The gilded double doors of a grand meeting room burst open. They slam against the walls and clatter loudly, interrupting those speaking within. Though the conversation has ceased, none of the figures in attendance are surprised by the intruder or at her brazen approach. Anyone with an ability to read auras could feel the frustration, anger, and sorrow leading up to her entrance. The many Lords present sit around a long table lined with throne-like chairs. Their discussion involves the many documents and maps that litter the table, and some of the Lords make an effort to cover up their contents as she storms into the room. Gnat, the servant of the lord who rules this home, enters after the woman. His burnt body lags behind, and his hip clicks with every step in his painful strides. The sounds of his labored breathing bounce off the walls as he tries to keep up with her.
“My Lord–Alastor,” Gnat announces, huffing, “Madam Malizara–here to see you,” he says, attempting to introduce her between his wheezing, gasping breaths.
“Alastor, you foul sack of excrement!” she screams at him, her words echoing back off the walls of the large chamber. Alastor, sitting in a chair at the head of the table with his back to the door, glances back at her sidelong. Keeping his head facing his guests, he eyes her dismissively. The succubus before him is a consort of another prominent family within the Pit. She is dressed in fineries displaying the ostentatious wealth of her husband's rank. Her dark hair contrasts her light skin and would normally have entranced every eye. However, her snarling expression suppresses her seductive features. She walks close to the table and crosses her arms at her chest, staring down at the seated Alastor, letting her initial insult linger in the air.
Alastor stands to his full height, dwarfing her. He takes a deep breath in and addresses his guests. “Apologies for the interruption. We will continue this at another time.”
The seated Lords stand and wait as their attendants begin collecting their maps and papers. One of the Lords berates her attendant when he drops an armful of rolled papers, and he hurriedly picks them up. It takes a few moments for all of them to exit. Meanwhile Malizara has continued to stare only at Alastor. Once the room clears, Gnat bows and closes the large doors from the outside leaving only the two in the chamber. Alastor turns his back to her and casually walks over to a cart, pours himself a drink, then finally acknowledges her.
“Malizara, how good to see you,” he says sardonically. “What can I do for you?”
She moves closer to him, and he watches her while taking a long drink from his glass. “Spare me your disingenuous theatrics, Alastor. You know exactly what this is about.”
“Please, enlighten me.” He sets the glass down then finally focuses his full attention on her.
“Your little pet project killed my son!” She snarls the words and draws a hand back to strike him. He grabs her forearm before the impact and holds it. Heat from his grip sizzles her skin and the acrid smell of burnt flesh lingers between them briefly before he lets go. She pulls back quickly and cradles the limb.
“Watch your tone. Do not let your anger or your grief get the better of you, Madam,” he taunts, his eyes blazing. “And I think you will find that Rhal killed Bezhir, not my son,” he says with a disinterested tone.
“You know he couldn't have done it without your 'son's' assistance. This is cause for war, 'Lord' Alastor!” she replies and spits on the floor at his feet.
He glances at the spittle and smirks before turning his back on her once again and walking toward a floor length window. Staring out at the sky for a moment, he lets the quiet stillness build. He will respond, but he will do so when he desires. After he feels the long, tense silence is sufficient, he turns and walks toward her at a leisurely pace. Keeping his arms clasped behind his back, he speaks in measured tones.
“You would talk of war, but who are you to make such a declaration?” he asks, continuing his pace. “As far as I know, your husband has not abdicated his seat to you. I also have not mentioned to anyone that it was your son who tried, and failed, to seize my power. No doubt on your orders. And not just to have failed, but did so at the hands of a half-breed and by your own admission.” He clicks his tongue a few times in mock shame. “Do you really think you would remain in power with even a whisper of your many failures? Do you think your husband would not disown you?”
Her bravado falters momentarily. Alastor's exact recounting of her unsuccessful scheme proves the gravity and depth of his knowledge. She definitely had sent her son on his ill-fated journey. Her plot had been a means of seizing the power of a Lord and breaking away from her indolent husband to create her own empire. The unexpected death of Bezhir halted those plans indefinitely and the Lord in front of her did no more than defend himself. By all counts, she would be seen as the guilty party, unable to see her plans through to fruition. Alastor smiles at her surprised expression and stops in front of her. His immense proportions tower over her and he peers down at her comparatively diminutive frame.
“I,” she begins, but Alastor puts up a finger.
“Out of the respect I have for your husband, I have let this little charade play out.” He pushes out a powerful wave of his dark aura that leaves Malizara frozen in a moment of fear. “But respect for someone with whom you are attached can only get you so much. I care not for the plans you had, nor for the schemes of your son. What I do care about is this display you have made. If you ever come into my home and threaten me again, I will burn you and everything you know to cinders.” He raises a hand next to her face and the heat coming from it starts to discolor her previously unblemished porcelain skin. “Are we understood, consort?” He speaks of her title as an insult.
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Malizara swallows hard but does not move. Her prideful determination shows through. A flash of defiance creeps across her expression as she endures the pain of the heat while staring into his eyes.
