The heavy iron door creaked shut behind Markil.
The smell hit him first. It wasn't the smell of flowers or rain. It was the copper tang of old blood and the sickly sweet scent of decaying flesh.
Markil stood in the center of the "Garden."
To his left, a pile of bones.
To his right, the fresh corpse of a young elf girl, her eyes still open, staring at a ceiling she would never see again.
Markil didn't move.
He didn't breathe.
He just looked.
"Hey... hey!"
King Valerius stumbled backward, tripping over his own velvet cape. He had walked in expecting Viper, but found a demon in human skin.
"Are you... are you a human?" the King stammered, his eyes darting between Markil and the door. "Hey, look! If you get me safe... I will make you rich! Hey! I will make you a noble!"
The King stopped. He realized Markil wasn't listening.
He stepped forward, his trembling hands grabbing Markil's shoulders.
"Did you hear me?! I am the King! I can give you—"
Markil slowly turned his head. His eyes were not glowing. They were pitch black, voids where light went to die.
Markil looked at the dead bodies.
Then he looked at the King.
"Can you tell me something?" Markil asked softly.
The King blinked, sweating. "Yes? What is it? Anything!"
Markil's voice shook. Not with fear, but with a rage so deep it vibrated in his chest.
"So it was you..."
"You didn't kill them for war. You didn't kill them for survival."
Markil took a step closer.
THUD.
"You killed them because it was fun."
The King stepped back, remembering the report about the masked human.
"Yes..." the King scoffed, a nervous, arrogant laugh escaping his lips. He waved his hand dismissively.
"They are just elves! Slaves! Toys for the powerful!"
The King puffed out his chest.
"Why should a King care about broken tools?"
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero.
"Toys?"
Markil's fists trembled. His knuckles turned white.
"There were children crying for their mothers," Markil whispered.
"There were mothers begging for their children."
"There were fathers who knelt, offering their own lives just to let their families live."
Markil looked at the King with eyes burning with murder.
"And you laughed."
Markil took a slow, heavy step forward.
THUD.
"Do you know what their screams sounded like?"
"They weren't screams of warriors."
"They were screams of people who wanted to live."
"People who had dreams."
"People who trusted the world not to be this cruel."
The King hit the wall. There was nowhere left to run.
"W-Wait!" the King shouted, his voice shaking now. "I can give you anything!"
"Gold! Lands! Titles! I'll make you a noble! A Duke! A Prince if you want!"
"Just... just let me live!"
Markil smiled.
It was a cold, broken smile.
"You still think this is a deal."
"You still think lives can be bought."
"You still think pain is a coin you can throw away."
Markil's voice dropped into a deadly whisper.
"No."
"You don't get mercy."
"You don't get forgiveness."
"You don't even get a clean death."
Markil's pupils constricted.
"I will make you feel every scream you caused."
"I will carve every tear into your soul."
"And when you beg the same way they begged..."
"Only then... will I let you die."
The King scrambled sideways, his crown falling off his head.
"H-Hey! Stop!" the King screamed. "Don't come any closer!"
Markil raised his hand. Warfer, the Cursed Sword, materialized. It hummed with a hungry, purple light.
"That sword... p-put it down!" the King shrieked. "I... I have connections! Kings! Lords! Armies!"
"If I die here... you will be hunted!"
"You will be chased to the ends of the world! You will be dead too!"
Markil closed his fingers around the hilt. His aura exploded, crushing the furniture in the room, cracking the marble floor.
"...So that's your shield," Markil said, unimpressed.
"Threats. Names. Power borrowed from cowards hiding behind crowns."
Markil raised the blade. His eyes were empty. His voice was calm and terrifying.
"I accept death."
"If my path ends today... I won't run."
"If the world wants my head... I won't kneel."
"I would rather die standing... than live by letting monsters walk away."
The King screamed, tears streaming down his face. "You're insane! You can still walk away! You can still live like a King yourself!"
Markil gave him a death stare. Warfer hummed louder.
"I don't want your throne."
"I don't want your gold."
"I only want your end."
Markil took one final step.
"Run if you want."
"The distance between us is already zero."
"YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" the King roared, pulling a hidden dagger from his boot.
Markil didn't blink.
SLASH.
It happened in a microsecond.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The King's dagger clattered to the floor.
Followed by his hands.
Both of them. Severed at the wrists.
The King fell to the ground, screaming, flailing his stumps. Blood sprayed across the "Garden," mixing with the old blood of the elves.
