They say honesty is the best policy, but I prefer my honesty with a side of tact.
Ink Magic
Lord Mazen, formerly known as the Darkest Mage, Master of Death, Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, and Destroyer of the Unmagical, stood before the mirror, scrutinizing his reflection. It wasn't so much himself he was staring at, but rather the sharp, disapproving eyes glaring back at him.
"I have no choice," he muttered, his voice almost pleading as if trying to convince the reflection.
The reflection raised a brow and snorted, the sound dripping with disdain. It stared at Mazen like he was nothing more than an insignificant insect. Mazen's lips pressed into a hard line, his gaze now matching the intensity of the one in the mirror. For a moment, I thought if that reflection could reach through, they'd tear each other apart.
"Ready to go?" I asked, breaking the tense silence.
The reflection shot me a withering look before turning away, clearly offended. Mazen's real self finally tore his eyes from the mirror, glancing at me with weariness.
"What's wrong with… him?" I gestured vaguely toward the mirror.
Mazen shrugged, not offering an explanation.
"Okay then…" I drawled, raising an eyebrow but deciding not to push it further.
With a sigh, Mazen handed me a necklace. The pendant was a simple metal disc, but at its center, a grey eye flashed with an eerie, almost knowing light.
"If things get serious, uǝzɐɯ will get you out immediately," Mazen said, his tone brokering no argument.
Before I could ask more, he grabbed my arm and teleported us straight to the front of the villa.
Onyx was already there, waiting for us at the door, wearing the distinct cloak of a lust mage. He was to be the second escort on this mission, the ever-quiet shadow.
"Hello," he greeted with a polite nod, his smile as bright as ever.
I waved casually, while Mazen responded with his usual stoic nod. Onyx moved to open the double doors of the villa, gesturing for us to enter.
"Master Violan's expecting you," he said, his voice friendly but precise.
We walked through the halls of the mansion, past the opulent decor, and down a few winding corridors until we reached the heart of the place: Violan's quarters, behind an imposing ebony double door. Onyx knocked lightly.
"Master," he called, his voice quiet, "they're here."
Almost on cue, Violan opened one of the doors. Her entrance was grand, though I wasn't surprised by her appearance. She wore a flowing purple gown, made of luxurious fabrics, and high heels that clicked sharply on the floor. Her hair was done up in a perfectly styled bun. I glanced at her chest, which, true to my expectations, was curving seductively. Clearly, she'd put effort into her appearance.
"Hi," she greeted us with a coy smile, her voice higher than usual, almost playful.
"Do you always dress like that when someone invites you to a party?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She giggled, fluttering her lashes. "Only when I'm expecting a fight."
"Do you plan to fight?" I echoed, arching my brow even higher.
Violan shrugged, though the gesture was anything but elegant. "Not necessarily," she said with a careless grin as if violence was just another form of casual entertainment.
The room fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Mazen shot me a look—one that clearly said if I didn't handle things, he'd curse me into oblivion. With that, he turned sharply on his heel, ready to make his exit.
"Onyx, show our guest out," Violan said, her tone dismissive, and Onyx quickly fell into step beside Mazen.
"Well, shall we?" she asked, already stepping through the double doors into the mansion's depths.
Violan led me through a labyrinth of hallways until we reached her study. The room was smaller, far cozier than the grand halls we had passed. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with tomes of every shape and size. An oak desk dominated the center of the room, behind which sat an enormous armchair that looked comically too large for Violan. On the desk, there was a contraption that resembled a magnifying glass, alongside a suitcase.
Before I could take in more, Violan hopped onto the desk, snapping open the suitcase with a bright grin. Inside were several jars, filled with shimmering inks and other alchemical substances.
"Before we go, how about a little makeover?" she asked, her cheerfulness never wavering.
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the familiar-looking jars. "Didn't know you were into ink magic."
Violan's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Oh, darling, there's a lot you don't know about me."
Vio grabbed a brush, but unlike the intricate tools of the apprentice mage, this one looked ordinary—like something you'd find in a general store.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Vio asked, waving the brush. "Strip."
With a shrug, I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it aside. Vio's gaze flicked over me, clinical and uninterested, before she dipped the brush into one of the jars.
"Let's start with a rune that'll make you look shorter and thinner," she said, already working.
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you calling me fat?"
Vio chuckled. "Turn around."
