Wrath of the Monarch

The monarch strode before the imposing mirror, his hands clasped behind him. His dark cloak flowed gracefully with every step, the silvery embroidery glimmering in the faint light. The mirror consistently reflected his deepest longing—Ru's creation, his last piece on the human's world. But the monarch couldn't see that precious piece for a long time. Curiosity was consuming him.

For days, the magic sphere had been unable to locate Ru's clone. The floating screens showed other people. Even the most dependable crystal projections were incorrect. There was an insignificant girl. She was racing through the dark streets at midnight, wearing a pink nightgown and fluffy slippers. She fled from an Italian-speaking vampire.

"Where is he?" the monarch murmured, his silver eyes narrowing.

The young Ru's absence lingered, causing him great distress. The monarch's patience, already frayed, finally snapped. With a graceful sweep of his cloak, he pivoted and strode toward the splendid doors of his forgotten art gallery.

There was no force that dared to interfere with him. He even declined to respond to his cherished daughter. At last, the monarch stepped through the enchanted gate and arrived in the Crimson Realm.

As soon as the silver-armored ruler's foot touched the soil of the Crimson Realm, the shadows screamed and the nearby beings fled. Under his authority, the earth crumbled and smoke began to rise.

The monarch lifted his gloved hand, causing the sky to shatter like a piece of glass. The evil spirits pouring from the sky like waterfalls took shape under his rule. Their merging formed a wave of gray flame, from which came a nightmare horse.

The horse's hooves were surrounded by a silver mist. Its pitch-black body glistened faintly with traces of ethereal ash. A mane of gray flames fluttered around his neck, casting eerie lights into the bleeding sky. The horse's eyes glowed with an unnatural purple light. Adorned in silver armor engraved with ancient runes, its half-ghost form shifted between material and immaterial.

The monarch took a step forward, resting a steady hand on the horse's neck. At his contact, the beast let out a low, resonating snort, similar to a wind roaring through a cemetery. The monarch mounted his stallion without hesitation, his cloak streaming behind him like a shadow come to life.

At the monarch's whispered order, the nightmare horse charged forward, its hooves never touching the ground. It galloped into the sky, soaring over the Crimson Realm's everlasting dusk, passing floating islands and jagged spires of black stone.

His destination loomed ahead—a magnificent hilltop building, shrouded in midnight elegance—Lord Dekaris Zharqasti's domain. A manor of gothic beauty, adorned with towering stained-glass windows and twisting ironwork.

The monarch maintained their pace without hesitation. Without allowing the vampire lord any opportunity to ready himself, he stepped onto the grounds of the manor.

The nightmare horse demolished the garden gate of Lord Dekaris Zharqasti's border. The plants quickly wilted and perished beneath its hooves. The monarch dismounted and moved forward to the entrance.

As he approached the entrance, the heavy door groaned open under his shadow.

Lord Dekaris Zharqasti stepped from the balcony above the hall, his presence as subtle as a whisper in the darkness. His wavy, pinkish-white hair shimmered in the light of the chandelier, and his wine-red eyes looked at the visitor with delight rather than dread.

"Your Excellency," Dekaris greeted smoothly, his voice as rich as aged wine. "I see you've come personally. What an unexpected honor."

The monarch's gaze sharpened. "Do not toy with me, vampire lord. The last Ru has vanished. You know where he is."

Dekaris descended gracefully, his boots making no sound on the marble. He came to a halt in front of the monarch, resting a hand on his chest as a show of respect.

"Please compose yourself, Your Majesty," he remarked with a serene smile. "I have no desire to withhold your Ru from you."

The monarch's silver eyes flickered with restrained fury. "And why should I believe you?"

Before Dekaris could respond, the air in the hall shifted. A cold presence pressed against the room, and then—

A chilling mist emerged beside Dekaris. It swiftly transformed from mist to Heise. He bowed softly his head. "Your highness, welcome."

The monarch's attention snapped toward him, his expression unreadable. Tension surfaced between them, akin to a pulled bowstring.

"You," the monarch said, his voice low. "Tell me what you've done."

Heise hesitated. As Dekaris' fingers twitched, an unknown force pressed around the sorcerer's throat, causing him to sweat.

"Ahem!"

"Heise," Dekaris murmured, his voice heavy with iron. "I trust you have an explanation?"

His eyes darted between the two powerful figures as Heise swallowed hard. "I changed his body," he admitted at last. "I had to. Demons appeared near the area where he lived. If I hadn't altered him, they would have found him."

A rhythm of stillness. After that—

The monarch drew a long breath. Hidden beneath his calm exterior was a boiling wrath.

"Well," the monarch remarked, directing his attention to Lord Dekaris. "You have to find him, and you will bring him to me."

"But... Majesty," Heise started, but Lord Dekaris cut him off.

Lord Dekaris acknowledged with a nod. "Indeed, your highness."