"Nooo! Please! Help me!" the King wailed.
He looked up at Markil. His arrogance was gone. Only fear remained.
"Please... I won't do anything like this after this! Please!"
Markil watched him crawl.
He watched him bleed.
"A King becomes a King by building his empire," Markil said coldly.
"Not by chasing his vicious wishes."
Markil extended his left hand.
He remembered the A-Rank mages outside. He remembered the feeling of mana gathering.
FWOOSH.
A ball of fire appeared in his palm. But it wasn't orange. It was Purple and Blue.
Markil tossed it casually.
It landed on the King's left leg.
SIZZLE.
"NOOOOOO! GOD! GOD!"
The King thrashed as the purple fire ate through his skin, cauterizing and burning at the same time. The smell of cooking meat filled the room.
Markil stood over him, watching the flames reflect in his eyes.
"LUST," Markil shouted over the screams.
"IS THE TEST..."
"GOD..."
"GIVES..."
"YOU..."
"BEFORE..."
"HE..."
"HANDS..."
"YOU..."
"POWER!!"
Markil leaned down.
"Kareno."
VWOOOM.
Markil's eyes transformed. The geometric crests spun wildly.
The King looked into Markil's eyes.
Suddenly, the King froze.
He wasn't just burning physically. In his mind, he was dying a thousand times. He felt his head being cut off. He felt his heart stopping. He felt the pain of every elf he had ever tortured, all at once.
"GAAAAHHHHH!"
Blood started pouring from the King's eyes.
"Please!" the King gargled, choking on his own blood. "Kill me! I can't take this anymore!"
ZAP.
Markil teleported. He was instantly kneeling in front of the King.
He grabbed the King's hair with brutal force, yanking his head back.
"So you are begging now?"
"Noooo! Please! I'm sorry! Please kill me!"
Markil looked at the burning leg. It wasn't enough.
He grabbed the King's clothes and ripped them away. The King lay naked, vulnerable, stripped of all his royal dignity.
Markil placed his hand over the King's chest.
"Cinder Severance."
But he didn't cut. He pushed.
He visualized the burning.
The area around the King erupted in silent, invisible heat. The King's skin began to crack and peel, turning to ash while he was still alive.
The screams were no longer human. They were the sounds of a soul breaking.
CREAK.
Suddenly, the heavy iron door opened again.
A young man stood there. He had the same blonde hair as the King, but his eyes were kind. He wore simple noble clothes.
Prince Kaelen.
He froze.
He saw the blood.
He saw the severed hands.
He saw his father, naked and burning, dissolving into ash under the hand of a white-haired demon.
The King took one last, rattling breath.
Then, he went limp.
Markil deactivated the magic. He stood up, his hand dripping with royal blood.
He turned to face the Prince.
Markil's heart skipped a beat.
The son.
Markil remembered Elrond's words. He is kind. He will be alright.
Markil vanished from his spot.
ZAP.
He appeared in front of the Prince.
Markil hesitated. He reached out and put a bloody hand on the Prince's shoulder.
"Hey," Markil whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. But..."
The Prince didn't flinch. He didn't scream.
He looked at the pile of ash that used to be his father.
"I know," Prince Kaelen whispered, his voice trembling.
"I knew this would happen."
The Prince fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face.
"It is not your fault," Kaelen sobbed. "I know... Father had to get his justice."
Markil stared at him, shocked.
He accepts it? He understands?
Markil smiled. A sad, tired smile.
"You're a good kid."
Markil turned to leave. He walked toward the open window.
"Hey! Stop!"
The Prince stood up, wiping his eyes.
"What's your name?"
Markil paused on the windowsill. The moonlight illuminated his bloodstained mask.
He looked back with cold, yet gentle eyes.
"Markil. Just Markil."
Prince Kaelen nodded slowly.
"Markil... I'm really grateful. Just tell me..."
The Prince looked at the ash.
"Did my father... did he apologize for his crimes at the last moment?"
Markil looked at the boy.
He remembered the King screaming for mercy. He remembered the cowardice. He remembered the begging. There was no apology. Only fear.
But Markil looked at the Prince's hopeful eyes.
Markil smiled softly.
"Yeah," Markil lied. "He did."
"But I had to give him the pain so he would understand."
The Prince let out a breath he had been holding for years. "Thank you."
ZAP.
Markil vanished into the night, leaving the new King of Solara alone to rebuild a broken kingdom.
(Chapter 35 Finished)