a language of their own. Lips met in a searing kiss, tongues clashing with pent-up hunger. Sted's hands roamed his chest, stripping away the last barriers between them. When skin met skin, Krelious groaned, his control unraveling. He rolled her beneath him, his mouth descending to her breasts, sucking and teasing until her moans filled the chamber.
Then, with a growl, he flipped her onto her stomach, his hands gripping her hips possessively. There was no more pretense—only the raw, primal need that bound them together. The bed creaked beneath their fervor, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself.
The Domainverse: A Dance of Shadows
The Domainverse was a place of twisting streets and dark corners, where the air smelled of damp stone and secrets. The narrow alleys wound like snakes, hiding dangers at every turn. In this shadowy world, Martha moved like a ghost—silent, swift, and unseen. Her boots made no sound against the cobblestones as she led the group forward.
She stopped suddenly, turning her head just enough to glance back at the men following her. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence.
"Come, Zerich," she called. "I'll show you all a way out of here. Follow me—and hurry."
Zerich, the leader of the group, tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. His muscles were tense, ready for a fight. He knew they were being hunted, and every second counted. He motioned to his men with a quick, silent gesture.
"Yes, Martha," he answered, his voice low but firm. "Come, men. Stay sharp—every step could be a trap."
The group moved forward, their footsteps careful and quiet. But not everyone trusted Martha. Kazo, one of Zerich's most loyal fighters, leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Sir Zerich…" he said, his tone uneasy. "Are you sure it's safe to follow her? Even if she let us stay at her bar, trust is something we can't afford right now."
Zerich smirked, but his eyes held something darker—something dangerous.
"Relax, Kazo," he said, though his voice carried a hidden threat. "She can't hurt us. And besides…" He lowered his voice even further, so only Kazo could hear. "Following her might finally give me the chance to keep my… promises."
Kazo's jaw clenched. He knew exactly what Zerich meant. The commander had a weakness—a hunger for beautiful women, and Martha was no exception.
"Sir," Kazo said carefully, trying to keep his frustration in check. "I know your… tastes are strong. But we're running for our lives. This isn't the time for distractions."
Zerich's smirk vanished. His eyes flashed with anger.
"Don't you dare lecture me about my behavior again," he snapped. "I made a promise. And I will keep it."
Kazo exhaled sharply but nodded. He knew better than to argue. As he fell back into line, he muttered under his breath,
"I just hope this fool of a commander doesn't get us all killed."
Ahead, Martha stopped again, her patience wearing thin.
"Zerich!" she called, her voice sharp with irritation. "You're falling behind."
Zerich's smirk returned, but this time it was filled with false sweetness.
"I'm coming, my sweet Martha," he said, his voice dripping with fake charm.
Martha spun around, her eyes burning with fury.
"'Sweet'?" she repeated, her voice like ice. "Listen here, Zerich. Don't get cozy with me, or I'll personally tell the soldiers exactly where you are."
Zerich chuckled, but his expression grew tense.
"You wouldn't," he said. "You're helping us escape."
Martha's smile was cold, her words deliberate.
"I could say you kidnapped me. That you did… unspeakable things. That you forced me to lead you to safety."
Zerich's amusement faded. His face darkened.
"That would be blackmail," he pointed out, though a flicker of fear crossed his eyes.
"I know," Martha purred. "So if you want to avoid that… I suggest you stay the hell away from me."
For a long moment, silence hung between them. Then, finally, Zerich nodded, his voice quieter than before.
"Alright, Martha."
Kazo, watching from the shadows, allowed himself a small, grim smile.
"Good," he muttered. "Maybe now he'll focus on what actually matters."
To Be Continued…