The brush glided across my skin, cool and smooth at first, but then the magic began to work—an odd sensation of both heat and cold, as though she were carving the symbols into my flesh with frozen fire. The strokes were quick and precise, each one imbued with centuries of practice.
"Why don't you like the kid practicing ink magic?" I asked as I felt the brush sweep across my back.
"It's not that I don't think ink magic is useful," Vio replied, her voice soft, almost velvety. "It's that Karim will never accept his magic, never accept himself."
I heard her smile through the words. "I raised him since he was young," she continued. "He was always up to trouble, eating magic cookies that turned him red or made his head swell three times its size. He used to sneak in here to watch me practice ink magic."
"So why did he leave?"
Her hand paused for a brief second, as if I'd touched a nerve. A long sigh escaped her lips. "It's his magic. I didn't stop him because I know I remind him of it… we all do."
I glanced back at her, catching a glimpse of something unspoken in her expression. "You care about your apprentices a lot, don't you?"
She grinned, her playful mask returning. "Of course."
After one final brushstroke, Vio told me to turn around. As she began working on my face, I couldn't help but let my gaze drift to her chest, those very prominent, very realistic-looking breasts.
"So," I said with a smirk, "do those feel real?"
Vio gave me a flirtatious smile. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"
Before the words were even out of her mouth, I reached out and gave her chest a firm squeeze. To my surprise, Vio didn't slap me or even flinch. She just chuckled, her eyes widening slightly in amusement.
"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"
I squeezed again, expressionless. "Too hard. Feels like silicone."
"Hm." Vio looked thoughtful. "I'll have to work on the runes, then."
Satisfied with my critique, I let go and watched as she continued to sculpt my face with meticulous detail. Despite the playful banter, Vio's focus was remarkable, and for a moment, she seemed almost innocent—if you ignored the centuries of dark power lurking beneath her calm exterior.
That power was undeniable, though. It swirled in her caramel eyes like a storm, a reminder that Violan was one of the most dangerous magicians alive. She could break you—body and soul—without breaking a sweat.
"Hmm?" Vio tilted her head slightly, noticing me watching her.
"Thanks, Vio," I said, a sincere grin creeping onto my face. "It's a relief knowing I don't have to face Belizár's realm alone."
For a second, she seemed caught off guard by my gratitude. Then her lips softened into a gentle smile, and she reached up to stroke my hair, the way one might comfort a child. It was almost disconcerting, especially knowing how many people would kill for just one of her smiles, let alone her touch.
"You're welcome," she murmured.
"Vio, I'm king," I added, mock seriousness in my voice. "What if someone saw me like this? My reputation would be ruined."
Vio snorted and pulled her hand back. "Of course, of course."
With the final touches done, she summoned a mirror into her hand and turned it toward me. The reflection staring back was completely unfamiliar—a tanned, brown-haired boy who didn't resemble me at all.
"Well?" Vio said expectantly. "I'm amazing, aren't I?"
I touched my face, half in awe. "It'll do," I said with mock indifference.
Vio's face fell, her expression a perfect picture of disappointment. "How can you be like that? Do you know how hard I worked on this?"
Grinning, I teased her further. She snapped, swinging the mirror at my head. I ducked easily, and she looked even more frustrated. Her next swipe sent a gust of wind strong enough to collapse the chair I was sitting on.
"Not bad," I commented, examining the wreckage with a smirk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vio's forehead vein bulging dangerously. The room's temperature skyrocketed as her magic simmered, a warning that even her apprentices would have cowered before. But I just stood there, grinning like a fool.
"You won't even beg for your life, Shaytan," Vio growled, raising the mirror once more.
My smile widened. "Why would I do that?"
Her next strike came fast and fierce, but before it could land, I sidestepped. Violan looked even more annoyed. She went on the offensive again, and I dodged the clumsy attack again.
"Stay still if you value your life!" growled Violan.
"I would be a fool," I said with unchanged cheerfulness.
I found Violan's angry expression particularly amusing. My smile widened, and then Vio struck.
Onyx himself was barely back from the front door before a small group of lust mages rushed to meet him.
"Onyx, Onyx!" one of them began, frightened.
"Something's wrong!" said the other.
"What's happened?" asked Onyx nervously.
The two apprentices glanced at each other, looking quite perplexed.
"I don't know," said one of them, "the walls are shaking and we heard explosions."
