Page 123 of Warlord's Plaything

The dark elf nods.

If Xyron dies, there will be nothing left of me to save.

If I lose him now, I won’t stop until this entire fucking place drowns in its own blood.

The crowd is already gathering.

I slip through them, a phantom moving through the murmurs of anticipation, through the sick excitement humming through the air.

I can hear the bets being placed.

The twisted fucking glee in their voices.

"How long do you think he’ll last?"

"The warlord of Herox? He won’t kneel. They’ll make it slow."

"A shame, really. That face shouldn’t go to waste."

I want to cut out their tongues.

I want to make them choke on their own words.

But not yet.

Not yet.

Because soon, the executioners will learn fear.

Soon, the council will see what happens when they try to kill a god before his time.

Soon, this city will belong to the flames.

And by the end of this night, they will all remember the name Hira.

They will all remember the warlord I set free.

And they will all fucking kneel before him.

40

XYRON

The chains bite into my wrists.

Tight. Unyielding. Heavy as a fucking tombstone.

I don’t let it show.

I don’t fucking flinch.

Even when the guards yank me forward, dragging me out of the darkness of my cell, hauling me into the light like a prize beast meant for slaughter.

The city awaits.

And I know exactly what they want to see.

I can hear them before I see them.

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