Phlague

It had been too easy.

Watching the Dralan's pathetic males fall and die to the might of his army was a satisfaction that almost rivaled that of drinking pure blood. Their stupidity and naivety made him laugh as they fell for his spectacular scheme; their good hearts too honorable to leave behind a silly female in distress. They fought so hard to save them, to protect them.

Pathetic.

Strapping the females to the war machines had been a clever ruse he knew they could not resist. The Dralan's Lathras believed females were of more importance alive than dead, even when amidst a war where they were absolutely useless. To waste such efforts on trying to save them, oh, how brave of them to risk their lives to save those poor, innocent Mihrs...

– Completely disregarding their defensive line, abandoning their posts to protect the castle walls in the process.

He laughed at their actions, watching them herd the poor females away from the battle and away to safety, while he and his army slid right past their noses. They crept into the castle, past the small line of armed Lathras who never knew what was coming before they took their final breaths.

This was the problem with the Dralan's world. This, their gallantry, would be their downfall, as this day would prove. Instead of giving in to their instincts and drinking from the females, taking from them what was rightfully theirs, enjoying the fruits they bore... claiming them as their own... they decided to be honorable males, all for the price of what?

Thankfulness? Chivalry? A sense of pride? Ha!

Foolish males, he thought as he and his group of armed males made their way through the castle, seeking out their true target.

They could protect all the females they wanted. There was only one worth protecting, however, and if only they had sacrificed the others, maybe they wouldn't have been too distracted to see...

But that was the fault of goodness. It blinded you in the honor of pursuit of it, whereas he...

– His sight had never been clearer.

Climbing the many stairs to the Dralan's tower was a tedious task, but with every step, he might as well be ascending the throne. Of course he already knew the Dralan wouldn't be up there with her. Oh, no. Again, in the pursuit to be an honorable male, he had joined his Lathras out on the battlefield, to die among them like a good Dralan would do.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.

When would he realize, he wondered, that his precious little Dralaq had died to his own stupidity? That by doing what was expected of him, he had allowed weakness to enter his kingdom, to penetrate his noble reign.

Oh, he could imagine it now. How the great Dralan would react to her death. Rumors were that he loved her—had married her not out of desperation for lack of Mihrs, but for the sentiments in his heart. The very thought made him want to laugh. To think a male as grand him had allowed himself to be ruled by love—a fantastical notion that bore no power and only drenched you in more weakness.

He was going to enjoy dragging out her death so he could learn just how much he had failed as a Dralan.

The last steps led them to the landing of the Dralan's tower; only a stretch of long hallway between him and his victory. As their march begun, he could feel his fangs throbbing with the need to bite—to rip the sweet blood from his Dralaq's throat, to hear her scream as he ripped her, stripped her and skinned her... oh, the state she would be left in for the Dralan to find... if he thought the Lady Kahtrina had been bad...

Five armed Lathras met them outside the large bolted doors of the Dralan's chambers. They fought bravely—expelled glorious cries of war, yet pathetic gags of breaths as death pierced their armor and severed their heads from their necks. Blood pooled on the ground, soaking the soles of his boots as his armed males kicked down the door, hacked off the hinges and burst down the feeble wooden barrier...

And there she was.

Stepping through the doorway, a single male stood with a sword to protect his Dralaq. His eyes were murderous, but his head knew what fate would meet him in mere seconds. He could see it behind the fury in his gaze—could see him calculating how many of his males he would be able to take with him before he himself drew his final breath. Before he, too, littered the floor like the males outside.

Shifting his gaze from the male, his eyes sought of the back of the room, finding the prize he had been long searching for. She stood with another female—a simple maid or bahk—who cowered at the sight of him. But not her.

Oh, no. The Dralaq stared straight back at him, meeting his gleeful smile. Such bravery.

– What a joy it would be to pull the screams from her throat as he ripped her vocal cords out from within her neck.

"Dralaq," He voiced silently, coldly. He watched her press her lips together at the sound of his voice, but with no less resolve than before, she replied with no tremors of fear in her voice.

"Phlague."

"You know of me," He smiled coldheartedly, pleased that all of his efforts had not been in vain. "Good. Introductions bore me."

"Stay back," The male in front of him now seethed when he took a simple step forward. "Or I shall introduce you to the Miss above."

He turned his gaze towards the male, a Kathmir by any likes of his uniform, but a brave one at that. His size was bigger than the average male, though. Perhaps this was this Dralan's personal guard.

Ah, he had nobly left this one male behind to protect his female. What honor.

And now, he could have the honor of seeing his Dralaq die before his eyes.

"Seize him," He slithered out calmly.

Four of his males broke forward to grab the foolish Kathmir—but no sooner had he spoken before the male had swung his sword swiftly, attacking the first of them. He moved with grace and finesse that told he was much more than just a Kathmir; he was a Lathra, personally trained by the Dralan to match his equal in strength and agility.

Growling at this minor inconvenience, he lifted his own sword and swung it at the Kathmir. He would make swift work of him; He saw no point in killing him, but injuring him just enough so that he could repeat the tale to his loyal master, the Dralan, was a delightful thought.

If he still had enough tongue left to speak.

One of his males dropped to the floor with a slid throat, but it was of no matter. He stepped forward and swung his own sword, catching the Karhmir's blade. There was power behind the male's swing, strength beneath the grip on his hilt. But as he himself pushed forward, more than equal to his strength, the Kathmir was forced to take a step back, sweat gleaming on his forehead. He was strong, yes, but nothing equaled the blood rush of pure blood flowing through one's veins. He could fight all he wanted, but the matter was simple; the Kathmir's blood was no match to his own.

With a simple quick thrust, he kicked his foot into the Kathmir's chest and forced him to fall backwards, allowing his men to charge forward and seize him. They wasted no time in beating the male bloody, his painful grunts music to his ear.

A sudden scream erupted across the chamber. Turning, he found the Dralaq's maid sobbing and trying to break free from the Dralaq's grip, the Dralaq forcing her back as she tried to foolishly jump to the Kathmir's defense.

From the desperate look in her eyes, there was but one reason why.

Oh, but this was pure joy. They really did make it too easy for him.

"Seize the maid," He ordered ruthlessly, and just as he did, there was a roar from the Kathmir.

"No!" He shouted, fighting to free himself from the hold of his males. They punched him straight across the head and a cracking sound echoed from his nose. Blood poured and a grunt of pain rumbled from his bloody mouth.

"Callath, no!" The maid sobbed, just as one of his males stepped forward and ripped the female from the Dralaq's grip. She shrieked and fought, but with a simple dagger to her throat, she stilled and sobbed quietly instead.

"Bhria!" The lovestruck Kathmir roared, despite his injuries. His males easily kept him in check, forcing him down on the ground, kneeling.

He smiled gleefully at the scene. Their love had weakened them, and now they were at his complete mercy. One couldn't move without injuring the other; It was truly too perfect for his own taste.

"Enough of this!" A voice suddenly broke through the room.

His gaze turned and found the Dralaq stepping forward, chin lifted and palms out-turned in quiet surrender. She met his icy gaze with one of stone cold resolve.

"It is me you want," She whispered, not a sound of fear in her voice. Yet.

His smile grew, enjoying her peaceful surrender. If more females had been like her, they would not have faced these problems. But alas, he knew her calmness was only temporary until he began to carry out his mission.

And so, sheathing his bloody sword, he instead pulled out a small, sturdy blade and advanced towards the Dralaq. Her gaze didn't waver, but met his own with bravery, with silent resolve.

And yet, he thought, as a cold smile rose on his lips, the same moment he lifted his blade, ready to strike...

They all screamed in the end.