In the heart of the imperial palace, Emperor Chen Ming sat alone upon his massive dragon throne, or so it appeared to any who might glimpse into the grand hall. His face was twisted with barely contained fury, fingers gripping the ornate armrests until his knuckles whitened. The news of General Autumn’s reckless charge into the kingdom had shattered years of careful planning, sches that had been layered as delicately as silk sheets, now torn asunder by one impulsive action.
The vast chamber, with its towering columns and gilded decorations, seed to amplify the emperor’s agitated breathing. Not only were his plans in ruins, but he was also about to lose a general – sothing that had taken years of careful cultivation and imnse resources to create. The thought alone made his temples throb with frustration.
Taking a deep breath to center himself, Emperor Chen Ming’s voice echoed through the empty hall. "What are his chances of surviving?"
Though the question seed to float unanswered in the air, a response erged from the shadows behind the throne. The voice was distinctly male, yet eerily devoid of any emotion – each word delivered with chanical precision, as if reciting from so unseen script.
"He has a ten percent chance of surviving."
The emperor’s eyes widened, genuine surprise breaking through his carefully maintained composure. Against the legendary Golden-eyed Tyrant, even a ten percent chance of survival seed impossibly high. He shifted in his seat, curiosity overtaking his anger.
"Why do you think so?" The question carried both skepticism and hope – the General Autumn he knew shouldn’t possess such odds against such a formidable opponent.
The monotone voice continued its explanation, "General Autumn’s talent focuses on body optimization, allowing him to transform his body into forms that are optimized for different types of combat." The emperor nodded slowly, processing this information. "If he transford his body into a form that’s optimized for speed, he might have a chance if he ran away without looking back."
A knowing silence fell between them before the voice added, "But knowing him, he’ll probably choose to fight!" The emperor’s grim nod confird their shared understanding of the general’s prideful nature. Running, no matter how tactical, would never be an option for soone of his temperant.
"But there’s no need to throw in the towel yet," the voice continued, introducing a new perspective. "This is just what we know on the surface. Everyone has their own secrets."
"You an..." the emperor began, but the voice pressed on.
"That’s right. Although we know the general abilities of the generals, we don’t know if they have their own secret thods."
This revelation sent a chill down the emperor’s spine. The implications were clear – their oversight of the generals had grown too lax, potentially allowing them to develop hidden powers away from imperial scrutiny. The very thought that his position might be at risk caused him to exhale heavily.
Seeking to change the subject, the emperor turned to another matter of concern. "About the spies that you sent to the kingdom," he began, his tone asured. "Why did you not pick a professional team? Why pick those newbies? I heard they were captured even before they could get far."
The atmosphere shifted as movent stirred behind the throne. From the encompassing darkness, a figure began to erge with deliberate slowness. As it stepped into the light, the form of a man beca visible – his well-toned muscles apparent even in the dim illumination. Yet his face remained concealed behind an intricately crafted dragon mask.
"That was actually part of the plan," the masked figure declared.
…
Deep within the forests of Avaloria Kingdom, amidst the many ancient trees, a peculiar scene unfolded around a roaring pyre. Maximilian Brightwell sat beside the flas, a shadow of his forr self. His once-pristine appearance had deteriorated dramatically – days of neglect had transford him into sothing almost feral. His unkempt hair hung in matted tangles, while an untad beard obscured his features, lending him the appearance of a man who had long abandoned civilization.
The massive fire before him cast dancing shadows through the forest, but it wasn’t the flas that drew attention. Rather, it was the bizarre creature lounging within the inferno itself. The being defied natural description – its body was a study in contradictions. Tiny limbs, no larger than an infant’s, supported a grotesquely oversized head that matched an adult human’s in scale. Where a face should have been, a single massive red eyeball dominated, unblinking and alien. No mouth, no nose, no other features marred its smooth surface. A diminutive tail completed its otherworldly appearance.
Most striking was how the creature seed to luxuriate in the flas that should have consud it. Its tail swayed lazily back and forth as it rotated like at on a spit, but with obvious pleasure rather than distress. The being turned its singular eye toward Maximilian.
"What’s your choice, human?" The question hung in the smoke-filled air.
Maximilian regarded the creature with weary eyes, reaching into his right pocket to withdraw a crumpled pack of cigarettes. With deliberate movents, he pulled one out and leaned forward, using the sa flas that cradled the demon to light his smoke. The bitter scent of tobacco mixed with the woodsmoke as he took a deep drag.
"What are you?" he finally asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
The creature’s response ca with an almost childlike candor. "I don’t know either. My mom calls a fragnt."
"You have a mother? Where is she?" Maximilian’s questions ca between puffs of his cigarette.
"I don’t know. We only et mother when we wake up and don’t see her again," the creature responded matter-of-factly.
"’We’?" Maximilian’s interest seed to sharpen.
"Yes."
"How many of you are there?"
The creature stood upright in the flas, its single eye gleaming. "I don’t know. When I woke up, there were many of us, and there are still others who have yet to wake up."
Maximilian crushed out his finished cigarette, his voice hardening. "Thanks for answering my questions, but I can’t take your offer." His next words carried the weight of grief and rage. "After all, you killed my son."
"I didn’t kill him. We’ve already talked about this," the creature protested.
"You or the one who did it, it’s all the sa to . If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have made the choices he made." Maximilian’s casual tone belied the pain beneath his words as he reached for another cigarette, only to find the pack empty. With a frustrated gesture, he tossed it into the fire.
"Since I can’t kill you, I’ll be taking my leave now," he announced, rising to his feet and starting to walk away through the darkening forest.
The creature, however, had other plans. It materialized on his shoulder, its voice insistent. "I told you that I didn’t make him do those things. Your son was already far gone to begin with. I only lent him my power."
Maximilian attempted to swat the being away, only for it to disappear and reappear on his other shoulder. After several failed attempts to dislodge his unwanted companion, he finally surrendered to its persistence.
"I told you I didn’t want your power. Why are you still following ?" he demanded.
The creature’s response ca with an almost comical air of injury. "Are you going to leave by myself in this place?"
A deep sigh escaped Maximilian. "I’ll take you to the church to be exorcized."
"What’s the church? Is it edible?" the creature asked with genuine curiosity.
Maximilian’s only response was to cover his face with his palm, wondering how he had found himself in such an absurd situation with this seemingly innocent yet dangerous being.
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