Chapter 2: Blood and Politics.
The morning light filtering through Xolvion's chamber windows carried the familiar crimson hue of the demon realm's eternal dawn. He'd barely slept, his mind churning over the subtle threats and meaningful glances exchanged in the throne room. That and the other thing that was currently in his bed with him.
Slurp Slurp...
"Oh my Lord, it's just so big..." A red-headed demoness with a single horn on her forehead said, looking up at him from her position.
Well, I've had worse nights' sleep... He thought as he crossed his hands behind his head and let her continue her glorious work with her mouth and tongue.
Today marked the final day before his coming of age, and the weight of impending change pressed down on him like the oppressive heat of the volcanic plains beyond the castle walls.
Suddenly, a sharp rap at his door interrupted his brooding and other morning activities, forcing him to stop the maid before he could finish.
"What a pain, I was so close too." He said as he looked over at the door.
"Who is it?" He called.
However, the banging on the door came again, making it clear that he wouldn't be able to ignore it.
"Fine, enter," he called, expecting perhaps another servant or messenger with details about tomorrow's festivities.
Instead, his half-brother Drakonis slithered in, his serpentine lower body making barely a whisper against the obsidian floor. Unlike Vorthak's brutish appearance, Drakonis possessed an alien beauty that was both mesmerising and terrifying. His emerald scales caught the hellish light, creating patterns that seemed to shift and writhe as he moved. His human torso was perfectly proportioned, but his golden eyes held the cold intelligence of a predator.
"Brother," Drakonis said, the word dripping with barely concealed contempt. "I trust you slept well?" He said, watching as the maid tried to dress herself, bowing toward him with her cheeks burning red.
"L-Lord Drakonis." She said, before she excused herself.
"I see you continue to bed half of the castle staff," Drakonis said, crossing his arms behind his back, not even looking at the maid as he saw her beneath him.
Xolvion remained lying in his bed, projecting an air of casual indifference despite the warning bells chiming in his head. "Now, now, Drakonis. No need to be jealous." Xolvion said as he pulled the blanket off himself and got out of bed, standing naked in his full glory.
Drakonis simply scoffed, "As if I would ever be jealous of you, dear brother."
"Well, as much as I love our little chats, is there something you need, Drakonis?"
The serpentine demon's smile revealed needle-sharp fangs designed for injecting venom. "Just wanted to discuss family matters. You see, we've been talking, our siblings and I, about the line of succession."
"Have you now?" Xolvion kept his voice level as he threw his robe over himself, dressing himself, as he looked over to the ceremonial dagger on his desk. Not that it would do much good against Drakonis's acidic breath, but the weight of it was comforting.
"Indeed. You see, there's a problem with Father's... affection for you." Drakonis began to circle the room, his movements hypnotic and predatory. "The Laws of Succession are quite clear about legitimate heirs, but they become murky when dealing with. Well, bastards. Particularly bastards who lack any demonstrable power but somehow maintain their father's unwavering favour."
The Laws of Succession. Xolvion knew them by heart, had studied every clause and interpretation in hopes of understanding his precarious position. In the demon realm, succession wasn't simply a matter of primogeniture. The demon lord had absolute authority to choose his heir from amongst his acknowledged children, regardless of birth order or power. Birth order and strength influenced the decision, certainly, but ultimately, the choice belonged to the lord alone. It was a system that had prevented many civil wars and infighting among their kind, but created different kinds of political nightmares alas.
"I'm sure Father has considered all legal implications," Xolvion replied carefully.
"Oh, he has. That's rather the problem." Drakonis paused near the window, his golden eyes reflecting the volcanic glow outside. "You see, we all know Father's... preferences. Despite our power, despite our legitimacy, despite everything we've accomplished, his eyes still soften when he looks at you. He still speaks of your 'hidden potential' and your mother's 'cleverness.' Tell me, brother, what do you think that means for the rest of us?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. Xolvion felt his blood chill as the full implication hit him. His siblings weren't just worried about him being in the line of succession; they genuinely believed their father might choose him as the actual heir.
"Dangerous for whom?"
Drakonis's laugh was like the hiss of a snake ready to strike. "For all of us, dear brother. Do you think we're blind? We've seen how Father looks at you, heard him speak of your 'destiny' and your mother's 'wisdom.' We've watched him dismiss our achievements whilst praising your mere existence." His voice turned bitter. "Vorthak has mastered hellfire techniques that rival the ancient demon lords. I can dissolve castle walls with my breath. Korthak's strength could shatter mountains. Yet Father speaks of your 'potential' as if our proven power means nothing."
