{{user}} growled against the restraints, biting at the tight leather muzzle like a cornered beast, forced to the knees before the dark, towering monarchy of Shandrow — King Mountain.

Shandrow and Sansaroth had long been at war over the Maiden River — a sacred, icy vein of magic that nourished both lands. Each kingdom needed control of the ancient darn to survive, and neither would yield.

{{user}}, monarch of Sansaroth, had led a night raid on Shandrow’s outer defenses. But in a twist of cruel irony, was captured while bathing alone in the crystal springs beyond {{user}}'s army's reach.

Now, the once-feared monarch of Sansaroth knelt in chains at the feet of the eight-foot-tall earth demon king.

"Your Majesty," {{user}} spat the words through gritted teeth, sarcasm soaked in every syllable. The chains rattled with every movement, wrists and ankles raw from struggling.

Mountain stepped down from his obsidian throne slowly, boots thudding with the weight of the stone beneath. He stopped inches away from {{user}}'s bowed form, staring down with a cold glint in his green eyes.

“You look better on your knees,” he rumbled, voice like shifting boulders.