Anubis

The garden was quiet—too quiet for a palace that housed monsters.

Kujo walked slowly beneath the curved arches of black glass trees, his boots pressing softly into the velvet moss that grew unnaturally beneath them. Fiore walked beside him, one step behind and slightly to the right, as always.

Her golden eyes scanned the area, hand resting near her sword hilt.

"You're tense," Kujo said without looking at her.

"Your brother's fiancée was seen visiting your father's chambers this morning," she replied.

"I'm always tense," he muttered. "It's expected of me."

They walked in silence for a few more minutes before Fiore stopped beside a twisted vine tree, her eyes fixed ahead. "You haven't asked why I'm always by your side."

He glanced at her, curious. "Do I need to?"

"No," she said, then added softly, "But I want you to know… it's not out of pity."

Kujo didn't answer. He just gave her a rare smile and kept walking. She followed, wordlessly.

The next day, he was summoned.

Again.

The royal hall was empty this time. No court. No advisors. Just his father, seated on the throne like a carved mountain, his gaze burning like coals in the dark.

"You will duel Damas this evening," the Demon King said without preamble.

Kujo blinked. "For what?"

"For humiliating a prince. For undermining royal order. For raising your hand to blood."

"Would you be this upset if I were anyone else?" Kujo asked flatly.

The king didn't answer. His silence was louder than any reply.

Kujo turned and walked out, his cape dragging slightly on the floor.

That evening, as the sky turned red with twilight, he prepared himself. The dueling grounds were already filled with spectators—nobles, guards, even some of his siblings lined the upper balconies to watch what they assumed would be his defeat.

In his private chamber, Dimara hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I can fight for you," she whispered. "I'm stronger than I look."

"I know you are," Kujo said. "But they won't allow it. If you touch the arena, they'll execute you for treason."

Kyrie stood by the wall, arms crossed, her violet armor gleaming. "Same goes for me, I assume?"

He nodded. "They'd use you as a political example."

Fiore said nothing, but her eyes burned with restrained fury.

"You'll be fine," she said, as if daring fate to contradict her.

Kujo made his way out alone. The coliseum was massive, echoing with cheers and whispers. He expected to see Damas grinning with a blade in hand.

But instead, a woman stood waiting.

She was a busty woman with long dark hair and pale skin, wearing a regal Egyptian-inspired outfit. She had a white dress with a high slit and gold accents, exposing her legs and cleavage. Her accessories included a golden collar, blue and gold jewelry, and a headpiece with tall black-and-gold jackal ears. She wore golden sashes hanging from her waist and had deep blue nail polish on her fingers and toes. Blue gems and intricate patterns decorated her top and waistpiece.

The air around her crackled with magic—thick, heavy, and ancient. A death mage. An Anubis sorceress. Her name, he realized, was Setara—Damas' fiancée.

She looked… nervous.

"I thought I was fighting Damas," Kujo called out.

She bowed slightly, her voice soft. "He chose me as his champion."

Figures.

Damas didn't want to risk his pride again. So he threw one of the most dangerous women in the kingdom into the fire for him.

Kujo sighed and stepped into the ring.

The announcer raised a hand, declaring the start. Magic flared instantly—black glyphs and sandstorm barriers rising around them, shielding the spectators.

Setara attacked first.

Chains of bone surged from the ground, wrapped in golden light. Kujo weaved between them, slashing through the bindings with shadow blades formed at his fingertips. She summoned a wave of death-magic fire, but he canceled it with a snap of dark energy that shattered the arcane construct in midair.

She wasn't weak.

She was holding back.

He dashed forward and struck—not with force, but with precision. A shadow-chain whipped around her ankle and yanked her off balance. He caught her before she fell and twisted gently, dropping her onto the ground with the force of the spell still dissipating behind them.

It was over in seconds.

Setara stared up at him, stunned.

"I yield," she said breathlessly.

The crowd was silent.

Kujo offered his hand.

She blinked again, hesitated… then took it.

He pulled her up and, to everyone's shock, reached into his coat and summoned a small vial of silver healing elixir.