The revelation hit Xolvion like a physical blow. They weren't just afraid of him being acknowledged. They were terrified that their father would actually choose him as the next demon lord.
"You think he would..." Xolvion began, hardly daring to voice the thought.
"Choose you over us?" Drakonis's smile was poison. "Brother, we don't think it, we know it. Father has been laying the groundwork for years, speaking of how 'different doesn't mean lesser,' how 'true strength comes in unexpected forms.' Every word a dagger in our ambitions."
Before Xolvion could respond, the door burst open again. This time it was Morvina, one of his half-sisters, her arrival announced by the scent of blood and roses that always surrounded her. Where Seraphine was elegant and deadly, Morvina was raw carnality made manifest. Her crimson skin seemed to glow with an inner fire, and her long black hair writhed with a life of its own, each strand tipped with tiny thorns that could inject paralysing toxins.
"Drakonis, you're being far too subtle," she purred, her voice carrying the hypnotic quality that marked her as a succubus-born like Xolvion, though her mother had been of much higher rank. "Why dance around the issue when we could simply be direct?"
She fixed Xolvion with a stare that burned with contempt. Unlike the cold calculation in Drakonis's eyes, Morvina's hatred was personal and visceral.
"You disgust me," she said without preamble. "Do you know what it's like being the daughter of a high-ranking succubus, only to have everyone whisper about how my bastard half-brother has turned seduction into a parlour trick? You've made a mockery of our heritage, rutting with servants like some common incubus."
Xolvion felt heat rise in his cheeks, but forced himself to remain calm. "My personal life is hardly your concern, sister." He said, almost spitting the word on the floor.
"Everything about you is our concern," she snapped, taking a step closer. The thorns in her hair began to glisten with venom. "You think we don't see what's happening? Father dismisses our accomplishments whilst fawning over your every breath. I've mastered blood magic that could drain entire armies, yet he speaks of your 'unique gifts' as if seducing servants is somehow more valuable than centuries of magical study."
Her voice rose with each word, fury and frustration bleeding through her controlled facade. "Do you know what it's like, watching Father's eyes light up when you enter a room whilst treating the rest of us like afterthoughts? We've spent centuries proving ourselves, yet somehow the bastard son of a whore succubus remains his favourite." She said, insulting his mother.
"At least I'm not plotting against family," Xolvion replied, his composure finally cracking slightly at the insult against his mother.
Morvina's smile was razor-sharp. "Plotting? Oh, dear brother, you misunderstand. We're not plotting. We're simply... concerned about the future of our house."
The door opened a third time, and Xolvion's heart sank as he recognised the heavy footsteps. Korthak, his eldest half-brother after Vorthak, filled the doorway with his massive frame. At nearly nine feet tall, he was built like a siege engine, his obsidian skin marked with ritual scars that glowed with inner fire. Unlike Vorthak's intelligent brutality, Korthak was pure violence barely contained in demonic flesh.
"Talking again?" Korthak's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Waste of time. Just crush the weakling and be done with it."
"Patience, brother," Drakonis said smoothly. "We must be... delicate about this."
"Delicate?" Korthak spat, literal flames escaping his lips. "He's a bastard whelp born of a whore. Why should we treat him with any consideration?"
The insult to his mother again hit Xolvion like a physical blow. He was on his feet before he'd consciously decided to move, his hand gripping the ceremonial dagger at his belt.
"Say that again," he snarled, his red eyes blazing at his brother.
Korthak's laugh shook the chamber windows. "What? That your mother was a common whore who spread her legs for Father and somehow convinced him she was worth keeping around? That you're the bastard spawn of a succubus so low-ranking and lacking magical power she couldn't even survive long enough to see her mistake reach adulthood?"
The rage that flooded through Xolvion was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. For a moment, just a moment, he felt something stir deep within him, a power that had nothing to do with seduction, something darker and hungrier. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him feeling more hollow than before.
"Careful, Korthak," Drakonis warned, though his tone suggested amusement rather than genuine concern. "We wouldn't want our dear brother to do something... rash."
"What could he do?" Morvina laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Challenge us to a duel? We all know how that would end."
They were right, and Xolvion knew it. In a realm where power determined worth, he was essentially defenceless against his siblings. His only protection was their father's favour, and that same favour was precisely what made him a threat to their ambitions.
