The Damned Demon

Vraxos, with a gaze as deep as the ocean and as steady as the earth, fixed his eyes on Edmund, silent yet intimidating. A faint cold sneer curled at the edge of his mouth, as if feeling disdain upon hearing Edmund’s bold proclamation.

“Young Lord Edmund Thorne,” he called out, his voice a rolling thunder, resonating across the village, “You misunderstand me. I am not a coward, unlike someone who hid inside his house for months.”

The crowd held its breath, a collective hush falling over the village. Some of the villagers dared to glance at Edmund, whose face was as hard as stone. His red eyes narrowed, and the corner of his mouth twitched, displaying his annoyance at Vraxos’s audacity.

Even if Vraxos didn’t mention Edmund’s name, it was clear to whom he was really referring.

“And if I was really one,” Vraxos continued, standing firm under Edmund’s intense glare, “I would have brought along a small army to converse with you, Young Lord.”

Edmund’s face darkened further, his glare turning frosty.

“So, Young Lord,” Vraxos said, his expression still serious as he crossed his arms, his armored scales gleaming under the dim light, “How can I help you and your little army?” Hearing his words, his fellow Umbralfiends standing behind snickered while feigning an attempt to suppress it.

The way Vraxos said all this, with his expression and tone made it seem like he was really being serious, masking his brutal sarcasm and contempt. 

Edmund’s rage-filled eyes flickered under the sunlight, his silver hair rustling in the soft breeze. 

His eyes darted to Vraxos’ face, to the mocking glint reflecting in his eyes.

He then shifted his gaze to his men, to the trio by his side, and finally rested on the villagers huddled together in fear. He forced a dark chuckle and said, “Little army? Oh no, Vraxos. They are just here for… entertainment.”

As he spoke, a dangerous, feral glint flashed in his eyes. Edmund stepped forward, his long robes swishing around him, a stark contrast to the dark earth below, “You want to know what I plan to do with you? Isn’t it obvious? To put you in your place. Or should I say…in the dungeons of the Dreadthorne Castle?”

The villagers gasped in unison, their eyes widening in terror, a few even retreating into their homes. The Umbralfiends gathered around had their expression begin to darken.

Vraxos’ eyes narrowed. However, the icy tension that had filled the village square was suddenly spiked by Edmund’s words. Was he really going to heighten the tensions between the Umbralfiends and the Bloodburn Kingdom?

Vraxos maintained his expression as he crossed his arms and asked, “And on what authority and charge do you plan to put me in the dungeons?”

“You… think you have the right to mock me by spouting blatant lies, Vraxos?” Edmund’s voice echoed eerily around the silent village, his laughter dying down into a chilling silence, “I’ve come here tonight to remind you and your fellow lowly prisoners of war, who you’re supposed to be obedient to. My ancestor, the Ravager, showed you all your place, and today I am going to do the same. We can’t let you all spit on the face of House Thorne while living in our lands. So there is no point in asking about authority when it’s quite obvious we rule anyone who stands on these lands,” Edmund scoffed with a twisted smile.

The Umbralfiends let out subtle growls, their expressions bordering between resentment and rage. Hearing Edmund boast about Ravager’s barbaric acts made their blood boil, especially Vraxos, who clenched his fists.

Unable to not let this slip, his gaze, unwavering, remained fixated on Edmund, “House Thorne,” Vraxos began, his voice layered with a subtle undertone of irony and rage, “a name that was built on the blood of my people by your ancestor,” His voice rang clear and loud in the eerily silent shores, “Is this your desperate attempt to reestablish your dominance? If you really want to take me in as a prisoner, why don’t you subdue me alone, and I give you my word I wouldn’t resist once you defeat me. Can you prove you have the might of your ancestor?”

Edmund’s features tightened at Vraxos’ words, his eyes darkening dangerously. However, the commotion behind him drew his attention. He watched as a handful of Umbralfiends rose to their feet, their faces hard and defiant, bolstered by Vraxos’ words.

He realized Vraxor was trying to make him lose face by challenging him. If he refused, he would look weak before everyone, but if he accepted, then he knew best he wouldn’t stand a chance against Vraxos in the slightest, though he would never admit it openly. 

The sand crunched beneath Young Lord Thaddaeus’ boots as he stepped forward, his cold eyes riveted on the audacious Umbralfiend, “How dare you, sea filth!” He spat out, his voice as sharp as the icy wind that danced around him, “You, who was defeated and surrendered to our kingdom, dare to challenge our Young Lord Edmund? You overstep!”

