Page 7 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)
Grazrath
I lounge upon the Onyx Throne, the great symbol of Barakrini power. Even though the room is permeated with the groans and screams of mortals undergoing torture by my direction, I am bored. The pain in the room is filling, feeding the need for misery within me, the ever-gnawing hunger that cannot be truly sated, but it is all so bland and boring. I have felt all this kind of pain before, from these exact creatures before. I haven’t had new stock in a while, the war with Adrik and Orik going annoyingly slow.
A sense of irritation breaks over my mind, pushing aside boredom for a bit. I introduced the vampires of Barakrin to their heritage, their birthright of feeding on sentients. The power and strength that comes with it. They should have poured over Anar’i like a horde of old, destroying and devouring everything in their wake. We even had the element of surprise on our side, and still, the orcs and humans have held us off. It is like my vampires are ungrateful for my guidance, and aren't trying hard enough.
“Malik!” I bark out, causing the scenes around me to stall, a wash of quiet going over the courtroom as everyone holds their breath to see what I will do. “Malik!”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” the former vampire prince comes forward. He has been acting as my steward and main general since I dispatched his weak, useless, father and ascended to the throne myself. Malik is a sniveling coward, but he has an uncanny knack for getting me what I want before I can grow too irritated at his presence. Cowards can have their uses, after all.
“This display bores me,” I hiss, feeling the palpable fear that rises in the room at my words. Good. “Where are my new wares from Terria? You promised me a passel of unique slaves. What is delaying Vargan the Honorless?”
“My apologies, Our Lord of Pain and Misery,” Malik says, kowtowing and bending and scraping. “We have lost contact with the ship. It may be that the Adrikian navy intercepted it on its journey from Terria.”
I curse, leaning back in my throne. “Those damn Adrikians. I will make the lot of them pay.” Especially their queen. Adalind. The one capable of unending pain, what with her Fairy-Blessed healing. Now she is a toy that I would never get tired of, one that I could break however I wanted only for it to fix itself again for my next amusement. And the magic in her blood would replenish my powers.
I have a secret: my magic is almost gone, making me only as strong as a regular vampire. Though I have cemented my hold on this body I am possessing, molding it to look like my true form, with my wings and horns, and keeping myself out of that cursed Nether, the human I have taken over has no magic of its own, which makes it so that I cannot replenish my demonic energy. I need a magic blood slave on whom to feed to make up for that lack; a warmblooded one. I tried feeding on a vampire mage to unleash my powers, but nothing happened. Perhaps since this body I am possessing is a warmblood I need another warmblooded magical being to be compatible, like the Adrikian queen. I had anticipated her being in my clutches weeks ago, but still, she eludes me, her orc husband keeping the battlefront stuck on the border, never giving an inch. I used most of the magic I had to take this throne and I worry that I cannot keep it if I don’t get an infusion of magic soon. I have hidden my need for magical slaves under the guise of wanting “unique” slaves, but there is always the chance that someone will notice my lack of true power soon.
I feel that irritation again. “If Vargan cannot bring me new, interesting slaves, then you must break through the battle lines and bring me back some Adrikians to play with, preferably from the Mage’s Tower,” I tell the vampire prince. “I tire of this group of slaves. Their pain is flavorless after I have tasted it so frequently. Do you wish for me to be displeased?”
Malik shivers, though he tries to mask his frightened reaction. “Why, no, of course not, Lord Grazrath. It is the happiness of Barakrin to serve your every whim.”
“Hmph,” I grunt, disgusted with his spineless bootlicking, even if it serves me. “If that were true, we would have overtaken Adrik and Orik by now. Your soldiers lack motivation, Malik. Perhaps I should give it to them.”
My words hang in the air like the threat I meant them to be. The vampires here cannot know that they are largely empty. Malik drops to his knees, raising his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “We are doing our best, Great Demon King. We merely need a little more time . . .”
“Bah,” I spit out. “Enough time! If you cannot get the job done, perhaps there is another that could do it for you.”
“My lord?” asks Malik, his voice shaking.
“Send out riders,” I order. “To all the towns and cities. In a fortnight we will have a War Council, attended by all whom I have given power. Perhaps they shall have a better idea than you on how to lead our troops to victory.”
Malik bows, still on his knees. “It will be done, Your Demonic Greatness. I’ll send my fastest riders.”
“Good,” I say. “And send some new blood slaves while you are at it. As I said, I tire of these.”
Malik nods, getting to his feet and bows, slowly backing out of the room. When he is gone, I turn to my torturers, who are still waiting for my command.
“Kill them,” I say, my voice bored. “Kill them all.”
Soon screams rend the air, death and pain filling the room in a gluttonous feast, but I cannot enjoy it. I need my magical slave and I need it soon. If not from Vargan’s wares, then from some other source. Then I will be able to show the mortals of Anar’i the true power of an arch-demon and rule this plane like I was always meant to.
With that thought, I finally smile.