Return of the Demon Sovereign (Book 2) [MxM]

Tartus and Terran knelt side by side, reduced to a state of dishevelment. Thick, coarse ropes bound their wrists and ankles, chafing against their skin. The silks and luxury they had once flaunted were replaced by plain, worn cotton—servants' garb.

Blood seeped from shallow cuts and abrasions, and dirt smeared their faces. Tartus' golden hair hung in disarray, damp with sweat and grime. Terran fared no better, but his expression was one of sheer terror.

Tartus, however, carried himself arrogantly. His chin tilted upward, and his lips curled into a faint sneer as if the dirt on his face and the ropes biting into his skin were merely inconveniences.

"It would be in your best interest to release me," Tartus snarled, straining against his bonds.

"I highly doubt that," Lord Eld replied, his voice calm as he stepped closer.

"So, this is where you've scurried off to, Zeno?" Tartus' face twisted with rage. "Aiding rebels when you should be guarding the crypts? You've abandoned your duty."

Lord Eld ignored the accusation with a small chuckle. "Why are you here, Tartus?"

Tartus' glower darkened. "Because of the chaos you've unleashed," he growled, his jaw tight. "Do you not hear it?"

The sounds of the city's collapse seeped into the crypts from above. Dust sifted down from cracks in the stone ceiling. Faint vibrations traveled through the ground, the reverberations of panicked footsteps and distant, frantic running.

The low thrum of voices filtered down through the ancient walls, too muffled to make out any words but unmistakable in their urgency. Now and then, a loud thud echoed, perhaps from a building collapsing or something heavy crashing into the streets.

Even in the rebellion's hideout, the smell of smoke was faintly present, as if the fires above had begun to snake their way underground.

Tartus leaned forward as much as he could without falling over. "You killed the Empress, and the Emperor is showing his wrath."

"So you ran away?" Lord Eld asked. "Why not stay and assist your Emperor?"

Tartus scoffed. "Because of some bastard, I lost favor. It is best to avoid the Emperor at this time."

Erebus' laughter cut through the tension, its calm resonance drowning out the distant chaos above. Slowly, he emerged from the shadows, moving unhurriedly toward Tartus and Terran.

The darkness seemed to swell around him, shadows stretching across the floor, making his presence larger than ever. Tartus instinctively tried to lean away, but he was far too unstable with his limbs bound.

Beads of sweat formed on Tartus' brow as the room seemed to respond to Erebus' appearance. The lights overhead flickered and dimmed, and the rebels' conversations turned to hushed murmurs.

"You..." Tartus rasped. "You damned, wretched thing. How dare you crawl out of whatever abyss you came from and stand before me. After everything you've done—" His eyes burned with rage and grief, his voice cracking.

"It's a terrible thing, isn't it?" Erebus murmured darkly. "That ache, right in your chest... knowing your family was slaughtered, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

"Stay back," Tartus warned, glancing toward Terran, who was frozen with fear. "You made a deal with the Emperor to keep us alive."

Erebus chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "The Emperor?" he repeated as if the title were a joke. "Jericho only spared you as part of a power play that I permitted. You were never more than fodder."