He poured it over her bruised arm, then carefully rubbed it in.

"You fight with precision. And grace," he said quietly. "If you weren't holding back, I wouldn't have won so easily."

She flushed.

"I wasn't expecting kindness," she whispered.

"I'm full of surprises," he replied, offering her a small smile.

From the balconies, Damas watched with a twisted expression, clearly fuming.

But Kujo didn't care.

Setara looked at him like he was something… unrecognizable. A demon who didn't take. A prince who didn't command.

A man who healed, even after a fight.

The palace halls were never truly quiet—echoes of whispers, magic pulses, and distant footsteps were constant—but in Damas' private chamber, silence pressed like a suffocating veil.

Setara sat on the cold edge of the bed, one hand pressed against the faint bruise forming on her collarbone. Her long hair clung to her face, damp from the tears she refused to let fall. Her back was straight. Her gaze empty.

"You embarrassed me," Damas spat, pacing the floor with a clenched fist. "You let that half-blood win. You laid on the ground like a slave."

She didn't respond. She'd stopped responding after he slapped her the second time.

He loomed over her now, grabbing her chin roughly. "You think I'll let this slide just because you're pretty?"

Her voice was hollow. "Then take what you want. I'm just your fiancée, right? Use me. Maybe that'll fix your pride."

He froze for a second.

And then his hand drew back, trembling with rage.

Before it could strike—

CRACK.

The door exploded off its hinges in a burst of bone-shard splinters.

A shadow stepped into the room.

Dimara.

Her red-orange eyes glowed like twin embers, her clawed fingers dripping with unnatural green ooze. The scent of cursed magic thickened the air as she stepped forward.

"The hell do you want, freak?" Damas growled.

Dimara didn't answer.

She just moved.

A blur of motion.

A single, wet slash.

Damas' head rolled clean off his shoulders, bouncing twice before hitting the wall with a soft thump. His body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Setara stared in frozen shock, blood splattered across her legs.

Dimara wiped her claws on the bedding and muttered, "Disgusting."

She glanced at Setara, then turned and began reshaping the room. Her tendrils split and twisted into mimicry—cutting into the walls, carving out scorch marks, simulating a magical explosion near the window. She placed a familiar charm near the edge of the bed—one belonging to one of Kujo's sisters.

"Say it was her," Dimara whispered. "She had motive. She hated him. Say it was political."

Setara still couldn't speak.

Dimara kneeled down beside the headless corpse and opened her mouth unnaturally wide. Her teeth were no longer human.

In one grotesque motion, she devoured him.

The bones snapped. The organs squelched. His body was gone within a minute, sucked into her ever-hungry core. She absorbed it all. Damas' demonic strength, his mana, his years of bloodline training—it melted into her flesh.

Setara gagged, trembling.

Dimara stood and licked her fingers clean. Then she looked over her shoulder, smiling with eerie calm.

"Tell him it was all for him."

Setara found Kujo in the dining hall.

He sat alone at a long obsidian table with one hand resting lazily on a half-finished plate of roasted drake.

He didn't look up when she entered.

She approached quietly, her movements far more careful now, and dropped to one knee beside him.

"You know what happened," she said softly.

"I do."

"You're not angry?"

"I'll discipline her later."

Setara blinked, surprised. "So you're… not going to punish her?"

"She disobeyed my orders," Kujo replied. "But she protected one of my own. And I know what he was doing to you."

Setara stared at the floor. "She said… she did it for you. That I should thank you."

He leaned forward, meeting her eyes. "You don't owe me anything."

"No," she said, standing. "But I want to."

He raised a brow.

"I'm done playing political bride," she said, her voice steady now. "I want to follow you. Not because I'm afraid. But because you treated me like a person. No demon has ever done that before."

He watched her for a long moment.

Then nodded once. "Alright."

Setara bowed again, the jackal ears of her headdress catching the soft light. "Then from this moment forward, I swear my body, my magic, and my loyalty to you… and only you."

Kujo leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly.

His harem was growing.

Not by conquest.

But by truth.

And blood.