Indomitable

f o r t y - t h r e e

Surrounded by a barren wasteland, Killure's closed his eyes and allowed the wind to blow gently against his face, as he imagined what his home used to look like.

Northfall, was what it was once called. It hardly deserved the name now.

Icixes used to thrive here. Northfall was a few hours flight away from the other islands, which meant they were protected by all the sea monsters swimming in the waters, looking for sailors to devour. Some were huge, able to swallow entire ships whole if given the chance—and there was no shortage of such terrifying creatures in the sea. As a result, Northfall had always been impenetrable.

Sea monsters never bothered swimming between the cluster of six islands because of how shallow and warm the water was, but they were abundant between Northfall and the other islands. Not a single boat could reach here.

The Icixes could travel as they liked, however—flying to and fro, preying upon unsuspecting humans on the other islands and then bringing for their families whatever they hadn't eaten on the flight back. Some even liked to prey on the humans for sport, even if they weren't hungry and their actions weren't out of necessity.

Emperor Kael, arguably the most ruthless and barbaric Icix of them all, particularly enjoyed the hunt, and used to terrorize humans for the hell of it. He only ever ate what he personally caught and killed, but oftentimes he killed so many people that there was an abundance of human meat and it often went to waste.

His eldest son never quite had the same tastes.

Killure allowed a ghost of a smile to appear on his face. His father had always been far too sure of himself. Just because he was the emperor didn't mean he was immortal, and his death proved that.

Killure could still hear his father's harsh voice ringing in his mind, telling his son how worthless he was, and how he'd never amount to anything. Never be great like his father, the emperor.

And though he was dead, the man was still right.

Impossibly, frustratingly, always right. Even in death.

Perhaps it was his father's words that sealed Killure's fate—made the old man's words come true. Held him back from accomplishing anything of worth. Or perhaps this was his fate from the beginning, and what his father said had nothing to do with it.

Killure clenched his fists. He could feel the tips of his claws piercing through the surface of his palms, and pressed even farther until his hands began to bleed. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, embracing the pain, for it was all he knew.

His pretty little master probably thought all the scars on his body were from his previous masters. And some were, to be sure, but many were also inflicted by his own father. Killure hated those scars with a burning passion. The idea of wearing his father's marks—his brand—on his back for the rest of his life infuriated him.

Even after death, his father was with him.

However, there were very few Icixes left to remember the savage Emperor Kael. The rest were dead.

A burst of anger erupted within him, directed at the powerful men who'd orchestrated the massacre of his people. Not only had they destroyed everything he knew and cared about, they'd taken his father's life.