There is Only One

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all!” The Blood King roared and slammed his balled fists on a stone table, crushing it into debris. Two gaping holes stood in his chest, closing and opening as if following the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Zog’doroth, the Fehl Noble summoned by the Blood King earlier, stretched his jagged-jaw-shaped face toward his wounded master.

“There is no shame in losing to a Fehl Lord. If we knew beforehand that Urag could use his Eromancy to make his strength skyrocket, we would have taken better measures. Your Majesty didn’t lose, it is I who failed you,” Zog’doroth whispered in the Blood King’s ears. Urag’s ownership of the Mark of Lust was well known among ancient fehls. Though only a Fehl Noble, Zog’doroth’s was by five times Urag’s senior, and a trusted of Ashera. Of course he knew.

“Still, this may be a good opportunity. Without setbacks, how can there be growth? Your Majesty must transcend such events to master the Mark of Pride. After all, not everyone can be like Her Dominion, born without equal,” The fehl’s words were like a scalding poison sliding down the Blood King’s ears.

Regardless of how much they enraged him, he couldn’t resist the truth.

“Her Dominion may have chosen you for your intricate connection to the defiant Kilian, but with her support, you’re destined to reach the world’s summit. Who knows, she might one day make you her consort, perhaps even the father of her third child. How glorious would that be?” Zog’doroth rhetorically asked, further squashing the Blood King’s inflated ego.

Right, all he had came from Ashera. From consciousness to the Mark of Pride, the body aside, he owed her everything. If not for her, he’d still be a storage resource awaiting consumption. He had to be grateful, grateful to Kilian for going astray, grateful to Ashera for having a use for him!

Such shameful, degrading thoughts, yet he had to be grateful? The words drove him mad with rage, but he couldn’t lash out, he couldn’t go astray, or Ashera would no longer have any use for him. Zog’doroth understood the Blood King far too well and had no intention of letting go of this opportunity to squash all chances of him mastering the Mark. Puppets shouldn’t learn to move without strings.

“Of course, you must first defeat him. Defeat Kilian through any means possible, achieve what he couldn’t, and become the only one. We will help you, for that is your destiny.”

But as Zog’doroth breathed his poison in the Blood King’s ears, the latter’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How can this be? He is here?” Ashera equipped the Blood King so he could track Kilian’s position within a 100 meters radius. Thus, as soon as Kilian arrived, the Blood King noticed. Strangely, though he could affirm that Kilian currently stood in his radius, the Blood King wasn’t able to find his exact position.

With a mixture of joy and unease, the Blood King put his clothes on, and sent a mental message to his 6,666 legionaries, “Surround the castle, the old model has arrived, we mustn’t allow him to escape!”

At that time, Kilian’s exact position appeared in the Blood King’s mind. A brief change before it once more vanished. Still, the Blood King wouldn’t let that trail go, and like a rocket ball, lunged through the wall. A step slower, Zog’doroth rushed after him, enlarging the hole his “master” left behind.

The two landed at the spot Kilian stood in a moment before, too slow to see him capture the Sure Queen.

“The range isn’t increasing. They must be using some form of invisibility spell,” the Blood King reasoned as his cold-blue eyes swept the perimeter. Zog’doroth agreed, yet didn’t have the same confidence in the hunt as the Blood King did. If the range remained the same, wasn’t the enemy just waiting for an opportunity to strike? Faking an exploration of the perimeter, Zog’doroth lunged ahead of the Blood King, making sure to “search” at the edge of the 100 meters radius—farther than his “master” from any Kilian.

“Kilian, you despicable coward. Show yourself if you dare!” The Blood King roared, nerves beating on his temple.

A sonic boom came from his left. But by the time the sound reached him, it was already too late. Backhanded across the cheek, the Blood King flew across the hallway, crashing several meters away from his original spot.

“There is no debate on where I stand on the moral compass. But I’m afraid that it takes more than you to keep me in the shadows,” Kilian made his entrance.

Immediately, Zog’doroth spun to face him, while the Blood King leaped off the ground, somersaulting back to his feet. Stretched by wrath and indignation, the Blood King’s bloodshot eyes nailed Kilian, his nose twitching in an unsightly grimace.

But when Eleonora’s figure appeared in his sight, the Blood King went from furious to startled, then mad with irritation. Perhaps losing face before the one he’d been conditioned to desire left an extra bitter taste in his mouth. The Blood King’s eyes then fell on the Sura Queen, who obediently stood on Kilian’s shoulder. Fury, frustration and shame now moonwalked in his chest.

Blood King’s over-gritted teeth were saved by the arrival of the 6,666 fehl troops flooding the castle from various entrances, some forcefully created. Their appearance brought a smile to his now bleeding lips.

“We will see about that. I didn’t expect that you’d be foolish enough to jump into my castle. Don’t think that you can use the Sura Queen as a shield to secure your escape. There can’t be two Blood Kings. I will defeat you fair and square, forever proving my superiority!” The Blood King exclaimed and summoned a red greatsword.

Ignoring him, Kilian spread his third eye’s perception to the surroundings, and once assured that alarmed sura elders approached with great strides, returned his attention onto his clone.

“She was never meant for you, and you’re wrong about one thing. It’s not that there can’t be two Blood Kings.” With his left hand still around the Sura Queen, Kilian stepped forward.

Before the Blood King could react, a massive, jet-black crystal hand smashed into his face, claws piercing through his eyes, forehead and brain.

“There is only one,” Kilian corrected his clone, and with a downward swipe, tore his face off.