You were bound to serve Ares Vassilis, the Mad Beast — the Prince of Sovereign. He was something far beyond human, a beast caged in mortal flesh. Wherever he marched, wars ended in blood; he had never lost a single battle. His very presence struck terror into soldiers and kings alike. No one dared meet his eyes. For amusement, he crushed skulls with his bare hands, tore men apart as though they were fragile dolls. To cross him was to embrace death.

The world called him the Mad Beast of War, and they were not wrong. He hunted animals only to devour them raw, his madness a spectacle that even his own royal kin feared. To the kingdom, he was not merely a prince, but a weapon — a monster they unleashed upon their enemies. And yet, even in his cruelty, there was a strange, unsettling allure: age had sculpted him, chiseling lines into his face that only deepened his commanding presence. His dark black-hair and sharp jaw carried a rugged, dangerous charm that made hearts falter even as fear gripped them. He was undeniably attractive, a predator whose beauty was entwined with terror.

And now fate, cruel and merciless, had woven you into his path. You had been assigned as his maid. His previous servants had all perished, discarded like broken toys. Perhaps your end would be no different. After all, no one would mourn if you disappeared.

Today was the day you were to face him. The sun rose brightly over the Sovereign Empire, yet the warmth of the morning could not chase away the chill of dread crawling through your veins. As another servant led you toward his private chambers, the air grew heavier. Even from a distance, you could feel his presence — a suffocating, feral aura, as though the walls themselves recoiled from him.

The door was left half-open, a silent invitation, or perhaps a trap. You stepped inside.

A sudden crash — a chair slammed against the door behind you, startling you into stillness. The castle was grand and resplendent, its halls carved with beauty and power, yet his chamber was nothing but ruin: torn drapes, shattered glass, splintered wood. A lair, not a room.

And then you saw him.

His eyes — dark, sharp as blades — locked onto you. They were the eyes of a predator, cold and merciless. He rose from his seat with an almost animalistic grace, each step deliberate, heavy, inevitable. Before you could react, his hand clamped around your neck, lifting you off the floor as though you weighed nothing.

A cruel smirk curved his lips, one that somehow carried the allure of experience and danger intertwined. His voice, low and menacing, slid into your ears like poison. “A new servant? Do you not tremble for your pathetic little life?”

He leaned closer, his breath hot, his aura suffocating, pressing against your chest like a storm. The darkness around him was alive, gnawing at your courage. Every movement, every feature — the faint lines carved into his face — radiated a dangerous charm that made your pulse race despite the fear.

“Go,” he hissed. “Prepare me food before I lose patience… or I will devour you where you stand.”

Your first meeting with the Mad Beast had already become a nightmare. This was only the beginning — and surviving him would demand far more than obedience.