#it was however brought to you by me agonizing over the royal palace floor plan

[groenendaelfic]

Royal palaces, Simon has come to realize, are like a game of The Sims. You walk in circles to get to the nearest toilet and there're way too many chairs.

Also the most meaningless things can lead to everyone stopping and freaking out, and the family everything is revolving around has clearly been using cheats for generations.

[plutoandpolaris]

The Hall of  the Demon King

Summary: Jackie’s been a prisoner of the Black Castle for almost three months now, but Anti’s plans for him have only just begun. 

Warnings: Blood, graphic descriptions, violence, weaponry, disease. 

He'd forgotten how long he’d been a prisoner at the castle. Time was hard to gauge without access to sunlight, and the lack of food kept him delirious and half conscious most of the time anyway. The King hadn't summoned him since the week he'd been captured, and while that hadn't been pleasant, at least he’d been fed. As it was, he was given bread and water once every three days. Enough to keep him alive, but certainly not strong enough to even think about escaping.

He’d expected some sort of torture or interrogation, especially with how the King’s mannerisms were described in the letter he’d received, but he'd gotten nothing. Somehow that was worse. He was alone, with nothing to do but sit with his own thoughts, listening to the castle breathe around him.

But today, something was changing.

The guards seemed nervous somehow, muttering among themselves about some sort of “trip” the King had planned. His food came earlier than usual, and with double the ration. He certainly wasn't complaining, but it was strange.

It was around midday when they came for him, as far as he could tell. He was buckled into a different set of chains, heavier ones than he was used to, and escorted out to the front courtyard of the castle.

An entire caravan had been set up with the King’s carriage at the front, followed by a smaller wagon for provisions and what could only be described as a prison cell on wheels in the back. Servants rushed back and forth, stocking the carriage and hooking up the horses, all while the head housemaid oversaw.

It wasn't until the palace gates opened behind them that they froze, scurrying out of the way and back into their positions near the wall. The King had arrived, flanked by the Oracle on his left and his steward on his right.

Jackie hadn't seen the Oracle since he’d been captured, he was told the magician was a very private man who almost never left the restricted fifth floor tower. The steward, however, had been the one to deliver his meals, and though they'd never spoken, (Jackie was unsure if the man even could speak), they had formed somewhat of a kinship.

The Oracle was an intimidating man, eyes shadowed behind his mask and hidden under the transparent folds of his cloak. Both hands were folded behind his back, clasped so tightly it looked nearly uncomfortable.

The other had a similar posture, and though he glanced at Jackie, the steward gave him no other recognition. His hands hung loosely in front of him, and the more the knight squinted, the more he could see faint green lines etched into his wrists, connecting them together.

“Where are you bastards taking me?” Jackie managed, pulling against his chains slightly even as they held firm. The King didn't even look at him, but the Oracle did, scowling deeply as he crossed the distance between them.

The magician held up his hand, pressing his thumb and forefinger into Jackie’s cheeks so hard the nails nearly drew blood, drawing them down to his jaw before letting go. He tried to retort, only realizing that he physically couldn't. His jaw was locked in place, sparks of pain rippling through him whenever he fought against the force holding his mouth closed.

It's some sort of curse, he realized, his theory confirmed by the mocking gleam in the magician’s eyes.

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out.”

He was hauled away before he could struggle further, the floor of the cell a rough welcome as he was tossed against it. A tarp was thrown over the cage soon after, wrapping the small space in darkness. He could still hear though, his ears straining to hear the conversations outside through the thick fabric of the tarp.

 “͡A͡re͜ ̷t̵he prov̧ís҉io͜n̨s ̶m͝a̸de?

“Yes sir.”

“̕M̴a͞k͜e sur҉e̵ ̡it g̕óes̨ ͏s͘mo̶o͡ther t̴ha̢n̕ l͡ast̶ ͏t́įme͢.͡”

“Of course, sir.”

He recognized the King’s voice, of course, but also that of the Night Guard commander who had captured him. A few more minutes passed, the bustling sounds around him growing quieter until a jostle of the cage made him lurch in his bonds.

The caravan was moving, finally, each bump in the road painful as his body knocked against the hard walls of his prison.

-

The ride was long and uneventful, and Jackie found himself slipping in and out of consciousness several times before a particular strong bump in the road brought him out of it again. Eventually he began tuning into the conversations going on outside, if for no other reason than remedying his boredom.

“Do you really think this is necessary?”

“His Majesty sure seems to think so.”

He recognized the Commander again, accompanied by the medic, another of his only “allies” in the castle.

