Page 1 of The Demon Mark

1

Envy stared out at his domain, proud and strong above them all. The kingdom that unfurled below him was one hardier than any of his brothers’ kingdoms. He had carved into the very rock and stone to create a home for his people. The foundation they walked upon was the bedrock at the base of their floating isle. Their home was nestled in the heart of the land that kept them alive.

He could feel it. The beating thrum never left this place and always echoed in his mind.

Like the magic that flowed through his veins, this kingdom was alive. He had given it life the first time he’d taken flesh, imbuing every part of this realm with his own magic that had flowed through every stone.

When he’d first come to this kingdom, he’d met the dwarves who could sing the stones. Earth bent to their will, and they were the first he’d stolen power from. Now, he alone could take the gemstones that glimmered in the light and give them powers that another could wield. All the magic in this kingdom was his to call upon and his to abuse if he so wished.

He was the most powerful creature now. Stealing magic had been so easy, and so addictive. He wanted all of it, because someone else had it.

Dragging the body in his grip to the edge of his white marble balcony, Envy stared down at all he’d made. The kingdom had swiftly become a hollow interior of a mountain. Vast and endless, the white and gray homes blinked with light far beneath his feet, so far away that they looked like stars. Just pinpricks of light in the distance.

Bare chested, he felt the wind play against the tattoos that covered him from neck to wrist to ankles. Each one of those tattoos was alive, and they all screamed for him to finish the job.

He lifted the man in his grip. The limp form was barely alive. If Envy had left him alone, perhaps the man would have gathered more power on his own. He would have become strong again, capable of magical spells that captivated the audiences around his kingdom. But Envy couldn’t stand knowing that he was still alive.

“Your magic will not go to waste,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “But I thank you for the gift of your illusions. They were ever so much more detailed than the ones I could conjure.”

A weak whine was his only response. A shame, really. One of these days, someone would lose their power to him and still be able to fight after he’d drained them.

Tossing the man’s body over the balcony’s edge, he walked back into his office with a sigh. It used to be fun. He used to feel satisfied every time he gained more power by draining someone else. But these days, it was just another chore. Something else to do in the endless madness of his kingdom.

Did he need more power? No, of course not. He was infinitely more powerful than anyone else in this kingdom. More power only glutted him, and was rarely used after.

But knowing someone else had something he didn’t have? That other people marveled over what another could conjure? That was an ache in his stomach that never went away. He needed to take. He needed to be the only person who could conjure magic because other people were looking.

So he took. And it left him still unsatisfied.

The fluttering sound of wings followed him as he approached his desk. This office was made of stone, like everything in his kingdom. His desk was a pristine marble with the faintest striations of grey that made this room feel colder than it was. But the icy sensation against his bare feet reminded him that he was alive.

His desk had been carved where it stood, impossible to move as it was connected to the floor. He let his hands trail along the carved walls as he made his way to his desk. He had commissioned talented artists to depict scenes of sorcerers and dragons on the walls. There were men and women in long white robes underneath his fingers now, and those gave way to the whirling illustrations of magic. Soon, he would feel the tiny scales of the massive dragon that took up most of his wall.

Sighing, he let his hand drop from the beauty of the artwork as he slumped on one of the few pieces in his quarters that wasn’t stone. The wood of his emerald velvet chair groaned underneath his weight. He propped his head on his fist, staring at the balcony where he knew his oldest friend would soon arrive.

Wings shifted, and a black raven soared through the window to land on her stone perch on his desk. The creature preened a few of her feathers before looking at him with a narrow-eyed gaze.

“Well?” Envy asked.

Orphe blinked one big eye and opened her mouth. The eerie human voice that came out of the beak had once disturbed him. He’d wondered what he had created when he’d poured a spirit of an emotion, like himself, into this bird. She was the embodiment of Ambition, and he loved that about his favorite magical beast.

“The rumors are true. There is another with more power than is acceptable.”

“Is that so?” He leaned back, abs flexing as he drummed his fingers on his bare stomach. “So the rumors of an oracle in this kingdom aren’t just a myth, then. Did you see this oracle for yourself?”

Another single, beady eyed blink. “I saw her for myself.”

“Her?”

“Oracles are only women, Envy. You have seen them before.”

Indeed, he had. But he hadn’t thought there was one still alive. Oracles were rare, and he had consumed the last one years ago. But she had been weak and old. Her magic was like trying to swallow a spiderweb. He’d never even gotten a taste of it. It had just leaked out of him the moment he’d swallowed it, seeping out of his pores before it disappeared.

Shoving up from his desk, he held out his arm for Orphe to stand on. “All right, let’s go see this oracle, then.”

“In that?”

He blinked. “In what?”

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