The horrendous charcoal black palace of Queen Malivicious was exactly how he remembered the last time he had to go through the unfortunate fate of visiting it for a trial. The large eerily built black towers with domes carved into thorns that were the elucidation of a live nightmare stood proudly on the bricks of envy, enmity and hate that made the very foundation of the land of Maliumpus. The filthy smell of decaying skin still lined the blood colored walls of the palace. Never in his worst fears had he ever thought that he would have to walk through these corridors once again but he had to do it for Amortesia, for its people and him. He discretely troughed on the tiled floor towards the throne room while trying to avoid the vicious soldiers that guarded the entire palace. Gingerly tip toeing as fast as he could he reached the tall dark colored mahogany door that lead to the throne room, to his sheer utter luck he noticed that the door had a slight creak. appreciating his destiny he peeped through the crevice and saw the monstrous large throne made with bones placed at the very center of the large circular room. Legend claimed that Malivicious had made the throne by herself using the bones of the people that she had killed, her most prized one was the skull of the general of Amortesia who had the guts to go against her but now he served as a hand rest for her cold cruel palm. During his trainings every time that he had heard this story he never once believed it but when he had the miserable chance of seeing it first hand, he wanted nothing more than puking in the corner. Watching this room once again made him remember the times he desperately wanted to forget.
"What is his crime?" the chilly voice that belonged to the queen echoed through the room. Picasso had to control the urge of shivering, he wanted to wrap his arms around to soothe his goosebumps but he couldn't because even the slightest of his moments could end his life. the peculiar thing was that the queen had never shown her face even now it was hidden behind a ferocious blood red mask with engravings of a mysterious flower with thorns protruding out and covering the bottom half of her face. a chill ran through his spine but he got over his fear and concentrated on his mission. he shifted his line of vision towards a burly man donning the soldier's uniform that was a black sleeveless shirt and black cargo pants kneeling in front of the throne, he probably must have made a gruesome crime to land himself in front of her because the guards of this palace were one of the queen's most trusted men, so it was obvious that he had made a grave mistake or else he wouldn't have been kneeling.
"He wasn't able to get the girl." replied an unfamiliar voice. Picasso's eyebrows contorted in confusion as he shifted his eyes towards the source of the voice. it was miraculously cool and collected, which wasn't possible for anyone to speak in if they were in front of the queen, but it wasn't the calmness that alarmed Picasso, it was the minacity lining his words, his voice was the perfect example of an antithesis, perfectly crafted to allure his prey in his sweet yet threatening trap. he tried to squint and see the mysterious man, trying to see as much as the small crevice allowed him to, but he still wasn't able to.
"What do you say we do to him." asked the queen. she seemed to trust this man more than Picasso had thought she ever could, this only fed his curiosity even more, now he really wanted to find out the owner behind this voice.
"No please, please spare me, g-give mme ooone chance pp-please." the poor guard stuttered as he bowed down as close to the ground he could get.
"Gunter, i would really appreciate if you stop your antiques."
"I'm really sorry your majesty, i-i-i wo-on't do this ever again."
"oh you are right about that." the mysterious man replied in his sweet melodious voice, but there was something not right, he was smiling as he gazed down at the soldier who was begging him for mercy. Picasso noticed him bend down a little closer to the guard's ear and as he did, the light flowing through the windows of the room illuminated his face, that appeared right in front of Picasso's eyes. Picasso was sure that his lungs had stopped breathing because he wasn't able to believe the sight that appeared in front of his eyes. the man had his face's right half covered with ink that flowed in artistic curves that formed the same flower and thorns, masking his features and the other half was free of any engravings, the immaculately craved cheekbones, the royally shaped straight nose matched with pink plump lips were enough to make Picasso believe that he was too good to be true, but it wasn't his breathtaking features that astounded him, it were his malicious glowing red eyes, that held promise of torture and immense pain. the man got lips as close to the soldier's ears and whispered, "Because you won't be here to make it again." even before the guard could squeak his protest, at the speed of lightning a dagger made an appearance and pierced through the soft skin of the man's neck like a knife cutting through a thin paper, red blood gushed through the deep cut and a few drops sealed themselves on pale skin of the man, marring his beautiful features with their diabolical color, but they looked as if they belonged there on his deviled face. His red eyes didn't show any signs of remorse in fact what Picasso saw was anything but close to it, he appeared to be relived? the soldiers lifeless body slumped against the cold floor painting its tiles red with a thump, the vicious murderer carelessly wiped his hand on his skin smearing the blood across his lips making redder than they already were. Picasso was sure that he had stopped breathing, he had to remind his mind over and over again to not succumb to fear.
"Now that you have done this, what do we do about the girl."
"Don't worry your majesty, I will deal with it."
The entire time that Picasso observed their conversation, his resolve built further becoming concrete, he had to get to the girl before they got to her.