Lady Zephyrine followed suit, stepping gracefully to stand beside Edmund. A mischievous smile played on her crimson lips as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. She let out a soft giggle, the sound chiming through the silent night, “Oh, this is too amusing!” She exclaimed, her voice rich with mockery, “A defeated dog barking out big words. Do you take us for fools?”

A sigh of relief reflected on Edmund’s face, though he was quick to mask it. Thanks to these two, his face was saved.

He immediately straightened himself, squaring his shoulders, and called out to his men, “Hear that, Vraxos? Your audacity has consequences. Men, arrest this rebel! If he dares to resist, consider it as an act of breaking the treaty. He will be punished accordingly!”

The moment Edmund’s words fell, an almost palpable tension stretched out, its tendrils snaking through the crowd. Vraxos remained unyielding, his gaze unwavering from Edmund’s furious countenance.

Around him, the Umbralfiends, too, reacted to Edmund’s proclamation. 

Their scales seemed to glimmer with an unprecedented fervor as they prepared to take out their weapons, an unspoken agreement to protect their general from this ludicrosity.ραпdα `nᴏνɐ| сom

But Vraxor gestured with his hand, telling them to not draw their blades, making their lips quiver as they reluctantly lowered their arms.

Just as the tension reached its boiling point, a mellifluous voice flowed through the throng of tense bodies, cascading over the eerie silence. 

“Everyone, please calm down.” It was like a breath of the sea, rich and melodious, gentle yet authoritative, that made everyone feel like listening to her, including the men that were about to act on Edmund’s order.

As if time had frozen, every pair of eyes turned towards the origin of the voice, drifting towards the shimmering surface of the sea. 

Emerging from the seas was a figure, the water parting around her like a royal cloak. 

Isola, the Princess of the Umbralfiends to her people and the Umbralfiend Emissary to the Bloodburn Kingdom.

Edmund’s gaze snapped towards her, his eyes widening in unconcealed admiration. 

He saw her rising from the heart of the sea like a water nymph.

Sunlight bathed her wet, graceful form, rendering her twilight-blue skin into a canvas of shimmering silver. 

Her luminous white hair stuck to her body, its silver strands snaking down her shoulders like cascading waterfalls. 

Droplets of water fell from her soaked hair, kissing her skin and tracing a glistening path over her alluring form, creating an exotic spectacle.

The sleeveless dark blue knee-length silk dress clung to her wet body, enhancing her feminine curves, her long smooth legs while holding in her ample bosom and revealing her bare upper chest with sculpted collarbones.

Her serene expression, coupled with her otherworldly beauty, seemed to tame the tempestuous scene that was unfolding before them.

Edmund’s eyes, red as the blood moon, softened at her sight. He drank in her otherworldly beauty, leaving him momentarily spellbound. 

Her mesmerizing beauty made his heart throb, and the dangerous intensity of moments ago was replaced by a faint spark of desire. The specter of Vraxos and the Umbralfiends faded into the background, their presence dimming under Isola’s radiating allure.

The number of women he knew that could match the charm and beauty of his sister was so low, he could count with just his fingers. But other than his sister, the rest were impossible to possess.

But now, upon seeing Isola, his lips curved into a twisted smile, regretting getting injured during the war. Otherwise, he could have come upon her on day one.

He had already heard rumors of the beauty of the Umbralfiend Princess but was skeptical since the Umbralfiends he knew were quite ugly to him. Still, he had planned to check her out by coming here.

And to his astonishment, she looked quite different, even when compared to her people, far from what he expected.

Zephyrine had a dark frown manifest on her face upon seeing how easily this bitch stole Edmund’s soul without even trying.

Isola stopped just a few feet before him as he stood there with his lips parted, his eyes dazed.

“Young Lord Edmund,” Isola spoke again, her gaze meeting his, her eyes having a serene glow, “I believe this is all just a big misunderstanding. So please tell your men to stand down, and this situation doesn’t have to go down the wrong way.”

“Princess…” Vraxos had a look of shame and guilt, upon disturbing the princess because of his actions.

ƥαṇdαηθνε|

Vraxos and his fellow Umbralfiends had seething looks upon seeing this cowardly bastard disrespecting their princess with his leering gaze and tone.

However, Isola’s expression remained calm as she said, as a matter of fact, “There is no need for that. The royal consort, Asher Drake, is the only one who has authority over us. If you want to take in Vraxos, I am afraid you will have to first consult with the royal consort. Otherwise…it might only cause you more trouble.”