Kingdom of Aelurus, Modern Day

Feign liked to work at night. Not because his kind was nocturnal by nature, but because of the way their screams rang out, slicing through the silence as his blade slid across their throats.

Blood dripped off the polished steel of the ax and splashed against the stone floor, adding to its already reddened hue. Feign leaned against the dungeon wall, a gloved hand tracing the edge of the blade, wiping it clean.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection and chuckled; blood and mangled flesh adorned his breastplate, covering up the Blood Moon crest, the symbol of his king.

Feign's eyes looked tired like the embers of a fire ready to die out. He trudged across the floor, feeling his exhaust in each leaden footstep. The black cloak that marked his rank as Commander, billowed out behind him, skimming pools of freshly spilled blood. He smiled as he strode toward the center of the room where a wide-eyed fe'ren lay splayed and bound to a slab. Feign had done what his king had commanded of him; now, it was time he had his fun.

"It's a curious thing," Feign said, stroking a nearby tabletop strewn with metal blades. They were rusted now and dull from overuse, the perfect instruments for prying tight lips loose. "I never thought blood would make for a good lacquer. But it does, see?"

Feign held his ax in front of himself, his muscles flexing under its weight. It was an imposing weapon, half Feign's seven foot stature with a serrated blade that resembled the hungry, open maw of a demon. Its handle was deep black, and it smelled of rot.

"Have you ever seen anything more magnificent?"

The prisoner stared up at him in green-eyed horror. His long, black whiskers shook. Feign chuckled and slammed his ax down, stopping it a hair's breadth before the cat-man's nose. The prisoner trembled, the rusted metal cuffs around his neck and limbs shaking as he did, making Feign's ears perk up at the welcomed tune.

He was afraid and rightfully so.

In his panic, the prisoner released his bladder, dark spots of urine seeping through his torn linen trousers, pooling on the table. Angered by the smell of piss and the prisoner's show of weakness, Feign moved his ax down the man's neck, a thin trickle of blood staining the man's fur a deep, earthen brown. The prisoner winced at the pain, his screams stifled by the dirty cloth that'd been forced down his throat.

"There we go," Feign said as he ran his fingers along the cut on the prisoner's neck, before smearing the blood on the handle of his ax. Pleased, he slid his weapon through the leather strap on his back. "Ren's been satisfied."

The prisoner looked at him, eyes wide. Feign cackled, his body trembling in delight. "You're wondering who Ren is?" he asked, his attention turned toward a clay bowl a few meters away.

Stagnant, brown water sloshed against the sides as Feign lifted it off the ground, his movement disturbing the maggots that writhed on the inside of the bowl.

"It's the name of my ax," he said as he returned to the prisoner. "Short for Soulrend. A proper name for a proper weapon."

Feign smirked, his filed down fangs pressing into his lower lip. "But you, you wouldn't know anything about being proper, though. Would you, Baleen?"

Cutting the silence with a low growl, Feign threw the water over Baleen's face. The man contorted, the chains that cut into him taking a back seat to the tepid water that poured over him.

It ran up his nostrils and through the rag in his mouth. He choked on the water that forced its way down his throat. Maggots peppered his fur, writhing in a shared panic and Baleen lurched forward, the straps cutting into his fur.

"You might have found glory within the old regime," Feign said, lifting Baleen's head off the table. "But Aelurus has changed. A true king has emerged and he...well, let's just say, he has different values."

With a snarl, Feign slammed Baleen's head back onto the table, a loud crack echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. His eyes bulged.

"Oh no, you don't," Feign snarled. "I'm not done playing with you."

A look of joy flickered in Feign's eyes as he slapped Baleen's cheeks, each one powerful enough to split flesh. Slowly, a soaked Baleen peeled his eyes open.

"Now that's more like it," Feign cooed.

He ran a hand through Baleen's wet fur-doing so in an almost loving manner- and brushed a few strands out of the cat-man's eyes.

"Wouldn't want to disappoint, now would we?" he asked as he removed the cloth from Baleen's mouth.

"Pl-pl-please-" Baleen stammered, his voice unfamiliar and frail.

With a grin, Feign plucked a maggot from Baleen's fur and shoved it into his mouth. It wriggled on the cat-man's tongue before slipping down his throat. Feign kept him pinned down, his hand covering Baleen's mouth to prevent him from vomiting.

"You had such a lovely family, Baleen. Truly beautiful creatures," Feign whispered as Baleen squirmed under his grasp. "Take solace in knowing my men saw to their needs. And then they gutted them like fish, their entrails feeding the vultures, their souls plucked by my necromancers before their ascension. Your family now helps the king you betrayed. What justice!"

