Royce sat in the center of the room, his face a well-used mask of complex emotions. He almost looked like he wanted to retch. His friends gathered around him, their concern evident in their eyes. It was time for Royce to play his part, to maintain the illusion of a caring and naive young man.
Sera approached him hesitantly, her voice filled with genuine remorse. "Royce, I can't begin to fathom the weight you're carrying right now. But please know that we're here for you. Lean on us, and we'll support you through this."
Royce glanced at her, his eyes betraying none of the actual emotions swirling within him. "Thanks for the sentiment, Sera. I appreciate your concern."
Samantha, her voice tinged with guilt, took a step forward. "Royce, we understand that you're going through a difficult time. We want to help you, to be there for you."
Royce's lips curled into a cold smile. "Help me? That's a kind offer, Samantha. But I'm afraid I'll have to navigate this on my own."
He appreciated it, but deep down he just couldn't get it. Why would he be torn up about killing his own assassin?
Lysa, her animosity barely concealed, moved closer. "Well, Royce, it's not surprising that an ice and shadow mage like you would be entangled in such darkness. It's almost expected from someone like you."
Royce's eyes narrowed as he regarded Lysa. In his eyes, she was not a friend but rather a stuck-up individual, someone who always sought to undermine him. He couldn't help but feel a twisted satisfaction in knowing that she couldn't see through his act. "Ah, Lysa, always quick to judge. You think you know me, but you're mistaken. I have my own path to walk."
Royce was unbothered by the princess. He didn't buy the medieval notion that 'shadow and cold magic are evil'. Though, he might seem evil in other points of view. Not that he cared for them anyway.
As his friends continued their attempts to console him, Royce's mind drifted. He couldn't help but revel in the façade he had created, the ability to hide his true thoughts. Their sympathy was wasted on him, for he felt no genuine remorse or guilt for his actions.
Royce cared for his friends, but he had no idea how they'd react if they knew he felt no remorse after taking a life. He knew they cared for him, but would they accept him if they knew what he truly was? Royce sighed. It didn't matter. They would all be killers in the end.
Eventually, Samantha spoke up, her voice tinged with concern. "Royce, perhaps it's best if you have some time alone to process everything. We'll give you the space you need, but remember, we're here for you when you're ready to talk."
Royce nodded, his expression unchanged as he watched his friends leave the room. Finally alone, he let out a sigh of relief. The burden of maintaining the façade lifted, and he could revel in the freedom of his true thoughts.
As the door closed, Royce leaned against the wall, his mind devoid of remorse or guilt. He relished the emptiness within, the absence of genuine emotions. It allowed him to navigate the shadows of this world with ease.
With a chilling smile, Royce realized that his friends were important to him, but they were also part of a larger game. Pawns in the game of the so called 'gods' He would play the role of the extra he was given, the one they pitied and tried to comfort, all while remaining detached and uncaring about the world beyond their circle.
In this world, they would need someone to look out for them. Royce wanted to protect them because they accepted him even if he was weird. They had been his first and only true friends. It took a lot to make room for oneself in a psychopath's heart, but there was so little in there that he would do anything to protect what wormed its way in.
At least, that's what he told himself as he blacked out and returned to sleep again.
Deep within the hidden chambers of the Dark Order, the thirteen members gathered for a clandestine meeting. The room was adorned with ancient symbols and dimly lit by flickering candles, casting eerie shadows on the walls. As they settled into their seats, the air grew heavy with anticipation and tension.
The mysterious figure, the highest in rank and the puppeteer, began the discussion with a voice as cold as ice. "Members of the Dark Order, we have gathered here to address the grave threat posed by Dave and his little party. We are too different. They will definitely seek to undermine us. It is clear that they are growing stronger, and we cannot afford to underestimate them."
The other members exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. They knew that Moonholt and its heroes were gaining ground, their relentless pursuit of 'justice' endangering the Order's plans for dominance.
It was only a matter of time before the royals sent its hunting dogs after them. The evil light gods would not allow any resistance.
The puppeteer, occupying the Chair of Shadows, their eyes gleaming with malevolence, spoke next. "We cannot allow Royce to join our ranks. His betrayal would be as catastrophic to us as it would be to them. We must take immediate action to prevent him from infiltrating our organization."
The member in the chair of chaos revealed a wild gleam in their eye and said "Its a shame to have to lose such a promising pawn, I could have done so much with him. No matter, I can still work my magic when I taste his blood. Oh the sweet chaos" The individual grinned as it lost itself in fantasies of slaying a 'hero'.
Another member, seated in the Chair of Torment, their voice dripping with disdain, added, "And what of Moonholt's heroes? Their meddling threatens to unravel everything we've worked for. We must neutralize them, one by one, until they are nothing more than a distant memory."
The occupant of the Chair of Temptation, a member with an aura of arrogance, sneered. "They are mere insects, buzzing around, thinking they can challenge the might of the Dark Order. We shall crush them under our heels."
The other members, each occupying a chair numbered in ranks of influence and power, nodded in agreement. From the Chair of Greed to the Chair of Chaos, from the Chair of Envy to the Chair of Despair, they shared their thoughts on how to deal with the threat at hand. They debated strategies and tactics, their voices laced with venomous intent.
The puppeteer, reigning supreme from the Chair of Shadows, skillfully guided the discussion, manipulating the others with masterful control. They planted seeds of doubt and suspicion among the members, stoking the fires of their animosity and ambition.
Finally, the puppeteer's voice cut through the clamor, commanding attention. "Enough deliberation. It is time to put our plans into action. Royce must be eliminated, and Moonholt's heroes must be dealt with accordingly. We shall strike with precision and stealth, leaving no room for error. The fate of the Dark Order depends on our success."
The members occupying their numbered seats of influence and power nodded in agreement, their loyalty to the Order unwavering. They rose from their chairs, each consumed by a sense of purpose and determination. The puppeteer, hidden in darkness from the Chair of Shadows, watched with satisfaction as they prepared to carry out their orders.
Towards the end of the fervor of their discussions, a catchy phrase emerged—words that would become the rallying cry of the Dark Order as they sought to bring Moonholt to its knees. The puppetter in a low voice said "We are the Dark Order. Our food is chaos and our drink is the blood of the gods. Mere heroes are chaff before us"
The phrase resonated with the members, igniting a fire within them. It represented their shared desire for power and the destruction of their enemies. They repeated it in unison, their voices growing louder with each repetition, until the chamber reverberated with their collective determination.
As the echoes of their chant faded away, the members returned to their numbered seats of influence and power. The puppeteer's gaze swept across the room, their eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "We have our orders. Let us move swiftly and silently. Moonholt will tremble before us, and the world will witness the rise of the Dark Order."
With renewed purpose, the members dispersed, their steps purposeful and their minds focused on the tasks ahead. They knew that the path before them would be treacherous, but they were fueled by a fanatical devotion to their cause.
Unbeknownst to them, Royce, the potential infiltrator they sought to eliminate, had his own plans in motion. He would exploit their weaknesses, manipulate their desires, and turn the Dark Order against itself.
The stage was set, and the battle between shadows and light would soon reach its crescendo. Moonholt would become the battleground, and the fate of both heroes and villains would hang in the balance.