Chapter 5:THE.EXECUTIONER,THE MAD PRINCE,THE SIN OF DUSKMOOR
1364 Words
*Traitors don’t get warmth. They get us.
DRAVEN POV*
The fight was already bloody when we got to Nyth City.
Not war. Not battle.
Slaughter.
The kind that makes the air taste like copper. The kind that stains the cobblestones black and makes the gutters run red.
Bodies. Dozens of them. Humans. Vampires. Some things that weren’t either anymore.
Innocents were already dead when we arrived.
Children. Shopkeepers. A woman with her arms still wrapped around a basket of bread like that would save her.
Others bleeding.
Crawling. Whimpering. Praying to gods who weren’t listening. To gods who never listen when we’re angry.
Rage burned under my skin.
Not hot. Not fire.
Ice.
The kind that freezes your lungs. The kind that makes your teeth ache. The kind that makes you want to tear the world apart just to make it stop.
We were late.
And my brothers felt it too.
I could feel Lucien beside me. Not hear him. Not see him. Feel him. The air around him went still. The way it does before a storm breaks. Before something snaps.
I could feel Cassius behind me. His rage wasn’t ice. It was a blade. Sharpened. Whetted. Waiting.
We hate killing innocents.
The world thinks we’re monsters. They’re right.
But even monsters have lines.
We hate it even more when it’s done by some attention-seeking bastard.
Yes, we know what people think.
That we’re ruthless. Heartless. Merciless. Evil.
They’re not wrong.
But the truth is this:
We only become ruthless, heartless and merciless when dealing with traitors. With betrayals. With our enemies.
We don’t hurt the innocent.
We might be heartless and evil, but we still know the difference between good and bad.
Mother made sure of it.
And Jordan just crossed the only line that matters.
“Hello,” Lucien said.
One word.
Soft. Curious. Almost sweet.
Everything stopped.
Silence.
The kind of silence you get when a predator steps into a clearing. When every prey animal in a mile radius freezes and prays it’s not hungry.
Some started retreating.
Smart ones.
Feet shuffling back. Weapons lowering. Eyes darting to alleys, to rooftops, to anywhere that wasn’t here.
“No, no, no. Not now, when the fun is just starting,” Lucien sighed.
He sounded disappointed. Like a child whose game was interrupted.
Lucien’s always been the fun one.
He taunts you until you break.
Not with fists. Not with fangs.
With words.
He’ll peel you apart layer by layer. Find the thing you’re most ashamed of. The thing you hide. The thing you bleed for.
And then he’ll play with it.
Until you’re screaming. Until you’re begging. Until you’d rather be dead than listen to him speak for one more second.
We all have reputations.
I’m the Executioner.
Not because I enjoy it. Because I’m final. One movement. One end. No mess. No second chances. When I decide you die, you’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.
Lucien is the Mad Prince.
Unhinged. Laughing. Chaos in a velvet coat. You never know if he’s going to kiss you or kill you. Usually both.
Cassius is the Sin of Duskmoor.
Beautiful. Cruel. The thing poets write warnings about. The thing mothers use to scare their children. “Be good, or the Sin will come for you.”
Our hearts are cold as obsidian under moonlight.
And traitors don’t get warmth.
They get us.
“And who says we’re running?”
The leader stepped forward.
Trying to look brave. Trying to look big.
It wasn’t working.
His hands were shaking. His knees were shaking. The only thing not shaking was his voice, and that was because he was holding his breath.
“Who are you?” I asked.
I didn’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.
When I speak, the world listens.
He blinked.
Embarrassed. Offended. Stupid.
Like I should know him. Like his name should mean something to me.
The nerve.
“My name is Jordan.”
Ah. Jordan.
The pest causing small problems.
Raids on border villages. Stolen blood shipments. Graffiti on the walls of Nyth City that said “The Heirs aren’t gods”.
We ignored him.
Thought he was just a bored, ungrateful bastard begging for attention.
Let the regional clans bleed him out for sport, we said.
Let him be a lesson. Let him be entertainment.
But he crossed the line when he started hurting people.
When he started killing innocents.
Well.
He has our attention now.
And there will be no mercy.
Because traitors don’t deserve mercy. Talk more of a murderer.
He will wish he had never existed.
Snap.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t need to.
Half his men dropped dead before they could blink.
No sound. No warning. No mercy.
Just dead.
Hearts stopped. Brains turned off. Blood went still in their veins like it forgot how to flow.
Yes. We’re that powerful.
Three hundred centuries of evolution. Of war. Of being the thing nightmares check under the bed for.
We don’t need to touch you to kill you.
We just need to decide.
I was in front of Jordan before he registered movement.
One second I was ten paces away. The next, my hand was around his throat.
Not squeezing. Not yet.
Just holding.
Like he was a bird. Like he was fragile.
When he looked into my eyes, I saw it.
The one thing that feeds my demons:
Fear.
Pure. Primal. Delicious.
It flooded his eyes. His face. His soul.
And it makes me wonder.
Why was he doing this if he was scared of us?
Something is wrong somewhere.
“Awwww, the little bad boy is scared,” Lucien cooed.
He was beside me now. I didn’t see him move. I never do.
He tilted his head. Studied Jordan like he was a particularly interesting insect.
“That’s too easy,” Cassius murmured.
He was behind Jordan. I didn’t hear him move either.
His voice was soft. Thoughtful. Bored.
“Why don’t we take him to the castle?”
Jordan’s legs started shaking.
Good.
That’s the right reaction.
The castle isn’t a prison. It’s not a dungeon.
It’s Duskmoor.
And Duskmoor remembers.
Someone was backing him. Someone who thought they could destroy us.
Someone who thought they could make us bleed and get away with it.
We will find out who.
“Please don’t take me to the castle. Please, kill me,” Jordan begged.
His voice cracked. Snot ran down his face. Tears cut tracks through the blood on his cheeks.
“Why? The castle is fun and enchanting,” Cassius smiled.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
It was the smile he gives before he breaks something.
“You’ll love it there.”
“Please! I’ll tell you anything! Just don’t take me there!”
Wow.
The big bad boy is terrified.
The bastard who butchered children. Who painted Nyth City red. Who thought he could spit in our faces and walk away.
He’s crying.
He’s begging.
“Start by telling us who put you up to this,” I said.
My voice was flat. Empty.
The Executioner’s voice.
“I don’t know, I swear! We just get orders from a black raven.”
A black raven.
Not a blood raven. Not ours.
A black raven.
That only means one thing:
A black witch.
“A black witch talked you into this?” Lucien tilted his head.
His smile was gone now.
That was worse.
Lucien without a smile is like the sky without a moon. Wrong. Ominous.
“Yes!” Jordan nodded frantically. “She’s powerful. She said she’d protect us from you. But I think we were deceived.”
“You think?” Lucien laughed.
It wasn’t a nice laugh.
It was the laugh he uses when he’s about to take someone apart.
“You’re not only dumb and foolish. You are also stupid.”
He looked at me.
“Draven, finish him. Let’s go.”
“No, wait—please! I can help! I know her—”
He chooked, His eyes bulged. His mouth worked. His hands scrabbled at my wrist, nails breaking, fingers bending wrong.
I watched the fear turn into pain.
- Writer
