“You forget, soldier, what brought you before me. Do not end up losing your life when I have given you grace I so regularly deny to others before you,” La Mort said, his voice like a cold blade slicing through the soldier.

  The soldier quickly straightened up. “I came to you about Cane, sire.”

  “What has the boy done now?” La Mort asked, his tone changing to one of disappointment.

  The soldier stood to attention, his hands firmly by his sides, and cleared his throat. “The blood that you see spilled on my armour is the blood of our young soldiers and our men. Cane’s thirst for battle has grown beyond what our soldiers can handle, so I would like to recommend him to join the men on the front lines, sire.”

  La Mort had heard enough. He rose from his throne, and a darkness filled the room like no other, killing the energy with one foul swoop. His walk was slow and deliberate as he descended the steps. The guards’ heads dropped like a row of dominoes as fear locked away their eyes from looking.

  The soldier began to shake, struggling to hold it together. The thought to run played over and over in his head, but he did not move.

  As La Mort’s foot left the final step, Beof’s face fell into a full snigger, his tail wagging back and forth in excitement. He eagerly waited for La Mort to lay waste to yet another soldier.

  But as La Mort stood before the soldier, towering over him, he simply lifted his chin to meet his gaze.

  “You would have my child stand on the front lines? A mere boy — the heir to the throne — risk his life for what?”

  The soldier stood silently, trapped in the darkness that was La Mort’s gaze. He knew what to say; he was just too scared to say it.

  La Mort’s finger traced the soldier’s cheek gently — an attempt to provide a sadistic warmth to a moment that had none. “Do not hold your tongue now, soldier. Speak,” he said.

  But as the soldier opened his mouth, no words came out.

  “Speak, I said!” La Mort roared.

  “I–I meant no offence, sire,” the soldier stammered through quivering lips, trying his best to fight back against his fear that had stolen his bravery and locked it away deep enough that it wouldn’t see the light of day. “Cane is years ahead of even our finest men, sire. He played with our soldiers today — tore them apart with frightening ease. Some of our most highly decorated men were prey… prey that was toyed with. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s ready.”

  The soldier’s gaze broke. His shoulders slumped and his head quickly followed. You could hear his panting breaths; he was petrified — not knowing he had already said too much to his king.

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  “Hmph.” One solitary noise followed by what seemed like endless silence from the king.

  La Mort raised both his hands, laying one on the soldier’s left shoulder and one on the right. His head dropped, eyes falling on the soldier’s lowered face, then he finally spoke, breathing air back into the room.

  “Maybe your words, soldier, have substance behind them. The boy constantly challenges me for more. He shares in a hunger that I did not know until I was a man.”

  Still with his hands pressed against the soldier’s shoulders, La Mort took in a bellyful of air as he looked up to the ceiling of his throne room. An eerie smile of joy formed at the corner of his mouth as his eyes travelled across the ceiling for a split second before exhaling slowly.

  “Look at me when I speak these words to you,” he demanded.

  The soldier’s head rose slowly as La Mort waited patiently for their eyes to meet.

  “Was there hesitation in his eyes?” he asked.

  The soldier took a deep breath, steadying his nerves for what he was about to say.

  “He showed no weakness, sire. No mercy to our men. There was no hesitation in his eyes to pull the trigger. He was as cold as they come,” he said before lowering his head. But he wasn’t finished. He took a sharp breath in, then immediately out before continuing. “Our enemies would weep if Cane were unleashed upon them, and the galaxy would quiver at the sight of two of you. You would further solidify your rule — fewer would oppose, and more planets would bow, sire.”

  Beof sat there taking in every word. Another La Mort to bend, mould, and design in his image. His tail wagged uncontrollably at the thought of it.

  “Then it is settled, soldier. He will join us on the battlefield,” Beof said.

  La mort took a sideways glance at his trusted advisor but did not challenge his words. “He is truly your kin, my king — merciless, ruthless. He is you reincarnated, my liege — far ahead of you when you were his age. A wise head sits upon the boy’s shoulders. I will take him under my wing as I did you, my king, and mould him in our ways,” Beof said.

  A flashback of the old days ran through the king’s mind and he hesitated for a moment, his mouth slightly opening as if he were about to challenge Beof’s vision for the boy — but then it slammed shut. The flashbacks were gone just as quickly as they came.

  “He will be given his chance in due course. And soldier,” La Mort said as he patted him twice on the shoulders, “should anything happen to my son, know this — the blame shall fall at your feet, and the consequences… well, your screams will send shivers down the spines of your ancestors as they weep for your torment to stop. But no such grace shall come. You will scream in agony until the pain you feel becomes so unbearable your body grows numb to it.”

  La Mort released his hands from the soldier and turned to walk back toward his throne before stopping after a few steps.

  “Go — now, before I change my mind.”

  The soldier spun on his heel quickly, knowing he had to leave immediately before not being able to leave at all. As he exited the throne room and the double doors closed behind him, he began to breathe heavily, his breaths coming fast and sharp. The warmth that had eluded him in the throne room slowly began to return. He touched his chest, sighing in relief as he walked down the hall.

  All the soldiers under La Mort’s regime feared for their lives. Every day, a new version of La Mort could rear its ugly head, and that could be their last day on Elden City. But the soldiers had grown used to living with that fear, knowing one mistake meant death. They simply got on with it — better that than the alternative. Being on the other side of the war guaranteed death. The soldiers wanted to stay alive, to keep themselves on the right side of history. They might not have agreed with La Mort’s methods, but they knew better than to open their mouths.