Page 67 of Demonic Cage
Two guards join him, helping him off the platform, where not a drop of blood remains after the ritual. He’s about to descend the stairs when the child looks towards me, and our eyes meet. Before anyone can grasp the significance of this, his hungry eyes flicker, and using his newfound wings, he lunges at me from below.
I have no time to respond to the attack. The boy already plunges his sharp claws into my shoulder. The burning pain from the tiny needle points pulls me from the shock. I scream as strong hands wrench him off me. Nárs stands beside me, holding the demon child by his neck. With a mighty throw, he tosses him down the stairs, right at the feet of the Kraldem. The little creature doesn’t understand what he did wrong. At least, not until he looks up into Darya’s flashing gaze.
I’ve never seen Darya so furious. The Kraldem towers over his subject, grasping his neck and lifting him from the ground.
“You know the rule,” he hisses, and a silent hush spreads through the room. “Attacking the throne means death. Attacking the girl means agony. I’m sorry your life among us turned out to be so short.”
But before his claws can move towards the boy’s heart, I cry out, “No! Wait!”
Everyone in the room stares at me. Even the Kraldem turns to me in surprise.
“What did you say, Kindra?” he asks, his gaze skimming over my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed that I’m holding the wound torn by the demon’s claws. Blood drips onto my white dress.
I try to suppress my fear and remind myself why I intervened in Darya’s killing spree. I can’t let a boy who has suffered so much die because of me. I owe it to his mother, no matter what monster he may become in the future.
“He didn’t mean to,” I begin, but my voice is uncertain. “He’s still new, he didn’t know… Let him live, Kraldem!”
Darya raises his eyebrows, amused by the formal address. I’ve never called him that before. He evidently appreciates my effort, releasing the young demon. His people gasp as if the Demon King had never shown mercy before. Darya turns to them with a smile.
“You see, émías nosoik,” he exclaims triumphantly, “only the champion has such power. At her request, Vikar can live. Lucky for him, she wasn’t hurt more. Otherwise, there would be no one to stop me from personally executing him, his mentor, and those close to him.”
It’s so typical of the Demon King, I almost laugh. Besides showing mercy, only he can look even more threatening.
“Now then,” Darya begins, turning to me, “before the next ritual,dinner.”
I’m sure he is looking at my shoulder as he says this.
The crowd roars, and bloody chunks of flesh fly. Darya strides towards me with large steps, colliding halfway with the furious form of Léthé. Their words are drowned out by the battle cries erupting from the demons, and war rages for the free meats. Whatever they may be saying, the mermaid remains Darya’s inferior. With an offended and angry look, she stares at me when Darya continues approaching me. Nárs hasn’t moved from my side since then. Darya takes a knee before me and looks at my shoulder. Blood still flows, the burning sensation stronger now that the adrenaline has subsided.
“Nárs,” Darya commands, his voice filled with disturbing pleasure. “Give me tendrils.”
I’ve never seen Nárs’s power before. The man with orange hair flicks his wrist, and dark green vines rise from the ground, then clusters of narcissus flowers bloom. Darya tears a green tendril, removes my cramped hand from my shoulder, and binds the wound with the plant. His gaze finds mine.
“I like the way you look,” he remarks, surveying my blood-spattered clothes and smeared makeup.
“You enjoy it when I suffer. When I’m wounded,” I accuse, my voice barely a whisper.
Darya shakes his head. “There’s no point in looking perfect in an imperfect world. If you don’t have, or don’t show yourwounds, it’s because you’re hiding them. That’s a lie, and we don’t do that.”
I roll my eyes. Of course. Of course, they don’t lie.
They only butcher children on a fucking stone table!
Did Darya enjoy that, too?
“I can’t see any scar on you either.”
“Oh, but they are spread all over my body,” the Demon King says with a knowing smile. He then leans closer to me, whispering in my ear. “If you want, I’ll show you later.”
Instead of cold, that cursed heat courses through my thighs again; something I only feel in Darya’s presence. My muscles tense for a different reason than before, and I gulp as the Demon King breathes on my neck. How can I be attracted to such a monster! He tore apart a child’s body, after separating him from his mother. But the child’s gaze… It seemed as if they had never truly been themselves. Could Darya’s method serve some twisted good?
I gulp as the Kraldem grabs my face. He leans in closer and kisses me softly, licking away the blood from beside my lips. He closes his eyes as if he’s just taken a drug. When he opens them, from the cloudy gray gaze, a large, black misty circle forms. I recoil against the backrest of the chair. The Kraldem’s eyes revert, then he turns to Nárs.
“Good job,” he says, and Nárs bows theatrically. He lifts his nonexistent hat and blows a kiss towards me, then glances sideways towards Kripot before throwing one his way, too. The blue giant tenses up.
The Kraldem stands and walks down the stairs.
I place my finger where he kissed away the blood. I shake my head.
