Lord Halbrecht's Court
Lord Halbrecht of Greymoor was not a man to be underestimated. Fat, yes. Greedy, definitely. But beneath the layers of indulgence and wine stains was a political snake who had slithered his way through three wars and five family feuds without once getting his own hands bloody.
His court was a reflection of him: loud, corrupt, and painfully medieval. Stone pillars rose high in the great hall, torches casting greasy shadows across banners stitched with his boar sigil. Nobles stuffed in brocade sat gossiping at long tables, their mouths greasy with lamb and spiced wine. Servants scurried about with the speed of rats, carrying trays and dodging drunken hands.
At the center of it all sat Halbrecht on a wide oaken chair that was just short of a throne—big enough to project power, not big enough to invite accusations of treason from the High Crown. His jowls quivered as he chewed a slab of roasted boar, and his piggish eyes gleamed at the report being read before him.
"—and so, my lord, the villagers and militia dragged from the forest three strangers who fell from the heavens in a burning sky-chariot," droned the steward, a skinny man with ink-stained fingers.
The hall erupted in whispers.
"Demons!" spat one old knight, crossing himself.
"Or gods!" countered a priest, clutching his amulet. "Omens from the heavens, sent to test us!"
"Or spies," muttered a rival noble, eyeing Halbrecht with suspicion.
Lord Halbrecht raised a pudgy hand, silencing the noise.
"Gods do not fall from the heavens in burning wrecks," he said flatly. "And demons do not wear the skin of men so cleanly." He licked grease from his lips, smirking. "But spies? Yes. That I can believe. Which clan sent them? Which House dares trespass on my domain with magic-machines and strange armor?"
The steward bowed. "They spoke in a foreign tongue, my lord. Not the common speech. And their manners… were unrefined."
"Unrefined?" Halbrecht snorted. "Good. If they were nobles, they'd have grovelled already. That means they're mercenaries. Tools." He leaned forward, his chair creaking. "And tools can be bent or broken."
The hall chuckled darkly.
A younger noblewoman spoke up—Lady Verenne, sharp-eyed, ambitious, and dangerously clever. "If they truly fell from the sky, my lord, they may hold powers we do not understand. Perhaps we should consult the High Priests before deciding their fate."
Halbrecht waved her off with greasy fingers. "The High Priests only care about filling their coffers. If these strangers are powerful, better they serve me first. Let the crown squabble later."
The priest scowled, but held his tongue.
Halbrecht's eyes glittered. "Prepare the dungeons. Let them stew in the dark a while. Tomorrow, I will see if these so-called sky demons bend the knee… or if their heads look prettier on spikes."
The hall roared with approval, goblets slamming against tables.
Outside, the bells of Greymoor tolled, their heavy iron chimes rolling over the city like thunder. Peasants whispered of fallen stars, omens of war, gods or devils in human skin. Some prayed. Some sharpened blades. Everyone knew one thing for certain—something had changed tonight.
And in the bowels of the castle, three men from another world sat in chains, waiting.
Damian's cold eyes glimmered in the torchlight.
Kael muttered equations under his breath like prayers.
Riven just grinned in the dark.
The storm was only beginning.
The Interrogation
The dungeon beneath Greymoor Castle was a pit of misery. Rats squeaked in the corners, the walls dripped slime, and the air reeked of rust and rot. Shackles clanged as the three CEOs sat chained to iron rings in the stone.
When the heavy doors creaked open, torchlight spilled in, revealing Lord Halbrecht himself flanked by armored knights and a priest clutching a book like it could shield him from evil.
"Well, well," Halbrecht drawled, his voice greasy with amusement. "The fallen stars. The sky demons. My little prizes." His eyes slid across them like a butcher sizing up livestock.
Riven spat a bloody tooth onto the floor and grinned. "Fuck you too, Jabba the Hutt."
The knights tensed, hands going to their swords. Halbrecht only chuckled. "Even their tongue is strange. Harsh. Guttural. It stinks of demons."
Kael groaned, clutching his bruised head. "For fuck's sake, does anyone here even understand me? Hello? Language barrier? Jesus Christ…"
The priest stepped forward, muttering a spell under his breath. A faint shimmer of light passed over the three prisoners. The priest gasped. "They are not demons, my lord. Their souls… are human. Strange, but human."
Halbrecht frowned. "Human… but not of this land. Interesting." His eyes narrowed like a predator's. "That means I may break them like men."
He gestured. Two knights hauled Riven upright, chains rattling.
"Name," Halbrecht demanded.
Riven stared him dead in the eye. "Daddy."
The nearest knight punched him in the gut. Riven doubled over, wheezing, then started laughing. "Oh yeah… hit harder, you tin can fuck. I like it rough."
Kael groaned again. "Please. For the love of—stop antagonizing them, Riven."
Damian hadn't moved once. His cold eyes never left Halbrecht. His silence was louder than anything the other two said. Finally, the lord's gaze turned to him.
"You. The quiet one. You look like a noble, not a mercenary. Tell me—what clan sent you? What house do you serve?"
Damian's lips curved into the faintest smile. "I serve no house." His voice was cold steel. "I build empires."
The translator priest paled, but Halbrecht leaned in, intrigued. "Empires, you say? You speak as if you are my equal."
Damian's gaze never wavered. "No." His voice dropped to a whisper that cut like a blade. "Not your equal. Your replacement."
The hall went still. The knights shifted uneasily. Even the torches seemed to flicker.
Riven started laughing so hard he nearly fell off the chains. Kael smacked his head against the wall. "Oh my god, you're going to get us all executed."
Halbrecht's jowls trembled, his face flushing red with rage. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. A deep, booming, porcine laugh that shook his belly.
"Ha! Such arrogance. I like it." He pointed a greasy finger at Damian. "Chain them tighter. Let them rot tonight. Tomorrow, we test their worth. If they truly are omens, they will survive. If not…" His grin widened. "Their heads will decorate my gate."
The knights dragged the CEOs back into the dark. The iron door slammed shut.
And in that silence, Damian finally spoke again, voice low and certain:
"He's already lost. He just doesn't know it yet."
Riven chuckled. "Can't wait to burn this shithole to the ground."
Kael sighed. "We are so unbelievably fucked."