Capítulo 13: Don't disobey kane
The air in the gathering was tense, thick with the weight of Kane's wrath. His imposing figure loomed as he turned, his heavy steps echoing ominously against the cold stone floor. His face was an unreadable mask, but the way his lips tightened and his jaw clenched betrayed a simmering fury just below the surface. As he moved toward his throne, his cape swirled around him like a dark storm cloud.
Dren, ever vigilant, sensed danger before it was visible. His sharp eyes caught a blur in the distance—a soldier on horseback, galloping with desperate urgency. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his posture taut and protective, his arm extending slightly as if shielding Kane from an unseen threat. Kane's expression flickered briefly with annoyance at the interruption, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
The soldier dismounted with a frantic stumble, landing heavily on his knees, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His face was pale, drenched in sweat, his wide eyes darting to Kane with a mix of fear and desperation. "My lord! We are under attack! The enemies are advancing from the south!" His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of his message. But Kane's response was far from what anyone expected.
Kane's sharp gaze locked onto the man, his expression darkening further. His voice was low but icy, carrying a lethal edge. "Were you in the meeting? I gave an order—no exceptions. Where were you?"
The soldier froze, his hands trembling as he dared not look up. His voice faltered, "My...my lord, I..." He pointed weakly toward a tall man standing rigid at the far corner of the room. The commander. The room seemed to shrink as all eyes turned to him.
Dren moved swiftly, his boots pounding the ground as he closed the distance between himself and the commander. With a feral growl, he yanked the man to his knees, his hand gripping the back of the commander's neck with punishing force. Kane's steps were slow and deliberate as he circled the trembling man. His every movement exuded controlled menace, like a predator toying with prey.
"How dare you defy me?" Kane's voice was a thunderclap in the suffocating silence. The commander's face twisted with fear, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, sire! Mercy! I swear, I will never disobey you again!" The man's voice cracked with desperation, but his pleas only seemed to fan the flames of Kane's fury.
Kane's dark eyes bore into the commander, his face a mask of cold contempt. Slowly, Kane extended his hand and wrapped his fingers around the man's neck. The room held its collective breath as Kane lifted him off the ground effortlessly, his muscles taut with an inhuman strength. The commander's legs flailed, his hands clawing weakly at Kane's grip, but his strength was no match.
The tension in the air was palpable, and the onlookers dared not move or even breathe too loudly. Kane's eyes seemed to shift, darkening until they were void-like, an abyss of pure rage. The commander's terrified gaze locked onto them, and for a moment, it seemed as if he was falling into a black, endless chasm.
Then, with a sickening snap, it was over. Kane released the lifeless body, letting it fall to the floor like discarded refuse. The commander's face was pallid, his features grotesquely distorted as black streaks began to spread across his skin. His death was not just physical—it was as though Kane had stripped away something deeper, something intangible.
The silence in the hall was deafening. No one dared to move, their faces frozen in expressions of horror and dread. Kane turned, his expression cold and unfeeling, the weight of his judgment pressing down on all present. Without a word, he signaled to Dren.
Dren's movements were swift and precise. He drew his sword with a sharp metallic ring that sliced through the heavy air. The soldier, still kneeling on the ground, was trembling violently, tears streaming down his face as he whispered incoherent prayers. Dren raised his blade high and, with a single stroke, severed the man's head. Blood pooled quickly around the lifeless body, but no one dared to look away.
Kane surveyed the room, his piercing gaze sweeping over the gathered faces. No words were needed. The message was clear: disobedience would not be tolerated. Satisfied that his authority had been reasserted, he turned and walked away, his boots leaving bloody prints on the cold stone floor. The only sound was the echo of his retreating steps, about to leave the room in a silence more oppressive than any noise.
The oppressive silence hung like a shroud over the room as Kane turned to leave, his cloak billowing slightly with his movement, his heavy steps a slow, deliberate drumbeat against the cold floor. His expression was still hard, carved from stone, but his jaw twitched—a subtle hint that his anger had not yet fully subsided. His hands, though resting at his sides, flexed and curled as though restraining themselves from further violence.
As he neared the exit, the air grew thicker with tension. The gathered generals and soldiers stood frozen, their eyes casting downward, trying to avoid the hurricane of his fury. Fear was etched into their faces—eyes wide, sweat glistening on their brows, and hands clasped behind their backs in a vain attempt to steady themselves.
It was then that one of the generals, his knees trembling and throat dry, mustered the courage to speak. His voice cracked slightly as he called out, "My lord...what do we do about the enemies attacking us?" His words were shaky but filled with desperate hope, as though he were throwing a stone into the abyss, praying for it to echo back with mercy.
The moment the words left his lips, the atmosphere shifted. Kane's stride halted abruptly, his body rigid, his back still turned to the man. Slowly, he turned his head, his dark, void-like eyes locking onto the general. The man's courage evaporated instantly, his legs giving way beneath him as he collapsed to his knees, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His lips quivered, and his hands clutched at the floor as though grounding himself would save him from the wrath now aimed squarely at him.
Kane's expression was unreadable at first, but his lips curled into the faintest smirk—not one of amusement, but of disdain. His voice, low and cold, carried a weight that made every word a blade slicing through the general's resolve. "Did I say you could speak?"
The general gasped softly, his head lowering further until his forehead nearly touched the ground. His breath came in shallow, panicked gulps as he shook his head, unable to form coherent words to plead for his life. Kane's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, sharp and cutting, before he shifted his attention to a figure standing silently along the wall—a member of the Dark Squad. The man, clad in shadowy armor, stepped forward immediately, his movements precise and fluid, like a predator answering its master's call.
"Cut out his tongue," Kane commanded, his tone as cold and final as death itself. "Then put him in the dungeon."
The Dark Squad member bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment, his expression hidden behind a mask, though his movements betrayed a sinister eagerness. He approached the trembling general without hesitation, his hands steady as he drew a blade that glinted ominously in the dim light. The general's eyes widened in sheer terror, his mouth opening to beg, but no words came—only choked sobs and panicked breaths.
"Please, my lord, have mercy!" he finally managed to cry out, his voice raw and broken. But mercy was not something Kane granted. The general's pleas only seemed to solidify his fate, his cries echoing through the chamber as the Dark Squad member grabbed him by the jaw, forcing his mouth open. The blade gleamed as it descended, and the room was filled with the muffled sounds of agony as the command was carried out with brutal efficiency.
The general collapsed fully to the floor, clutching his mouth as blood pooled beneath him, staining the pristine marble. His muffled whimpers and cries were a haunting sound that sent chills through everyone in the room. No one moved, their faces pale and strained as they watched the Dark Squad member haul the man's limp, trembling body away toward the dungeons.
Kane stood motionless, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever, his eyes surveying the room. His message was clear: disobedience and insolence would be met with swift, merciless punishment.
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