An army of Naaga stared back at him, their pale, pearlescent eyes glowing in the dim light.

They had weapons.

Behind him, the doors slammed shut with a resounding thud.

Imril became furious. “What is the point of this?” he thundered, staring at the strange triangular devices in their hands. “Stand down, or I will burn you all to ashes.”

Some of the Naaga stepped back immediately, responding to the command in his voice. Others refused. He was starting to get used to that.

The servant race was diverging; thanks to Nykithus’s genes, they had discovered free will.

This world was changing; always changing.

Imril walked forward, the halo of power around him flaring. “You know I can kill all of you right now if I want. Your master knows that. Is he the sort of Drakhin who would needlessly sacrifice you for the sake of his misguided ambition?”

Imril thought about releasing all of his power in a single devastating blast. It thrummed through his veins like a wild creature, pummeling at the walls of his self-control, taking all of his energy just to keep it at bay.

He had never felt this powerful, ever. Esania’s vir was just that incredible, and impossibly, the longer she was with him, the more potent her energy became, especially when she was aroused. It would take at least a hundred feedings from a hundred different Naaga to try and even touch this level of power.

How utterly humbling. After so many hundreds of revolutions of fighting his way through life, of trying to understand what exactly he was, he came to realize that he knew so little about the Universe. How could a creature like Esania contain so much untapped power within her fragile, slender frame? How did she seduce him, challenge him, vex him, all at the same time?

He, who had once been the strongest thing on this planet, so full of cynicism and ennui that he could kill on a whim.

Not anymore.

One of the Naaga lobbed something toward him; a round, circular device that looked like a bomb. Imril pushed his power outwards as the thing exploded, releasing noxious grey gas. His aura burned away the grey cloud before its plumes could reach him. Nothing could touch him now.

The Naaga chattered amongst themselves, clearly agitated.

“Is Nykithus a coward?” Imril asked, raising his wings menacingly as he stalked forward. Unable to stand the heat of his aura, the Naaga scuttled backward. “This confrontation is going to happen sooner or later. Whether it be the next revolution, or in a hundred, I am going to find him, and no virus or poison or weapon is going to be able to touch me. I can kill all of you in a heartbeat.” He had Esania now, and she made him invincible. “So I will ask you again. What is the point?”

Cowed by his voice, several of the Naaga had dropped to their knees. The others glared at him defiantly, but he could read fear in their silvery vir. The closer he got to them, the more he could taste their energy. It was so different to hers; faint, metallic, joyless.

As if they were the twilight, and she, the sunrise.

“Are you going to obey your master? Do you really think you can kill me, samare?”

He stepped forward again, lighting up the darkness.

They shrank back.

Fearful eyes.

Indecision.

Silence.

“The Lightbringer is right.” A voice rang out in the cavernous chamber, and he recognized it instantly. Nykithus. “You are no match for him when he is in this state.” A sigh. “There is almost nothing that can kill him, and I won’t send you to a pointless death. Stand down.”

Quickly, almost eagerly, the Naaga fell back, clearing a path toward the center of the room, where a massive throne sat in the center, its carved obsidian wings soaring up toward the roof.

In the throne sat a familiar figure. This was the very being that had almost destroyed Imril’s entire existence, and he still didn’t understand why.

And this was definitely a trap.

A growl rose from deep within Imril’s throat.

Regardless of the reason, he was going to kill the bastard.