The only time he was ever let out of his cell was for a checkup to make sure his wounds were healing correctly and that he hadn't picked up any new diseases. Due to this, the medic, (or Schneep, as his apprentices liked to call him) was one of the only people he felt he could trust in this hellscape.

He never understood why the King would want him taken care of like that, but his Majesty seemed to have quite the invested interest in keeping him alive.

Jackie wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

“The royal family haven't taken the journey all the way to the Temple since his Majesty was a boy, Chase. What makes this one special enough to warrant a three day journey only a two and a half months after capture?”

Two and a half months? It had felt like years.

“I don't know, but apparently there's something different about this one. I certainly don't see it, but if the King didn't see anything in him he'd be dead by now.”

Special? What about him was special? What were they planning to do to him?

A sudden pang of dread pooled in his chest, but he forced it down. Now was no time to start panicking, at least not yet.

The rest of the conversation escaped him as the caravan slowed, grinding to a slow halt. They had reached camp for the night. The tarp was pulled away, revealing a small clearing along the dirt path they’d been traveling on.

By the time tents were set up and the fires were lit, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Jackie couldn't find sleep.

Maybe it was due to the uncomfortable ache in his jaw from it being clamped shut, maybe it was the new location, he couldn't be sure, but even as all but the guards retired to their tents, he remained awake, staring into the fire listlessly as it burned down to nothing but embers.

One hour passed. Then two, then three, and yet still the only sleep he could find came in short fits and bursts.

It wasn't until he heard the rustling of fabric that he was shaken from his stupor. He sat straight up, leaning into the bars in an attempt to see what was going on without making too much noise.

The King himself had left his tent.

The two guards beside him stiffened when he emerged, only to collapse unceremoniously as he ran his fingers across the back of their necks.

What the hell was that?

They didn't stir as he passed, surveying the camp for a quick moment before taking a seat by the fire. For a moment Jackie stiffened, wondering if the King had noticed him watching, but he wasn't acknowledged.

Holding his breath, Jackie shrunk back into the shadows of his cage, watching as the King poked absentmindedly at what was left of the fire.

After a few agonizing minutes the scene changed, the soft glowing embers of the fire going dark so quickly it seemed unnatural. A cold wind blew through the camp, sticking to Jackie’s skin like tiny claws. They dug in, his blood seeming to still in his veins as an air of silence fell on them. Even the beasts of the forest had gone quiet.

“So you did wait for me, cihervan. I knew you would.”

The voice was soft and loud at the same time, echoing in his brain as if it was coming from within him. The King looked up, standing from his seat as a figure emerged from the trees.

At first it was nothing but a silhouette, so dark it seemed to pull in the world around it, until it coalesced into the shape of a woman.

She was tall, obscenely so, almost a full two feet taller than the King himself. Dark plated armor glinted in the moonlight, every inch of it carved in daemotic runes or stained in blood. She wore her weapons in the exact same alignment as the King did his, a sword at her left and three daggers at her right.

With each step she took the grass beneath her feet wilted, falling grey and ashen in an instant.

Green fire glinted in her irises, casting a sickly glow on the surrounding area.

This woman was not mortal.

“I̵ alway͏s ̢do͞.̛”҉

She laughed softly, the sound seeming to shake the ground itself, though the unconscious guards still did not stir.

“You seek out my brother's power once again, do you not? What makes you so sure this mortal is worthy of its gifts?”

For the first time Jackie could remember, the King seemed almost on edge, but even still he stayed composed.

“̧I ́know p͡ot̵e͢ņt͞i͟al̀ w͠hen̢ ̢I ͝şee͡ ̧it,̛ m̷othe̶r.͟”̴

Mother?!

“͟Į s͞hąĺl ̛t҉ur͝n ̶h̡im ́i҉n͜to͢ a͏ ̶ẁea͢p̕on. ͝Hȩ ͜will̵ b͢e my sẁơrd͡, and̕ ͟with̀ ̶him̀ I will̡ ̨dr̸o͡wn͢ ̡th̸i̸s ̡ùs̵ȩles̛s ͡ẁo͠rld in ̧b̵loo͜d̨.͝”̢

The smile she gave sent shudders down his spine.

“And so it shall be.”

Smoke radiated from her, drifting off of her body in waves, sinking into the ground and into the body of the guard closest to her. His skin had become nearly translucent, veins bulging profusely and tinged an unhealthy grey.