"They're coming from Master's quarters!" added the other.
Onyx needed no more, he ran at once, and as he drew nearer he staggered sometimes because of the explosions that shook the whole mansion. Yet Onyx did not stop for a moment until he reached the study, out of breath. He tore open the door and stared with round eyes at the scene before him.
Of course, I didn't blame him, if I had been in his place I would have been surprised at the state of the room, for nothing was left intact except myself and Vio's figure.
"Master—" he began, only to freeze as he took in the full scope of the destruction around him.
Bookshelves had been toppled, pages littering the floor. The armchair and desk were nothing but splinters. Even the heavy, dark red curtains were in tatters.
Despite the chaos, Vio looked pristine. Her hair and dress were immaculate, and she breathed only slightly heavier than usual. I, too, stood unharmed, grinning at her.
Onyx looked like he was going to ask what happened, but Vio's ringing laughter cut him off. It was a wild, liberated sound that left the poor lust mage utterly stunned. When she finally stopped, she tossed the mirror to Onyx, who fumbled to catch it.
"You're quite good," Vio said to me, patting my arm affectionately.
"I'm flattered, Vio," I replied with a grin.
Vio stretched like she'd just finished a pleasant morning workout, completely unfazed by the room she'd just destroyed.
"I'm hungry," she declared. "Care to join me for dinner, Shay?"
"Absolutely."
Onyx, still reeling from the scene, stared at us with wide eyes, clearly trying to process what had just happened.
"Onyx," Vio said, her tone soft but firm.
"Yes, Master?" he replied, snapping back to attention.
"Clean this up."
With that, she strode out of the room, light on her feet. I shot Onyx a sympathetic look before following her, hearing his frustrated groan as I left. Vio chuckled softly, and I knew she'd heard it too.
"What would you like to eat?" Violan asked in the manner of a gracious host.
I shrugged. "Anything will do."
"Come on," the Grandmaster of The Lust Mages chuckled. "A king should have higher expectations."
His eyes danced with amusement, brimming with tiny, playful stars. Violan was an enigma: overly fond of me, yet seemingly unable to stand me. Why? Because every time she messed something up, I would mercilessly throw it back in her face. Her pride was monumental, and most people stroked it with reverence.
I, however, stabbed at it with a sharp needle of cruel honesty. Vio was used to being placed on a pedestal, admired for her beauty and magical prowess. She wasn't accustomed to anyone daring to stomp into her soul with steel-toed boots. And yet, in the depths of her being, I knew she appreciated my candor.
"Fine, I'll have roast ribs and mashed potatoes," I said, and Vio nodded approvingly.
We quickly moved to the familiar dining room and ate in companionable silence. Neither of us felt the need to fill the quiet. Violan, though slender in appearance, had a formidable appetite—particularly for cakes, of which she consumed four or five without batting an eye. As I finished my own meal, she slid a plate of chocolate cake in front of me.
"Try it," she said simply, returning to her own dessert.
I resisted the urge to sigh. I was the first and last person to ever criticize Violan's baking. Once, I had made her so furious she overturned the entire dining table and threw me out of her mansion. Her pride hadn't fully recovered from that incident.
Begrudgingly, I took a bite of the chocolate cake—rich enough to sweep any mortal off their feet—and, as expected, Vio's gaze was fixed on me, waiting for my verdict.
"It's good," I finally nodded.
Violan smiled triumphantly, leaning back in her chair, completely at ease. At that moment, Onyx arrived to clear our plates, looking slightly disheveled and dragging his feet. He appeared exhausted, but Vio barely acknowledged his state, casually requesting some lemonade before he shuffled off.
Once Onyx left, Violan cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Now, tell me—what didn't you like about the runes?"
I slid my chair closer, and his body tensed, just for a moment, though he didn't move away. I took his hand and pressed it against my cheek. Vio's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.
"You're not going to confess your love, are you?" he asked, clearly unsure.
"Of course not," I said, probably giving him a look so displeased that he immediately relaxed.
"The texture," I continued. "My skin feels... artificial, like plastic."
Understanding dawned in Violan's eyes. He pulled his hand back, grinning like a child with a new idea.
"Let's go," he said, already standing. "I've got a few ideas to try."
I nodded, satisfied, and followed the Grandmaster back to what I hoped was a now-tidy study.