EMPEROR LUCAS

CHAPTER FOUR:FURY

*Emperor Lucas POV*

I growled, low and menacing.

*Anger was too tame a word.* Fury? Not even close.

How dare she? That blind, powerless creature… How *dare* she cross the sacred boundary of my garden—a place feared even by demons?

My eyes narrowed as I stood, the ancient iron throne beneath me groaning slightly, forged from the remnants of fallen kingdoms. My palm clenched, veins glowing faintly under the skin.

She shouldn’t have survived the barrier. A spell—ancient and absolute—shrouded that garden. Any mortal foolish enough to step within its reach would be turned to ash before even seeing the first thorn. So *how did she enter?*

The thought gnawed at me.

I stood, and as I walked, the temperature in the room dropped. *The walls wept frost. The shadows recoiled.* Outside, trees withered in my wake, birds scattered in fear, and the sun dimmed slightly, like it, too, feared to shine in my presence.

My guards—those pitiful mortals—trailed behind, keeping exactly five paces away. They had long learned not to step too close. *I loathed contact.* Touch was weakness. Affection, a curse.

Yet… she had touched me.

Her blind stumble had made contact with me—the *first* physical contact I’d had in over a thousand years. *A thousand years*, and it was wasted on some trembling, worthless brat. That alone sent fresh waves of fury through my blood.

She should have died on impact. Her body should’ve disintegrated under the pressure of my aura.

But she didn’t.

That made her *interesting*, and I hated that even more.

I left the castle in long, silent strides, each step sending tremors into the earth. The sky rumbled overhead as if echoing my mood. I didn’t need an entourage. I needed space. *I needed blood.*

As I strolled through the charred ruins of what was once the Eastern Courtyard, a place I now used for *playthings*, my thoughts were interrupted.

*Two figures.*

A man and a boy—teleported by my enforcers into the courtyard. Their crime? Using magic within the city walls. A rule I enforced with an iron fist. Magic was mine to command—not theirs to toy with.

I didn’t speak. Just raised a finger.

The guards understood.

Two blades were thrown before them. The father’s hands trembled. The boy looked barely ten. It amused me. For a moment.

*“Fight,”* I said coldly.

And they did—terrified, clumsy, desperate. The father begged for mercy. The son sobbed.

*Boring.*

I snapped my fingers. The ground beneath them split. Fire. Screams. Silence.

*Hell welcomed them.*

I exhaled slowly, calming my storm.

But my peace did not last. My mind returned—again—to *her*.

She who should’ve died.

She who touched me.

She who... intrigued me.

*No*, she would not die—not yet.

Suffering would be her teacher. Despair, her constant companion. I would break her down piece by piece until she begged for death.

And when she does…

I might grant her that mercy.

*Or not.*

---

*Aria’s POV

I was beginning to give up.

Every part of my body screamed in pain — bruises, a dislocated arm, lashes that burned into my skin. I didn’t even know where the strength came from anymore. Still, I pressed forward. Crawling, dragging my battered body across the cold stone of the underground passage, guided only by instinct.

I don’t know how long I crawled before exhaustion weighed down my limbs. My breath came in short, painful gasps. Then, I heard it — faint voices.

“Wait... did you hear that?”

“Oh... it’s a girl.”

Their footsteps grew louder. I tried to cry out, “Please... help.” But my voice barely made it past my cracked lips. The last words I heard were chilling.

“She’s perfect.”

And then, nothing.

***

When I woke, the silence was thick — unnerving.

Though blind, my other senses filled in the picture. The air smelled of *burnt incense* and *withered petals*, something sacred turned rotten. A soft hum of distant music floated through the air — delicate, haunting.

I remembered this type of music. Laila once whispered tales of a place where humans danced, where shadows mingled — Club L. Was that where I was?

“Laila…” I whispered, my voice trembling. A lump rose in my throat. Was she okay? Had they hurt her?

Footsteps interrupted my thoughts. Heavy. Uncaring.

I quickly lay back, feigning sleep.

A rough hand shook me. “Wake up, blind brat. Time to earn your keep.”

I gasped softly. His voice was laced with cruelty. But then he saw my uncovered eyes.

“Monster!”

He recoiled — then roughly tied cloth over them again. “No one wants to see *that*.”

I whimpered, trying to resist as he dragged me across the cold floor. “Let me go!” I pleaded. “Please...!”

But I was thrown aside like trash.

Then came the vision — hazy but vivid. A crowd. Dozens of creatures: vampires with red eyes, werewolves with sharp teeth, old demons with golden horns. They surrounded me.

And only then did I realize — I was *naked*.

Tears burst from my eyes. How hadn’t I noticed? Shame and horror crashed over me like a wave.

Hands reached for me.

Touching.

Grabbing.

I screamed, desperate to escape — and then, *light*.

A sudden whoosh, like wind tearing through my soul — I was flying, lifted, carried... saved?

I landed on soft moss. My body trembled, cold air kissing my bare skin. I clutched myself tightly, heart pounding, shame and fear clouding everything.

Then — warmth.

A quiet rustle, a presence. Someone knelt beside me. I froze… until I felt a soft robe drape over my shoulders. The fabric was warm, like it had been held close to someone’s chest. And with it came a *gentle scent* — *vanilla*. Faint, calming, almost out of place in this cruel world.

His hands were steady. Respectful. Not once did he touch my skin unnecessarily.

“Who... who are you?” I asked, my voice barely more than a breath.

No reply.

I reached out, searching, but he stepped back — keeping a careful distance.

“Find your way back,” he whispered.

Then, fading footsteps. And he was gone.

My cheeks burned — with embarrassment… and something else. He had seen me. Helped me. Wrapped me in warmth. And left without a trace. No demands. No cruelty. Just that lingering scent of vanilla.

I stood up, shaky. I began to walk, slowly, blindly. But every path twisted back. I was going in circles.

Too much. Too cruel.

I bit back a sob.

Then I sensed it — footsteps again. Soft. Familiar. And… the scent. Vanilla.

“Who’s there?” I asked, tense.

No reply — then, after a moment, “I helped you earlier.”

His voice was low. Deep. Steady.

Relief washed over me. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He knelt beside me once more. I flinched — but gently, he took my swollen leg in his hands. The ointment he applied was cool, soothing. His fingers worked carefully, wrapping the bandage with surprising skill.

And always — that soft, comforting vanilla.

Without a word, he lifted me.

Carried me on his back.

The world felt far away — the pain, the shame, the fear… forgotten, just for a moment.

***

Angel's realm

“Look at him,” Goddess Jill whispered, her wings fluttering. “Such a gentleman.”

Queen Mantis crossed her arms. “Let’s hope he doesn’t fall too deep.”

“But what if he already has?” another goddess teased.

The sky shimmered above them.

Fate, it seemed, had already begun to shift.