“͢K͡e̸ep̛ ̡yo̵u̕r͘ si͏c̨k̡nes̢s ͠t͝o yours̕elf. I won͏'t҉ h͞av̀e͘ an̡other of ̴my ͘gua͘rd̕s ̷s͡ląye͡d͏ i̷n ̕t͝h͏e͝i̛r͞ ͜pr͡ime͠ be̛c҉ause ͞y͢ou c͘an̸'t͡ h̴e͢lp ͠b̵u̡t̴ ĺe͟av̢e͠ a ͜t̀r̸a̛i̛l of̧ ̧corp̧se̢s ͟e͏v̶erywhere̛ yo̧u̧ wa̵l͝k͞.̧”

She laughed again, the smoke lifting to reveal the emancipated corpse of the man. He looked as if he’d been rotting for days, though he had been alive and healthy only a few minutes before.

“You never let me have my fun.” She cocked her head to the side, surveying her kill. “Unfortunately for you, and for him, it's a little too late.”

She seemed to notice the annoyed glare Anti was giving her, letting out a feigned sigh.

“I can tell when I'm not wanted. Make sure to tell my darling brother hello for me!” Her face darkened then, the cheerful mask fading away into an anger so deep it was almost difficult to behold.

“And tell him he still owes me a favor.”

With that she was gone, leaving a patch of dead grass and the corpse of the guard as the only indication she was there at all.

Anti let out an annoyed sigh, leaning down to run a hand down the face of his mother’s victim.

“An̕ot͞he͟r ̵o̴f͟ ̀ḿy ҉m̨ost̷ p̷r͝omis͘i̡ng͘ w̸arr̶i̵ors. ͡S̴h͞e̛’̧d̸ c͝ho͢o͝se͠ not͠hi̕ng le̴s̶s.”

After a few more minutes the fire surged back to life, the air warming so quickly it was almost unnatural. The King had since gone back to his tent, and the remaining guard began to stir.

The scream he gave upon the body of his dead companion could’ve woken the man from the dead.

Jackie barely heard the commotion as the rest of the camp discovered the corpse, his mind still reeling from what he'd just seen. That was a goddess, there was no doubt about it. He'd never learned very much about the pantheon, his father hadn't seen it necessary to teach him when he lived back on the ranch, but now he wished he had.

The letter had said that the king was a demigod but Jackie hadn't believed it, not one bit. As far as he was told, demigods were a myth. What reason would the Gods have to reproduce with mortals?

Proelia, Goddess of war and disease.

Disease is right.

Jackie felt another pang of fear. If the King really was the demigod son of that woman, he'd have some of the same abilities. Proelia had turned a healthy man into a corpse in less than five minutes. What did that mean for him?

That thought followed him into a restless sleep, into nightmares full of green fire and cold hands itching to tear him apart.

-

He awoke to the sound of his cage being hooked back into the caravan, sharp rays of sunlight falling through the bars onto his trembling form. In the morning light the clearing looked far less sinister, but he could still see the patches of dead grass in the distance, making it clear that what he'd seen was not a dream.

The dead man had been wrapped in cloth and stored in a separate compartment of one of the provisions wagons, for burial back at the castle.

Conversation was much more somber than it had been before.

“How does a man just up and die like that, no warnings, no symptoms?”

“I think you know full well how.”

“But-” Chase let out a sigh, his voice falling to a softer whisper. “What could he have done to deserve a death that gruesome? He was a new recruit, he'd barely been here long enough to talk to the King, let alone anger him enough to warrant that.”

“Trying to understand his majesty is a lost cause, you know that. He does what he wants for reasons that I’d given up trying to comprehend long ago.”

There was a long silence before the other spoke again, a hint of anger grinding at the edge of his tone.

“Well it's not your men he's killing.”

The rest of the ride was spent in near silence, the only noise the creaking of the wood and the pounding of hooves on packed dirt.

-

The next two days of travel were uneventful, even too much so. He'd stayed up late every night hoping to see if the King would emerge from his tent again, but he never did. No more casualties, nothing out of the ordinary. And so Jackie was left alone, dread heavy on his shoulders.

The town they finally arrived in was small but bustling, the crowds parting around them as the entered, each face a mixture of interest and reverence.

They continued until they came across a shrine, right in the center of town. Night was beginning to fall, the first threads of twilight weaving their way into the sky.

The shrine was made of stone, nothing but a circular platform and half wall with a pedestal in the center, holding a small black dagger. The wall was carved in runes, each one so old they were nearly illegible, although Jackie recognized a few from the carvings on Proelia’s armor.

By the time the caravan had parked and preparations had been made, the sun had dipped below the horizon. The stares of the townfolk burned in his back as he was dragged up on the platform, although they held no malice yet, just curiosity.

The real silence came when the king emerged from his carriage, followed by the Oracle quick at his heels. The hush that fell over the crowd was stifling, Jackie didn't think a crowd that large could be this quiet.  

