⚠️ Content Warning — Mature Themes
This story contains graphic violence, strong language, and adult themes intended for audiences 18 years and older. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
If you are under 18, please do not proceed.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the cold marble halls. Shadows clung to the pillars like carrion birds waiting for the kill. Upon his throne, the King sat slouched — a gaunt shadow of the man he once was. His crown hung crooked, his fingers drumming against the gilded armrest like claws on bone.
"Where is he?" The King's voice was low, simmering with fury.
The guard standing before him swallowed hard. "My lord… I summoned him, but he refused, saying he was occupied with trade—"
Before the words could finish, steel flashed.
The King's jeweled dagger sliced across the guard's mouth, severing his tongue clean. Blood spattered the polished floor, pooling between their feet.
"If you have a mouth," the King whispered in his ear, cold and close, "use it for loyalty. Fail me again, and you won't have a head to bow with."
The guard collapsed, clutching his face as the heavy throne room doors creaked open.
A merchant stepped inside, dressed in fine silks, his smile trembling.
"My King… forgive the delay. You summoned me?"
"Ahh…" The King straightened, a thin smile stretching his lips. "Finally. I was starting to think I'd need to fetch you myself."
The merchant approached, the shadows seeming to coil and tighten with every step.
"You've brought what I asked for… haven't you?" the King asked.
"Y-Yes, my lord… everything you requested."
"Good," the King murmured, almost laughing. "But tell me… do you think a mere trade will cleanse my hunger?"
A chill slid through the air. The merchant's hand shook as he lowered a small black box to the King's feet.
"My lord," he began, voice trembling, "I ventured to the Forgotten Lands… to a clan even the Old Gods dare not name."
The lid creaked open.
Inside lay a twisted black seed, its surface veined and pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. At its center, a bloodshot eye rolled and fixed its gaze on the King.
The eye blinked.
A whisper slithered into the air, faint yet sharp, as if crawling directly into their ears:
Feed me… and I'll feed you.
The King's grin deepened. "So… this is the gift you bring me?"
"Yes, my lord. The Dark Clan said this seed will grow in your soul. It will devour your hunger… and replace it with power beyond imagining."
"…Power beyond imagining?" The King leaned forward, whispering to the seed. "I'll be the judge of that."
He plucked it from the box. Black veins crept along his arm, sinking beneath his skin. He didn't flinch. His smile only widened, teeth glinting sharp.
"You've done well," he said, stepping closer to the merchant. "For now, your life has value. But tell me… did they tell you what happens when this seed blooms?"
"They… they said it will grant its host what they desire most."
"Desire?" The King's eyes gleamed, faintly red. "No. This isn't about desire anymore. This is about domination."
The King closed his fist. The seed didn't shatter — it melted, seeping into his palm like black mercury. Whispers flooded the throne room. A shadowed mist leaked from his lips as he exhaled.
"Ahhh… finally," he breathed. "I feel alive again."
"My lord…" The merchant stepped back. "Are you… alright?"
The King's head snapped toward him. His eyes were now pitch-black.
"Alright?" His voice curled into a dark chuckle. "No… I'm hungry."
The black mist spilled across the floor, curling like serpents toward the merchant's feet.