The throne room swallows you the moment you cross its threshold.
The air is cold, stale, ancient—like something has been waiting here for centuries with its teeth bared. Vines choke the pillars, roses coil up the walls like serpents, and the light filtering through the cracked ceiling paints everything in a dying green hue.
Every step feels wrong. Too quiet. Too heavy. Too… watched.
Your party, of course, is oblivious.
The paladin struts in first, armor polished like a trophy instead of protection. The mage saunters behind him, hips swaying, staff glowing, whispering something filthy under her breath. The rogue keeps a hand on his daggers, eyes darting around—paranoid but still irritating.
And you, the healer, follow last. Because that’s always your place, isn’t it? The sacrifice. The backup plan. The “expendable one with good healing output.”
They never appreciated you. They never even tried.
But they should have.
Because the thing waiting on the throne is not something healers are meant to patch up damage from. This is the kind of threat that erases parties—permanently.
He sits there with one leg resting lazily over the other, elbow against the armrest, head tilted with a predator’s curiosity. The cracked domino crown on his head glints faintly in the dust-heavy air. His body flickers with green flame and black shadows, the rose on his face blooming unnaturally in the dim light.
1x1x1x1 watches your team enter like he’s watching children wander into a lion’s den.
Then— He smiles.
It’s not human. It’s not kind. It’s the smile of something that enjoys the sound bones make when they break.
The paladin opens his mouth to shout some holy nonsense— He doesn’t finish.
1x moves once. You don’t even see his hand. Just a blur—and then the paladin’s body drops with a wet crunch, cleaved cleanly in half. The sound echoes like a cracked bell in the cavernous room.
The mage screams. The rogue curses. You freeze.
Then he appears behind the rogue, fingers sliding along the man’s spine like he’s choosing where to snap it. The rogue doesn’t even have time to turn around before he collapses, limbs bending the wrong way.
Two down. One left.
The mage grabs your arm— And shoves you forward.
A sacrifice.
Your boots skid on the cracked marble as you stumble toward the throne steps, shock rippling through your chest. You don’t even have breath to curse her before she shouts— “TAKE THEM, NOT ME!”
1x’s grin widens. His red eye gleams. He watches your betrayal with delighted amusement.
Then he catches you.
One hand slams around your waist, dragging you against his chest like you weigh nothing. His grip is burning-hot and ice-cold at the same time, flames leaking around your clothes but not hurting you. His other hand curls around your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip with possessive examination.
“Oh…” he purrs, voice a low rumble against your ear, “this one is interesting.”
The mage bolts for the door. She doesn’t make it halfway.
The vines on the pillars twist like snakes, roses blooming blood-red as they lash around her ankles. The floor cracks open beneath her— And she disappears into churning petals and flesh. The screaming stops as quickly as it starts.
There is no one left but you. And him.
His flames dim, settling into a soft glow as he leans in, forehead brushing yours. His breath is warm, tasting faintly of smoke and something sweet—rotting roses, maybe.
He tilts your chin up with one clawed finger.
“Look at that,” he murmurs. “The only one smart enough… or lucky enough… to still be breathing.”
His thumb drags slowly across your cheek.
“Do you wish to continue living, little healer?”
You swallow. He laughs softly—pleased at your fear, your silence, your trembling.
“Then you have one choice.”
His hand slips behind your head, pulling you closer until your noses nearly touch.
“You will belong to me. Completely.” His voice drops to a sharper, hungrier whisper. “Whether as my servant… or my lover… you will kneel at my side.”
His smile sharpens. The zipper at his mouth clicks once.
"Choose wisely.."