Lord of Deception

The Holy Order's army marched deeper into demonic territory, banners raised high, their golden armor glinting beneath the crimson moon. At their forefront, Lucian rode with unwavering determination, his sword gleaming with divine radiance. He believed himself to be leading a righteous crusade, striking at the heart of darkness to rid the world of its corruption.

But Kael had already decided his fate.

Standing atop a distant cliff, Kael observed the battlefield, his sharp gaze taking in every movement of Lucian's forces. The so-called "hero" had fallen right into his trap. They pushed deeper into enemy land, believing in their own momentum—blind to the fact that they were already caged.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Fool."

Beside him, Nyx Velrath stood with an amused expression, clad in a dark gown that shimmered like the abyss itself. "You've inherited my love for deception, my son. Watching them drown in their own arrogance is quite… delightful."

Kael didn't respond immediately. His fingers traced along the hilt of his sword as he continued studying the battlefield. This wasn't just about winning a war. It was about ensuring Lucian never stood up again.

"Have the shadows positioned themselves?" he finally asked.

Nyx nodded. "Every supply route has been severed. Their scouts are… no longer among the living. And their rear flank? Completely unaware that they are already surrounded."

Kael smirked. Perfect.

This was not war. This was an execution.

Suddenly, a shadowed figure knelt before them—one of Nyx's assassins. "My lord, the Holy Order is celebrating. They believe the northern cities have fallen, and they march without caution."

Kael's smirk deepened. They had taken the bait.

He turned to his mother. "Inform the Empress. We will allow Lucian one final illusion of victory before we rip it away."

Nyx's eyes gleamed. "And how do you plan to break him?"

Kael's voice was calm, but ruthless. "We will burn his faith to the ground."

Lucian's War Camp – Nightfall

The Holy Order feasted, celebrating what they believed was a righteous conquest. Campfires blazed, laughter echoed through the night, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat.

Lucian stood at the center, speaking with his generals. "We press forward at dawn. The demons are cowards—they will not mount a strong defense."

A knight hesitated. "Sir, our scouts… they have not returned."

Lucian's brow furrowed. "Perhaps they were delayed. We—"

A scream pierced the air.

Then another.

Shadows erupted from the darkness. Silent, merciless figures descended upon the camp like phantoms, slitting throats before any could react. Tents collapsed, bodies fell, and within seconds, the triumphant laughter of the Holy Order turned into cries of horror.

Lucian barely managed to draw his sword before a severed head rolled at his feet—it was one of his commanders.

His breath hitched. What…?

Then he saw it.

Atop the hill, illuminated by the moon's pale glow, Kael stood.

Clad in black and silver, his crimson gaze met Lucian's across the battlefield. His expression was unreadable—cold, distant, but utterly in control.

Lucian trembled. "Kael…"

The Duke of Shadows raised a single hand.

And with that, the real slaughter began.

To be continued....