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No Mercy For Traitors
As Astara’s population and economy grew, its central city became a sight to behold with stunning architecture. Walls with detailed carvings adorned every street, telling stories of heroic ancestors. By day, warm sunlight shone on the city, and by night, stars shimmered like breathtaking jewels, while the aurora borealis beamed in shades of green and violet.
The Flare Wing Palace of Middle Astara had a grand throne room, surrounded by tall columns and endless hallways with ornate, carved arches. Its dome-shaped roof, decorated with stunning mosaics, resembled Pars architecture of West Asia. The palace garden had statues of their respected ancestors, leaders, and ancient Astaran warriors who had achieved great glory. One statue honored Deming’s father, reminding everyone of their fight for freedom from the Faerie Tribe.
Feng Deming’s face twisted in disgust as his eyes, resembling molten lava, scanned the throne room, filled with disapproving glances from his people. While most honored him as a great leader, some West Astarans refused to surrender.
“You’re just a man who’s barely passed the age of a boy,” the Western King sneered at the younger man seated on the grand throne on a raised platform.
“Oh, is that so?” Deming raised an eyebrow, his demeanor calm as he found the man’s bold words rather amusing. He held the highest authority as the King of Kings, dressed in luxurious black-gold robes and dark, shiny armor that sparkled in the dim light.
“I may lack your strength, but when my people unite, our collective power becomes unmatched.”
The room fell silent. Deming’s eye twitched, his fists clenched, and his head took on a subtle tilt as he considered his next move.
With a fierce glare, the Western King took his silence as an insult. “Feng Deming, we demand a fair battle for the throne!” His words echoed off the stone walls.
Standing up from his throne, Deming’s tall, imposing figure formed a dark shadow over the trembling man. His fierce gaze on the Western King ignited fear, causing the man’s eyes to widen under the Supreme Lord’s threatening stare. The surrounding crowd began to lose confidence in supporting the Western King.
Deming narrowed his eyes and spat out each word to intimidate, maintaining an unblinking glare. “King… of… the… West,” his voice harsh and deep.
The ministers and the kings from the Eastern, Northern, and Southern regions trembled in the throne room, anticipating Deming’s intention to execute the Western King.
“You want to kill me? Then try,” Deming’s strong voice echoed, and he walked down the stairs with purpose, each step growing more intense.
The Western King swallowed hard as the peril in the suffocating throne room struck him. The nobles held their breath, waiting for the Astaran Supreme Lord’s next move.
Deming stood tall over the Western King. His golden eyes, fierce as the sun, pierced through the older man’s gaze, forming a scowl that frightened those present. “However…”
In an instant, a crushing pressure tightened around the Western King’s throat. He struggled to breathe as Deming lifted him off the floor, struggling to break free. He trembled, unsure if he would survive.
“Before you kill me, let me ask this,” Deming snarled, tightening his grip as the room fell silent. “Officials of West Astara, you have suffered for years under Faerie Rule, and what did your king do to make you blindly follow him? What has he done to restore Astara’s glory?”
The Western King’s gasps and wheezes broke the eerie silence from time to time as he fought for breath. Nobles and officials murmured, their faces reflecting shock and fear.
“ANSWER ME!” Deming’s frown deepened, his eyes burning with intensity.
The officials of West Astara, who had underestimated the Supreme Lord, could only avoid his gaze in fear.
“If you had the power to overthrow any Astaran Supreme, you would have done so to my father or his servant years ago while they were still alive. But you failed where a mere boy succeeded. You and everyone in West Astara lack the means to end my life, for I am… immortal,” Deming sneered.
Feng Deming’s claim of immortality shocked the Western King. However, unlike his people, he dismissed Deming’s outrageous statement as a foolish way to provoke fear.
“However, if you insist on separating yourselves from the rest of us, I’ll allow it. That is… if you still wish to follow a useless king’s promise.” Deming loosened his grip.
The Western King fell to the hard stone floor, gasping and rubbing his throat. He understood that he had lost his people’s and Deming’s trust; fear and desperation twisted his face.
The Northern King hesitated, “My Lord Feng Deming, may I inquire about the reason for permitting the traitor’s plans to unfold?”
“Your concerns are as insignificant as the dust beneath my feet, King of the North. Do not assume to interfere in affairs beyond your limited understanding.”
The Northern King bowed in fear. “I apologize, my Lord.”
“You only have a say in matters concerning the faeries.” Deming’s eyes held a promise of payback as he stared at the kneeling king, commanding in a chilling tone, “Bring forth the spies!”
The Western King wore a surprised expression as guards in black armor brought his partners forward. The henchmen, dressed in torn robes, knelt in shame on the polished stone floor. One of the spies, the soldier who had delivered his message to Feng Deming last night, stood among them.
“Did you truly believe I would simply permit you to act as you pleased? To incite unrest among us and satisfy the faeries’ intent to see us weakened?” Deming scrutinized the Western King and raised his hands, smoothing down his wide sleeves. “Take this as a lesson. Prepare for the execution of these spies at nightfall.”
“As you command, my Lord!”
Deming faced the Western King with his back turned partway. “Your scheme to divide Astara ends now,” his voice echoed with authority in the throne room. “You have until the end of the tenth month. On that day at sunset, come with what is left of your people to the Middle Mountains, and I shall personally deliver your death.” His voice showed no mercy, allowing no room for negotiation. “Now, leave the Flare Wing Palace.”
The grand throne room fell silent as Feng Deming, the immortal Astaran Supreme, appeared even more intimidating than his father.
Deming glared at the nobles and officials. “If anyone else dares to challenge me, you are welcome to join him and meet the same fate,” his presence cold and imposing as light shimmered on his dark, iridescent armor.
Nobles and officials knelt before the ruthless tyrant, aware that defying him meant certain death.
Deming walked toward the exit of the throne room with elegance, his back straight and his black boots clicking, echoing on the stone floor. As the door opened, the crowd started whispering. Some experienced fear and uncertainty, while others found a spark of hope.
The Southern King raised his head and took a determined step forward. “My esteemed Astaran Supreme Lord, Feng Deming,” catching his lord’s attention. “Our tribe has suffered for too long under the oppressive rule of the Faerie Realm. We endured thousands of years of mockery, oppression, and the erasure of our culture and traditions. We are ready to stand by your side, fight alongside you, and restore the long-lost glory of our people.”
Deming stopped in his tracks. “I shall overthrow them, conquer all realms, and restore Astara to its former glory. Every so-called ‘god’ in the Faerie Realm will be eradicated, and none will be spared. This is my promise to Astara.”
The Astarans, who had fought in many wars against the faeries, found hope in Feng Deming’s authority. His ability to kill tens of thousands in a single attack made him the faeries’ worst nightmare. However, to the Astarans, he represented hope for peace in their ongoing struggle against the oppressive Faerie Tribe.
With their hopes up and full of admiration, the crowd responded to their lord with a humble bow to express their loyalty, and their voices hailed Deming in a pledge of support.
As Deming turned around, his eyes cold and detached, he observed the submissive crowd. ‘Lord Muchen… I will tear you apart,’ his gaze narrowing with piercing intensity. ‘I will ensure you writhe in agony as I wrench your beating heart from your chest.’ The sinister notion left a wicked smirk on his lips.
Demon King’s Love – Copyright © 2023 by Aurora Luxi. All rights reserved.
Aurora Luxi 