The King

The light was his courier and delivered to him the information to ensure he knew he was still in control over his land.

The puppets under his dominion scurried to and fro, building in preparation to ensure he will retain the submission of reality, as is his right to rule, appointed by his goddess. Invaders of Magics rebelled, they will be here soon, the barbarians at his border.

It enraged him.

Those Magic-influenced beings called humans require an authority to rule over them, and if the Magical Guardians will not willingly surrender, then he intended to conquer them with an iron fist until everything was his plaything. He eagerly awaited the day every single thing will dance to his whims, as is the epitome of submission.

He looked within his Miasmic construct attached to the concept of The One to Which Others Submit To, The Brutal King, The Tormenter and Lover of His Progenitor embedded in the Essence. Within it, malicious purple magic crackled and thundered around a pink orb which had been steadily diminishing over the past two days. Soon, he will have finally broken the Magical Guardian’s Soul, and push the expansion of his kingdom even further, even faster.

The fragments of the soul he had eroded bent to his Will, as all should. It turned into his Miasma, which he used for ripping and tearing into the physics of this dimension until it matched him like a cloak.

How dare she attempt to take away his plaything? How dare she attempt to take away the one whose mind he sprung from?

Charity. Hmph. What a weak concept. It cannot stand up to what is always at the top of the hierarchy.

He spun his righteous rage into a royal tapestry befitting his stature and sent it off to anchor his concept on the immediate territory of the enemy state surrounding his palace.

He warped the information that the light had nervously brought him as its tithe to the forefront of his mind, what passed for memory for this alien creature. He focused on his Lover, the royal creature that he had control of.

They had easily mimicked the wild beasts in his domain. It LICKED him. Disgusting. He felt no fear thrumming through his Miasma, merely joy... and distaste that he was messing up their hair.

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He has made a point since of messing it up at least once every three hours.

He knew full well that the peculiar member of his Royal Court did not technically belong to his schema. It is an impossibility for something such as that to escape his notice. They are simply nowhere near strong enough to cover the fact that they were human.

He instills far too much fear in the laws of reality for the laws to lie to him about that. But the recently appointed Tormented Princess fits in so well with the story he wove that leaving them out would be a travesty.

They are the unwilling Lover of the King, the Jester of the Court, and his wild dear Hound that his soldiers found on his doorstep.

Why would he not incorporate them? It enabled him to elevate his concept to from a mere puppeteer of his domain, to a being capable of enforcing his grasp over the humans. Now, it does not necessarily improve his strength nor could he use it against Magical beings coming for him.

It will just be beautiful to enslave the humans, he will incorporate the humans, warping them into his ideal: SUBMISSIVE. That is all. It will simply be beautiful.

They are such an endlessly interesting plaything... both he and them knew fully well that the other were perfectly willing to kill each other, but instead of (what he saw as) assenting to dying like the rest of those, with fear and terror or feeling murderous intent, they were willing to change their personality to submit to his ideals.

He “thought” on this. Really a precious treasure he owned. He admired them, just enjoyed watching them and showing his control.

After all, if the guillotine falls and no one is there to observe it, did the servant really get beheaded?

With a ruthless twist of his will, he looked through his leering sun, a spell he linked to the symbol of ‘Big Brother,’ an ingenious idea for even slightly Magical beings. He “looked” at the object of his desire, besotted with their newest changes. They are simply so PERFECT. One of the most beautiful things he owned in his domain.

He grinded his massive teeth, torn between devouring them or preserving the prized flower that they are.

Writhing worm-like magic squirmed behind the pale skin devoid of facial features as he was overcome with lust of The King.

His tentacles of his construct trembled and writhed with the intent of twisting their pretty little neck.

He commanded the air to sigh for him. Truly a difficult choice.

Devour the morsel or keep them alive?

They glanced at his Sun, before smirking, their smile akin to a work of perfection. They were a natural in using Charisma, their mastery in their social graces easily channeling Charisma to exude an aura of royalty in addition to the simple fact that they knew they were royalty in a way that few do, subtly influencing all of his servants to adore them. His Anathema, unless he directly ordered them, would die for his Princess.

They opened their mouth and sang a song with a rich, seductive baritone. Each lyric resonated with him, teasing him with their role as Jester and showing themselves off as a deeply attractive Noble.

It made all his truths agree: he will let them survive for now.