HELLION

Hellion lounged on the obsidian throne, his towering frame exuding an aura of menace. His black, soulless eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on the demons scattered throughout the chamber. They reveled in tormenting the condemned, their gleeful cackles blending with the crackling of infernal flames. The red hue of Hellion's skin glistened in the flickering light, accentuating his formidable presence. Two imposing black horns jutted skyward from his skull, their jagged length radiating intimidation. His long, brown hair cascaded over his broad shoulders, contrasting sharply with his bare, muscular torso. He wore only rugged brown leather pants, his feet bare, gripping the scorched stone floor.

In his clawed right hand, he held a massive silver battle axe etched with intricate black runes that seemed to writhe like living shadows. His piercing gaze finally landed on his younger brother, who had just entered the chamber.

"Well, aren't you cozy on Father's throne?" Andell said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. I knew that I'd find you here."

Hellion narrowed his eyes to Andell's restored arms, now whole again. "I see that bothersome limbs of yours grew back."

Andell clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as rage flickered in his eyes. "That bitch will pay for what she did to me."

Hellion smirked, a twisted expression devoid of warmth. "And whose fault is that, little brother? You provoked her."

Hellion leaned back, resting the axe across his lap as his smirk deepened. "What do you want, Andell?"

Andell sighed, his frustration evident in the harsh exhale. "I need your help to get rid of Isabella."

A sharp laugh erupted from Hellion's lips, echoing across the chamber. It was cold, calculated, and mocking—a laugh that made Andell's stomach churn.

"You need my help? How delightful." Hellion's voice dripped with sarcasm. "And why not ask our dear Father?"

"Because he loves Mother too much to ever harm Isabella," Andell snapped. Well I think he does, his tone softened, almost pleading.

"And you… you're different. You hate everyone. Everything. Come on, Hellion. What will it take for you to help me?"

"All I need is five of your best warriors," Andell said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He locked eyes with Hellion, the towering general whose reputation preceded him. Hellion wasn't just a warrior—he was a living legend, known for his cunning strategies and relentless drive in battle. The army he commanded was as ruthless as their father, a force that had left entire kingdoms trembling in its wake.

Andell's heart raced as he spoke. He knew that asking for Hellion's help was no small request. These warriors were unstoppable, unmatched by any foe. Nothing in this world—nor the next—could stand against them. Andell clenched his fists, silently praying that his plea would not fall on deaf ears.

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Hellion's eyes gleamed with malicious glee as he tilted his head. "Your right horn."

"What?" Andell's voice rose, tinged with disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am," Hellion replied, his smirk widening to reveal sharp, glinting fangs. "Your right horn. Give it to me, and I'll grant you five of my best warriors. No horn, no help. It's your choice."

Andell's pulse quickened as he took a step back, the enormity of the demand dawning on him. "But… why my horn? What are you going to do with it?"

"That's a question you'll never get an answer to until it's too late." Fear crept up Andell's body, he shook it off nervously as Hellion rose from the throne with a slow, deliberate grace, his towering eight-foot frame dwarfing Andell's. His pointed tail swayed behind him, and each step brought an oppressive weight. "Decide quickly. You're wasting my time."

Andell swallowed hard, his voice a mere whisper. "Fine. At least it'll grow back."

"No, it won't," Hellion said, his tone devoid of sympathy.

"What the hell do you mean?" Andell's voice trembled as he backed away.

Hellion's smirk deepened as he closed the distance between them. "If I take your horn, it won't grow back. Ever."

Andell's breath hitched, the reality crashing down on him. "Okay," he croaked, barely audible.

Hellion loomed over him, his dark eyes gleaming. "What was that? I didn't hear you."

"I said okay!" Andell shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.

Hellion's clawed hand shot forward without warning, gripping Andell's horn. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the chamber as Hellion ripped the horn from his brother's head in one brutal motion. Andell screamed—a high-pitched, agonized sound that silenced the demons in the room. Black blood poured from the jagged wound, staining his face as he collapsed to the ground, gasping and moaning in pain.

Hellion stood over him, holding the severed horn aloft, his expression one of disdain. "The warriors will be waiting in your chambers, dear brother." His voice was cold, detached, as though the act of mutilation was nothing more than a business transaction.

As Hellion strode away, his tail swaying with each step, blood dripped from the horn clasped in his clawed hand. Hellion smirked, a spark of anticipation flickering in his dark eyes. He could hardly wait to see the outcome of Andell's plan. The thought of it sent a thrill coursing through him—one that mingled with admiration and a tinge of mischief. He knew Isabella was no ordinary warrior. She was exceptional, a force to be reckoned with—better than any soldier under his command. She had surpassed them all, and rightly so. After all, he had trained her himself in secret. To the outside world, it seemed as though he hated her. Their endless bickering and fiery clashes had convinced everyone of it. But deep down, he harbored a soft spot for his little sister, one he'd never admit to anyone. There was a bond between them, forged in blood and fire. Once, during one of their more heated fights, she had nearly killed him. That moment had been a turning point—a strange, brutal declaration of her strength. And from that day, he respected her in a way that words could never describe.

Giving Andell five of his best warriors to aid in the mission wasn’t a sacrifice. Hellion knew better. Those warriors, loyal on the surface, were spies planted by their father—a fact he had discovered long ago. He did not doubt that Isabella would deal with them as ruthlessly as she would any other obstacle. The thought brought another smirk to his lips. Yes, his sister was capable, and he couldn’t wait to see her prove it again.

Andell lay on the ground, clutching the stump of his horn, his breaths ragged. He didn't know what Hellion planned to do with the horn, but it didn't matter. Carlisle and his coven wouldn't succeed against Isabella—it was all a diversion. He can only hope that those idiots don't mess it up.

For now, Andell's plan was proceeding perfectly. Soon, Isabella would learn the true extent of his superiority.