Stormbringer: King

F O U R T E E N

"Everything had settled and was well,
until the new general of the army
was also murdered."

・ ・ ・

There was thunder, resounding like a cry of war. A booming clap, resonating, rattling. Permeating through the thick walls surrounding him like water soaking through a thin mesh.

Slayen shifted where he sat in his cell, shoulders slumped, fingers toying with a dagger. He held it before him, dangling it by the blade, staring as the faint dungeon light reflected off the Ultra Titanium surface. He tilted it, so that the blade gave off a sheen of orange that reminded him of fire.

Then he dug into his pocket, took out the whetstone that had been given to him, and started sharpening his weapon.

Running his blade over the whetstone again and again, he listened to the metallic, ear-piercing sounds made, echoing in the silence of the dungeons. There was a clanking of armour further ahead, and Slayen smirked.

The guard was uneasy.

"Remember, Slayen, my boy."

Another roar from outside.

He continued sharpening his dagger for a while longer, checking it in the dim light every few minutes to see if the edges were sharp and even enough.

"You seem quite comfortable in there," came a voice he knew all too well, and Slayen lifted his crimson gaze to meet brilliant green.

Xenor.

"Why, of course, Your Highness," he said, sliding his blade over the whetstone slowly, deliberately. The noise stretched out in the silence of darkness— a piercing, hollow ring in a void of convoluted black. "I've been treated quite well in this disgusting dump."

There was a flutter of eyelids as the royal outside his cell rolled his eyes. "Intriguing." Xenor crossed his arms over his chest. "Do humour me more."

Crimson flashed, narrowing. "What the fuck do you want now, prince?" Slayen snarled, stopping his sharpening process. "The last time we met, you shoved me back into this fucking shit-hole. I did what you wanted, but you— that wasn't the fucking deal."

"Are 'fuck' and 'shit' the only vulgarities you know?" Xenor yawned with a maddening nonchalance, tilting his head elegantly to the side. "I'm quite certain that your vocabulary is much more expansive than that."

"Are you fucking listening to me, asshole?" Slayen flung the whetstone at the prince. It bounced uselessly off the cell bars separating them with a loud clang, landing on the floor with a clatter.

The prince stopped.

The next thing Slayen knew, there was a dagger embedded in the wall, directly beside his face, cutting a few stray strands of his hair away. He faltered, feeling a sting on his cheek, and reached up to touch the ache. Something wet was oozing out from a cut on his skin, and his fingers came away stained with blood.

"Slayen." Xenor's voice was low. Deep. Almost like a growl. Unlike the sarcasm and calm the prince usually used when speaking.

The prince sounded dangerous.

Even more dangerous than anything he'd ever heard before.