Tears fell from Baleen's eyes as Feign shoved the cloth back into his mouth. "They will never be returned to you."

Satisfaction flooded Feign as he stared at the quivering, whimpering mess before him. Baleen had been stripped of hope, his soul shattering with each muffled whimper that escaped his mouth.

His fun over, Feign sighed and placed his hands around Baleen's neck. "So weak. You've disappointed me, Baleen. You've disappointed your family."

Tightening his grip, Feign watched as Baleen struggled underneath his touch, tears running down the cat-man's brown fur and wetting Feign's gloves. He gasped for breath as his fingernails clawed at the wooden slab.

Drool ran down Baleen's chin, tremors assaulting his body. His eyes bulged before his life started to dull. The tremors slowed. The struggling slowed. Feign felt Baleen's heartbeat slow, until finally, the cat-man stilled.

Feign turned away and removed his gloves, casting them to the floor. He smiled as he felt a familiar pair of eyes piercing his back.

"Do you not approve of what I do?" he asked as he turned toward the eyes glaring at him from the shadows.

Silence. Feign sighed as he moved toward the last in a row of cells on his right. More silence. He placed his hands on the iron bars, rust rubbing off and coating his black fur in a fine red dusting.

"Oh, come on. After all this time, you're still so cold to me. Why can't we just be friends?"

"Go to De'lene," a voice croaked.

Feign cackled and slammed his hands against the bars, the sound ringing out like gunfire. He was impressed with the prisoner's spirit; it was one that couldn't be extinguished. That's why he had been Feign's favorite.

"You still speak the High Tongue after all this time. What a proper soldier."

"I'll kill you someday," the prisoner hissed from deep within his cell.

"Even your threats are proper," Feign mocked, his eyes locking with the prisoner's, fire engaging ice. "Must have been all that time serving your bitch queen."

Letting the smile slip from his face, Feign asked in a chilling voice, "Isn't that right, Lain?"

A tortured growl erupted from the cell as a matted, sinewy mess hurled itself toward him, the chains around it's neck stopping Lain a few inches from the bars. Feign stared at him in amusement.

"Speak of her again and I'll rip your head off your shoulders," Lain spat, his eyes filled with fury.

"Yes, I'm sure you will," the cat-man said, dismissing Lain's threat with a half-hearted wave of his hand.

"You know, your queen died beautifully that night," Feign said.

Grabbing Soulrend off his back, Feign placed it gingerly on the ground beside him, stroking the handle the way a man might stroke their lover's cheek.

Lain grew tense at the mention of his beloved queen, his long nails pressing into his palms, blood dripping onto the floor.

Feign smiled. "She had such grace, such dignity. She died the way a woman of her breeding ought to die. You know, her death was too good. So good in fact-"

"Don't," Lain said, trembling, his ears drooping as if in a feeble attempt to block out Feign's next words. He would hear them, though. Feign would make sure of it.

"Please don't," Lain said again.

He's pleading with me, Feign thought, his heart skipping in his chest. It'd been so long since he'd last coaxed this much emotion from his favorite prisoner.

"I had my necromancers bring her back," Feign said slowly as he relished the way Lain's ears twitched and his whiskers trembled. The cat-man's grey eyed welled with tears he'd be too indignant to shed.

One day, Feign thought, I will reduce him to tears.

Feign clasped his hand around Soulrend's handle and dug his nails into the wood. "I killed her, your queen," Feign said. "Over and over and over-"

"No!" Lain whimpered. Then, he shrieked and slammed his head into his hands. "No! No! No!"

"Each time I slid my blade over her throat, she peered back at me with those insolent, gold eyes. It was magnificent."

"Shut up!" Lain threw himself at the metal bars. He bared his fangs, his mouth twisted into a snarl, frothy saliva ran down his furry chin and onto his dirty tunic. "I'll kill you!"

With a serene calm, Feign stood up and faced Lain. "So much of her blood coats this handle." He smiled. "How about I let you give your beloved one last kiss?"

Feign slammed his ax against the bars, laughing as he did. Lain clawed at his chains, lifting them to his mouth to try and free himself from their grasp with his teeth. The sharp metal cut his gums, warm blood dripping onto the floor.

"No?" Displeasure furrowing his thick, sweat-covered brow, Feign shook his head and placed Soulrend on his back.

"Baleen won't be reunited with his family, but your queen will."

At this, Lain stopped his frenzied attempt at escape, eyes wide, blood dripping from his open mouth.

"Her sons-those bastard princes- they're alive. But I'll kill them, just like I killed their mother."

Feign flashed Lain a smile only the devil could muster before disappearing, the sound of the door  locking into place punctuating his final words.

"Myendar," Lain whispered as he fell to his knees. "They're alive."