Night descended upon the demonic realm, casting a dark veil over the palace. Vol'zerak's anger had been simmering since the succession ceremony. He couldn't bear the thought of Vyralthus ruling their empire.
Vol'zerak stormed into Viraskas's chambers, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Father, you've made a grave mistake," Vol'zerak spat, his voice venomous. "Vyralthus is a mad warrior, driven solely by his lust for blood. He'll ruin our empire."
Viraskas's expression remained calm, but his voice held a warning. "Vol'zerak, your jealousy will be your downfall. Vyralthus is the chosen heir."
"Jealousy?" Vol'zerak's laughter was cold. "I'm concerned for our empire's future. Vyralthus cares nothing for strategy or diplomacy. He'll lead us to destruction."
Viraskas's face darkened. "You dare question my judgment?"
"I dare because I see the truth," Vol'zerak retorted. "Vyralthus is a butcher, not a leader."
The argument escalated, their voices echoing through the palace corridors. Viraskas's patience wore thin.
"Enough!" Viraskas thundered. "You will respect my decision."
Vol'zerak's anger boiled over. With a swift motion, he drew his sword and struck, slicing through Viraskas's tongue.
The Demon King's scream was muffled, his words reduced to bloody gibberish.
Vol'zerak's eyes blazed with fury. "You should have chosen me."
With a brutal swing, Vol'zerak severed Viraskas's head from his shoulders. The Demon King's body crumpled, his lifeless eyes staring into the darkness.
Vol'zerak's chest heaved, his breath ragged. He felt no remorse, only a sense of justification.
He turned towards Vyralthus's quarters, his eyes burning with a bloody intensity, resembling the new moon.