“You have been heard,” she finally mutters through clenched teeth. She then turns, rips the doors open and storms out.
Gnat hobbles in after her departure and closes the door behind him. “A thousand apologies, My Lord. I tried to stop her, but was unable.”
Alastor acknowledges the words. He waves a hand in Gnat's direction and the servant cowers. A cry of surprise slips from Gnat’s mouth as his hip slides back into alignment with a loud 'pop' and his discolored, burn-scarred skin returns to its previous pale pallor. He is healed. Though it did not come without a level of pain, he is whole again.
“Your lesson has been learned. It no longer suits me to have a broken servant. You are now to keep an eye on her and keep me apprised of what you learn.”
Gnat doesn't respond, instead examining his newly healed body.
“Am I understood?” Alastor asks, but Gnat remains enchanted with inspecting the healed flesh. “Insect!” Alastor roars, snapping the servant to full attention.
“Yes, My Lord Alastor. Your will shall be done!” He scurries from the room, trying to regain his gait from before he was punished.
Alastor walks back to the cart and picks up his glass, taking another long drink and fully draining the contents. His frustrations swirl through his head and, in a brief fit of anger, he throws the drained glass at the nearest wall. It shatters on impact and he stares at the shards. Shaking his head at the outburst, he takes a seat once more at the head of the table. He puts his elbows on the table's cool surface, steepling his hands and resting his face against them. He thinks of his son and the trouble he may be in.
“So beautiful, and so wicked. I hope you are ready, my boy.”
***
It is startled awake from its slumber deep beneath the earth. It is being called, and it will obey. Pushing through the layers of the years it has slept, it wakes more and more, flexing its muscles after over a decade of atrophy. Digging its way to the surface, its claws make quick work of the soil that has housed it, and they slice through the pavement and cement as it emerges. Rats and roaches scurry away from it as it shakes clean of the mud and muck of the years of sleep. It walks, stumbling at first, down the back alley streets it emerged into.
Prowling in shadows, its senses return with renewed vigor and it sniffs the air. Its excitement shows as canine lips pull back, exposing a maw full of jagged, too-large teeth. Caustic drool drips down from its mouth and sizzles upon splashing to the ground. The drops burn holes into the stone, leaving behind noxious fumes. It huffs an excited raspy breath, sending ripples of heat through the air when the breath leaves its broiling throat. It hasn't had a purpose in some time, but now . . . Now it is necessary again, needed again.
And it is glad.
So much hiding, so much waiting without direction. But the beast's target has revealed himself, or has been revealed. Either way is just as well. The years it has spent here after being forced onto this plane have made it soft, dulled its instincts. Its once vicious predatory nature has slipped and been replaced by listlessness and lethargy during its slumber. The compulsion, no, the command to remain hidden has been revoked. This was the last order given to it by its master.
"When he awakens, you will find him and do exactly as instructed. Until then, you wait." The last order its master had given echoes in its mind.
Then it was shunted through the gateway into this loud, stinking, flesh-filled world. It growls at the thought, replaying its first memories after exiting the gate. The scared child screamed and ran. The humans that saw it, called it a beast. Which suits it well. The beast growls again, this time delighted remembering how scared those flesh bags were when they spotted it. They were so easy to hunt and quick to scramble away screaming. It huffs out a breath in laughter.
A nearby cat hears its growl and looks in its direction. With an arch of its back, the cat hisses and issues a low weak warning. The beast opens its jaws and returns the challenge. Its warning is much louder and rumbles the ground, causing a series of car alarms to sound near them. The feline wets the ground beneath it and jumps, scurrying away. Happy with this response to its display over the lesser animal, the beast feels it is time to find more dangerous prey to hone its skills. Some creatures like itself or other 'higher' beings will suffice. There's no shortage in this city. The beast remembers that there is a building with loud music where creatures like itself gather. A place like that would be perfect, but there is a powerful being there that even it fears. Perhaps it could scare up some game at the wizard's guild. It has options.
Coming out of the alleyway, the beast hears many odd sounds and sees flashing lights from all of the human machines lining the street. There is a group of humans huddled together and watching the show of lights and sounds. They are holding little boxes and freezing the images of what they see, saying something about 'posting' it later. It is used to being the focus of any mortals it comes across and becomes enraged that the humans seem to be ignoring its presence. It roars, and the ground shakes again, causing more of the sounds and lights from the other machines down the road. The humans turn and scream.
“What the hell is that?!” one of them exclaims.
“Oh, my God!” another yells as they all turn to run. This pleases the beast, and it revels in the chase that ensues.
It needs to complete its purpose, it needs to find him. But perhaps a bit of fun first. It must be ready for its task. There's no telling how strong he is, so first a hunt. Maybe two, maybe more. It may have lost its edge during its slumber but, now that its quarry is awake, it can finally come out of hiding. It will return to its roots and ensure the completion of the last order it was given. It has not failed in its duties before, and it will not now.
It will find him, and it will do what it must.