At a highly concealed military base, hidden deep within an undisclosed location, a scene unfolds that radiates an air of dark power and bone-chilling authority.
In the dimly-lit chamber, the man seated on the throne is nothing short of mesmerizing. He possesses a striking handsomeness that surpasses that of any supermodel, yet it is not his beauty that dominates the room. It is the aura surrounding him—a freezing, almost tangible force that seems to draw the warmth out of the air, leaving nothing but an oppressive stillness. His eyes, piercing and as sharp as an eagle's, seem to hold the power to dissect anyone who dares to meet them. They are devoid of emotion, a deep void that reveals nothing of the thoughts swirling in his mind. Every line of his face, every movement, exudes a cold precision and control that makes one thing clear: this is a man who is accustomed to power, a man who commands without question, a man who can destroy without remorse.
Before him, another man, known as Shadow, kneels. Unlike the lord on the throne, Shadow's posture is one of reverence and fear. His head is bowed low, and his body is tense, every muscle coiled in anticipation of the lord's reaction. The flickering light of the torches casts long shadows across the room, making Shadow appear even smaller, more insignificant before the imposing presence on the throne.
"My lord, the report about them has arrived," Shadow's voice trembles slightly, betraying the fear that grips him.
The lord does not react immediately. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, but it carries an underlying current of lethal intent. "Shadow, read it," he commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation or error. It is the voice of a man who has seen the rise and fall of empires, who has walked through the blood of his enemies without a second thought.
Shadow's breath catches in his throat, but he obeys, knowing that failure is not an option. "Name: Sarah, age: 26, CEO of Neil Corporation, unmarried, 500 million dollar debt, living in the Imperial Villa with her younger sister, Ruby," he begins, his voice steadying as he continues. "Name: Helena, age: 20, studying in college, unmarried."
The lord listens without a flicker of emotion. His face is a mask, inscrutable and cold, as Shadow continues. "Is there any threat to them?" the lord inquires, his voice as sharp and unforgiving as a blade.
Shadow swallows hard, sensing the danger in the question. "Yes, my lord. Both of them are facing a threat from high-class families such as the Song family and the Yin family. Miss Sarah is fighting with them but..." Shadow hesitates, the words catching in his throat as he feels the temperature in the room drop even further.
"What?!" The lord's voice cuts through the silence like a whip, the anger in it barely contained. His icy demeanor cracks, revealing the seething fury beneath. The power he holds seems to ripple through the air, making it difficult to breathe.
Shadow shudders, feeling the wrath of the lord bearing down on him, but he forces himself to continue. "The young masters of high-class families are mentally harassing Miss Helena, and she has attempted suicide thrice. She is fine currently, but she is unable to walk due to her previous suicide attempt. Her leg neurons are not functioning."
For a brief moment, the lord is silent. Then, without warning, the room's temperature plummets, the very walls seeming to groan under the weight of his suppressed rage. The icy calmness returns, more menacing than ever. "Destroy all the families and their offshoots. If anyone gets in your way, annihilate them," he orders, his voice now a death sentence delivered with terrifying composure.
"Understood, sir. Everything will be accomplished," Shadow confirms, his voice barely a whisper, the fear evident in every word. He knows the power that his lord wields, and he knows that the destruction of those families is not a threat, but a certainty.
As Shadow bows lower, retreating from the room, a woman appears seemingly out of nowhere. She moves with a grace and confidence that suggests she is no stranger to the man on the throne or his icy temperament. Unlike others, she is unfazed by his coldness, perhaps even accustomed to it. Her presence in the room, despite its oppressive atmosphere, feels natural, as though she belongs in this world of shadows and power.
"Are you going to undertake that? It will increase needless suspicion on you. Who would believe that you are still alive after that and created a force capable of destroying a country, any organization and equals the power of the secretive families?" she asks, her tone casual, as if discussing trivial matters. But there is a sharpness in her words, a recognition of the immense power the man wields.
The man on the throne regards her with a neutral expression, his eyes cold and calculating. "Just send Holy1 and Holy2. Both of them can preserve her, and you can deal with them after your exile is over," he instructs Shadow, his voice devoid of any emotion. It is as if he is discussing a mere inconvenience, not the annihilation of entire families.
Shadow nods quickly, knowing better than to question the lord's orders. "You can go ahead and let Holy1 and Holy2 protect both of them, and act as necessary," the lord adds, his voice dismissive as Shadow exits the room.
As Shadow leaves, the woman—who has until now remained in the shadows—steps closer to the man. Her demeanor is different, less formal, more intimate. She looks at him with a mixture of familiarity and intrigue, seemingly unfazed by the cold aura that surrounds him.
"Holy King, what brings you here?" the man queries, his voice taking on a slightly different tone—one that is less commanding, more inquisitive.
The woman walks up to him, her movements fluid and deliberate, and without hesitation, she perches on his lap. "That's not my name; it's too archaic. Call me 'Black Rose.' I'd prefer that," she replies, her voice smooth, with a hint of playful defiance. There is a boldness in her actions, a confidence that suggests she knows exactly who she is dealing with—and that she is not afraid.
The man's expression remains unchanged, but his words carry a subtle warning. "If Yama and Heavenly King learn of you sitting on my lap, they will kill you," he says, his tone flat but with an undercurrent of genuine concern. The names he mentions send a chill down even Black Rose's spine, but she hides it well, only a slight flicker of fear crossing her eyes.
"Why are you mentioning both insane women?" Black Rose retorts, trying to mask her fear with a casual tone. She rises from his lap, her body moving with a sensuous grace as she flaunts her curves. But the man's eyes remain cold, detached, showing no sign of desire or interest in her display.
"As I expected, you will not devour this poor lamb," she says, her voice a mix of innocent coquettishness and playful mockery. But beneath the surface, there is a deeper understanding—a recognition of the man's true nature, one that is far beyond her flirtations.
"You may strengthen your army. They will be more helpful, particularly those clone sisters," the man states, his voice returning to its neutral, commanding tone. He is a man who sees the world as a chessboard, every piece a tool to be used in the pursuit of his ultimate goals.
"And, at any cost, protect her," he adds, his voice carrying a weight that leaves no room for doubt. The command is absolute, and Black Rose knows that failure is not an option.
"Understood, my lord." Black Rose replies, her tone serious now as she vanishes, her presence fading as if she was never there.
Alone once more, the man on the throne lets a rare, tender emotion seep into his voice as he speaks to the emptiness of the chamber. "Sisters, I have returned." The words are soft, almost whispered, but they carry a deep, unspoken promise—a vow to those he holds dear.
He turns his gaze towards the darkest corner of the room, where the shadows seem to gather more densely. "Ensure that everything is taken care of during my absence," he commands, his voice returning to its previous icy calmness.
From the darkness, a voice, female and cold as the grave, answers with a chilling certainty. "Yes, my lord." It is a voice that could only belong to someone who thrives in the dark, who carries out the lord's will with ruthless efficiency.
The chamber returns to its oppressive silence, the air thick with the power and fear that the man on the throne exudes. His presence is overwhelming, a force that dominates the very space around him. There is no question that this man, whoever he is, holds a power that few could comprehend—a power that could reshape the world, destroy empires, and bring even the mightiest to their knees. And as the shadows close in around him, the world outside remains blissfully unaware of the storm that is about to be unleashed.