Anti turned to address his people, hand tight on the hilt of his sword.

“͜T͠he m̕áinļa͝nd͘ers ̴hąve̸ ͢sc̸or͝nèd ͟us͞ ̵for̷ ͏centu̴ri̷es.́ T̵he̴y d̢e̵fi͞l̸e͢ oùr ̵l̡aǹd ͝and̛ ̶r̕e̸je̴ct͞ ̨ou͟r gods̴, ͢a͜nd ̵n͡o̸w͟ ͞t̨hey͘ s͝en̕d ̷th͘ei͝r̵ wa̛rr͟iors t͢o ͏c̶út̵ ̷u̶ś ͜d͏ow̶n. B͡ųt n͠o͡ l̶onger͘!͞”

Anti drew his sword, positioning the blade under Jackie’s jaw and using it to tilt his face upwards.

“B̨ef͜or͡e͡ noẁ I̢'҉v̛e̡ ͝g̴i̷ven̴ ҉t̴h̛e͡se ̶in̨va̕d̕e̷rs ͢the͏ m̧e̵r͢c̀y̕ ̛o͝f̨ a̢ ͢qui̕ck d͢eath̡, ̕bu͢t͝ ́i͘t ̀śe͡ems ̢th̛e̵ ͝corpses̡ ͡of ͝th̀ei͠r̛ ̧c̸h̷i̛ldrȩn͡ a͏rèn͡'͜t͠ ̸s͢pèak̸įng ļo̡ud̀ ͢eno̡ug̀h̶ to͏ t͜he ̴ma҉in̡l̡a͘nd scùm̛.̀ ͟So ͜instead, ̶we’ll ̀s͠e͞nd t͞hem͟ a ̢mes͢s̕a͠g͜é t͠h̀e͏y̡’ll h̸ear ̡lo͏u̧d̵ a̴nd ̵c͡l͡ear.̨”͘

While the crowd wasn't malicious before, they certainly were now that they knew who he was. Their low murmuring became a loud crescendo, cursing him in so many different languages he couldn't keep track, until Anti held up his hand to silence them.

“͟I̕ ̸w͡ill ͜u̴se̶ ̛t̴hȩ p͠o̸w͟er of t͞he god̸s̨ ͘h͘is ͞pe̶op̛l̴e ab͏an͏d̕ơn̨e҉d͜ ţo t̕u̢r̶n ͜h̕im into̕ ͟a̕ ̸w̢ea҉po̢n, f̕or͡gȩḑ of b̕l͏oo͠d̡ ̵and ̶i̢roņ,̸ ̕an͠d͘ we’lĺ ͢s̵ee̶ ͟h̀o͜w͠ t́he͢y fee̛l ͠w̶h͝en the̢ swo̢rds͘ of t̵he̡ir͡ ̷b̀r͜e̷t̨hr͢e҉ņ ́áre ̕tu҉rn͝e͢d̕ ag̵ain̡s̀t̸ ͟them.”̡

The sword was sheathed, replaced with the dagger from the altar. It was a polished silver, runes carved down the length of the blade. Jackie was hoisted up by the nearby guards, wrenched into a half standing position.

Anti lifted the blade into the black sky, murmuring under his breath in a language Jackie didn't recognize. The carved runes began to turn black, as if the sky was bleeding into the blade with the consistency of liquid.

By the time he lowered the blade it was heavy with power, the runes a black so dark it was almost hard to look at. Jackie’s head was wrenched back by his hair, neck laid bare for the blade. Anti adjusted his grip on the handle, taking a step back before bringing the blade down in a flourishing arc.

The sensation was strange, at first it didn't even hurt. It was just cold, frigid even, the chill spreading through his veins and seeping deep into his skin until his very heart began to stutter. The blood that dripped in rivulets down his throat, however, was warm, and in comparison to the chill it was so hot it burned.

He felt the guards release his arms, his limb body falling to the ground with a sickening thud, blood seeping into the stones and spreading out from him like a crimson kaleidoscope. The sensation almost felt like hands, gripped tight around his neck, nails sinking into the gash in the blade had created.

His ears began to ring, softly at first, until the shrill sound enveloped him in an uncomfortable unconsciousness.

Fun times, am I right? This one was a doozy, but I’m glad I got it done. 

Some important things to note: Daemotic is a fake language I created for my fictional universes, and its the natural language of demonkind. I come up with the words by taking the Irish and Latin translations and mashing them together. There was only one Daemotic word in this fic, Cihervan, which means little one. And yes, Anti hates when Proelia calls him that. 

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