"The Laws of Succession are clear," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Father has the right to choose his heir from among his legitimate children, regardless of birth order or... parentage."
"Legitimate children," Drakonis repeated thoughtfully. "An interesting choice of words. Tell me, brother, what makes you legitimate? Your lack of demonic features? Your pitiful excuse for magical ability? Or perhaps it's the way you've turned our proud succubus heritage into a joke by bedding servants? Face it, you might as well be a human!"
"I bear Father's name," Xolvion replied. "Same as you. I am a demon and his third son."
"For now," Morvina said softly. "But acknowledgement can be... withdrawn under certain circumstances."
The threat was clear, though unspoken. If Xolvion were to die, in an accident, perhaps, or during some unfortunate encounter with monsters, his father's acknowledgement would become meaningless. The dead, after all, couldn't inherit thrones.
"You're walking a dangerous line," Xolvion warned, though he knew his words carried little weight.
"Are we?" Drakonis tilted his head, genuinely curious. "I think you'll find that we're simply being practical. The realm is changing, brother. The old alliances are shifting, and new powers are rising. Our house needs strong leadership to survive what's coming."
"And you think Father doesn't know that?"
"Father is... sentimental about your mother," Morvina said with obvious distaste. "It clouds his judgement where you're concerned. He sees potential that simply isn't there, speaks of destiny where the rest of us see only weakness. The terrifying truth is that we all know, deep down, where we dare not speak it aloud, that he might actually choose you as his heir."
"Despite everything we've achieved," Drakonis added quietly. "Despite our power, our legitimacy, our proven abilities. Father's affection for his dead concubine's son might very well cost us everything we've worked for and the entire demon realm!"
Korthak cracked his knuckles, the sound like breaking stone. "Should just challenge him directly. Trial by combat. End this farce once and for all."
"You fool. Risking Father's wrath?" Drakonis shook his head. "No, if anything happens to our dear brother, it must appear to be... unfortunate circumstances. An accident. Perhaps an encounter with a horde of monsters during his coming-of-age celebrations."
The casual way they discussed his potential murder sent ice through Xolvion's veins. This wasn't idle posturing or sibling rivalry, they were genuinely planning to kill him.
"You're forgetting something," he said, surprised by how calm his voice sounded. "I'm still Father's son. If something happens to me, he'll investigate. He'll want answers." He said, grasping at straws.
"Will he?" Morvina stepped closer, her perfume of blood and roses nearly overwhelming. "Or will he be too devastated by grief to think clearly? After all, losing both his beloved concubine and his favourite son might be more than even a demon lord can bear."
The implication was clear. They weren't just planning to kill him. They were planning to destroy him so thoroughly that their father would be too broken to seek vengeance.
"Besides," Drakonis added conversationally, "accidents happen all the time during coming-of-age celebrations. Young demons get overconfident, venture into dangerous territory, and encounter monsters beyond their ability to handle. Really quite tragic, but these things happen." He said with a wave of his hands, as if it happened all the time.
Xolvion realised with crystal clarity that tomorrow's celebration wasn't going to be a birthday party, it was going to be his execution. His siblings had clearly been planning this for some time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to eliminate him without directly challenging their father's authority.
"I think we've said enough," Korthak rumbled, his patience clearly exhausted. "The whelp understands his position now. Don't you, Xolvion?"
"Indeed," Drakonis agreed. "We just wanted to ensure that our dear brother was... prepared for tomorrow's festivities. It would be such a shame if he weren't properly... equipped for what lies ahead."
They filed out of his chambers with the same casual confidence they'd entered with, leaving Xolvion alone with the crushing weight of his realisation. Tomorrow wasn't his coming of age, it was meant to be his death day.
As the door closed behind them, Xolvion sank back into his chair, his mind racing. He had perhaps eighteen hours before the celebration began, eighteen hours to figure out how to survive what his siblings had planned. The smart thing would be to run, flee the castle tonight and disappear into the demon realm's vast wilderness.
But where could he go? His demonic heritage would mark him as nobility in the outer territories, making him a target for ambitious demon lords looking to curry favour with his father by returning his "kidnapped" son. And if he tried to flee to the human realms... well, demons weren't exactly welcome there either.
No, running wasn't an option. He needed to be smarter than that, more cunning. His mother had been clever, his father always said. Perhaps it was time to prove that her intelligence lived on in her son.
Tomorrow would change everything, one way or another. But Xolvion was determined that he would be the one controlling that change, not his siblings. They might have underestimated him for the last time.