I tried to sound sympathetic. "Erm… an unfortunate situation you've got there, Your Majesty. You must be… terribly discontent with your workload and the lack of compensation."
The air hummed around us as Nico hauled me through the hall, his grip like iron wrapped in velvet, effortless yet suffocating. Stone walls stretched overhead, carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly, echoing with the hum of the Eternal Palace.
Should I tell him I'm the Interim Owner? Technically, that would give me the power to terminate—or extend—his contract at will, with full legal compensation. But then… the math hit me.
One hundred years' worth of pay. A century. For a creature who probably doesn't even count time the same way mortals do.
My brain threatened to short-circuit just thinking about the paperwork, the logistics… the sheer absurdity of it all.
The thought flared—dangerous, tantalizing—but I swallowed it before it left my lips. In Mythica, truth was a sharpened blade; one careless cut and conversation could bleed into execution. Better to glide silent, let Nico and the palace do the talking.
Nico's eyes caught mine, red and calculating, as if he could peel my thoughts bare. Then his lips curved into a slow, sharp smirk.
"Discontent? Hardly. Compared to compensation, the workload is manageable... I am not the only caretaker here. True, we've had… new guest arrivals over the decades. But nothing I, the King, cannot handle." His tone was casual, almost bored—as if commanding monsters born to end worlds were no harder than trimming the hedges of a garden.
"Guest arrivals?" The word slipped from me like a tremor.
New prisoners?
He shrugged, a motion that somehow conveyed both disdain and danger. "Emperor War Beasts. Consigned as guards." His eyes narrowed, sharp as obsidian. "Useless creatures. They wander, feast, sleep. And yet—" His gaze dug into me, claws of curiosity and suspicion. "—you bonded with one. Curious, isn't it? Those abominations bow to no one. Not even gods. Yet Pazuzu submitted. To you. A mortal."
I choked back a laugh, thin and brittle. The palace air felt suddenly too thick, pressing against my lungs. I had formed a soul link with a being born to annihilate worlds.
I should have been prey. I should have been ripped limb from limb. And yet… one had submitted. Why?
Nico's eyes sharpened, a shadow of amusement flitting across them. "Perhaps the trace of Kaleon's essence clings to you. The beasts are drawn to it. But… attraction is not submission. Even Kaleon never forged bonds with them. At best, they chased him. Pups nipping at the heels of a god."
I stumbled backward, my mind spinning. "Wait—you mean they don't attack Kaleon? They… play with him?"
His laugh cracked through the hall, cold and echoing, carrying like a whip. "Attack Kaleon? Child, Kaleon cannot be slain. What others call slaughter, Kaleon and the War Beast called it sparring. Affection. Play. Their storms, their claws—mere testing. Against the only being worthy of them. And Kaleon, he indulged them. He was their favorite playmate."
Wait. Hold up.
If Nico's words were true, then everything I'd been spoon-fed about the Emperor War Beasts—the dire warnings, the possible terror, the dramatic speeches about Kaleon locked in impending doom in their presence—was far from it.
The Emperor War Beasts weren't nightmares bent on rending Kaleon apart. The so-called "inevitable destruction" everyone feared? Just a handful of colossal, world-ending kaiju playing tag with their favorite god.
What the Divine Council had declared carnage was, in reality, sparring—claws flashing and storms breaking, not out of malice, but for the sheer joy of testing strength. A playtime… scaled to apocalyptic proportions.
The stone beneath my boots seemed to tilt. Shadows along the walls writhed like they knew the truth I'd just swallowed. Mythica's so-called history was polished rumor, and I had chewed it up and swallowed it whole. Again.
Nico's voice cut through my vertigo, smooth and dangerous. "Of course, if those beasts decided to 'play' with us caretakers… it would be troublesome. Their idea of fun? Snapping bones, cracking stone, leaving craters where gardens once were."
His whiskers twitched, red eyes gleaming with predatory certainty. "But we won't worry. We are caretakers of the Eternal Palace. The mantle grants authority. They cannot overpower us. Not while the title holds."
Authority. The word should have comforted me. Instead, it felt like a leash, frayed and tenuous, straining against forces that had no business being restrained.
The gnawing truth dug deeper. My chest tightened, ribs aching under invisible pressure. Without the mantle, without the title… I wasn't an observer. I was prey.
What Kaleon endured with a shrug—the sparring, the roaring, the claws slashing through stone—would shred me alive. A laugh, a playful nudge, a lazy swipe: I would vanish before my own scream formed.
And yet… Pazuzu had not. He had circled me, sniffed, and not forgetting kidnapped me and formed a soul link bond.
Why?
The question clawed at my skull. If Pazuzu—one of the Emperor War Beasts, the world-enders—could bond, what of the others? Would the next Emperor War Beast bowed? Hesitate? Or see me and decide, without thought, that I was expendable, an obstacle to be annihilated?
I shivered. The palace slash prison seemed to breathe around me, shadows stretching longer, whispers of claws scratching at stone. Every instinct screamed: I should not be here. And yet… somehow, against all odds, I had survived.
Nico suddenly froze mid-flight, and I went sliding to a stop beside him. We hovered in front of a massive bronze door etched with twisting, intricate designs that seemed to writhe in the dim light. No handle. Automatic, perhaps? I raised an eyebrow, incredulous. Doors that fancy don't usually come with "push me" signs.
Then Nico did the unthinkable.
He inhaled, chest swelling like a war drum, and unleashed a string of words so vulgar and thunderous my ears practically bled. "You wretched ancient bird! OPEN this damn door this instant! This king has a guest!"
I blinked. Twice. My brain attempted to reconcile what I had just heard with the concept of "royalty" and failed spectacularly. I swear, I could feel the air around me quiver from sheer profanity.
And then… the response.
The voice behind the bronze door was lower, rasping, weaker—but no less devastating to my sensibilities. "You dimwit rodent! You're just a veteran caretaker, retired and still clinging to your duty! You think you're royalty? It's not even your goddamn palace! Didn't you always flaunt that 'rights' thingy so proudly? Why don't you use that to open my door?"
I froze mid-breath.
What the… is this how the Eternal Palace—or prison—residents greet each other? A verbal duel of insults and derision, punctuated with enough venom to peel paint off walls? My mind scrambled to keep pace. Am I missing some unspoken etiquette here? A greeting card? A ceremonial bow?
Was that really Vorta? The Ancient Roc I'd met when he'd frozen time to barely save me from beast chow—stoic, magnanimous, calm. The one who had seemed untouchable, a monument of patience and ancient wisdom.
This… this was something else entirely.
From somewhere just beyond the massive bronze door came a voice that was grumpy, sharp, and utterly tactless. If my earlier encounter gave me the impression that poised was Vorta's signature, then this version sounded like a lightning bolt with attitude.
My mind stumbled, trying to reconcile the bird I had feared out of respect with the one currently tearing insults apart like feathers in a storm.
The absurdity clawed at me. I could almost hear the universe chuckling at my wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. And yet, beneath the ridiculousness, there was something else—a pulse of raw, unfiltered power behind those words. Even weakened, the presence on the other side of that door demanded respect. Or fear. Probably both.
I shifted slightly, aware that every instinct was screaming at me to duck, apologize, or start running. But curiosity—stupid, foolish curiosity—anchored me in place. I glanced at Nico, whose expression was unreadable but whose grin suggested he might be enjoying this chaos far too much.
And somewhere deep in my chest, that familiar mix of awe and terror settled, like ice forming over an open wound.