Chapter 8

The crisp smell of burning flesh permeated the air and one's nostrils. Damon stood there, basking in the aftermath of destruction, with Kronos satiated and fulfilled, sleeping inside him—at least for the moment. Still, he felt a sense of unease. Hellhounds and Berserkers had been sighted in several kingdoms, and there were reports of wolves going berserk, a phenomenon not witnessed in over a century. The war with humans was the least of his problems, and while it was his playground to unleash Kronos's quest and hunger for blood, snapping their necks like twigs in battle was effortless. However, the increasing numbers of hellhounds posed a significant problem.

"We received a report, two Berserked wolves, sire," Damon's right-hand man and battle chief informed him, interrupting his thoughts.

Standing there near the cliff where they had camped, the sound of a galloping horse drew nearer—a horse from the palace.

"Your highness," the man called out, dismounting his horse.

"A message from His Majesty, the King," the messenger said, passing a letter to the prince, his outstretched arms trembling slightly. Damon crinkled his nose in disgust. He should have gotten used to treatments like this, but they still got to him. The messenger had carefully avoided meeting his eyes; everyone did, as his eyes were horrifying—or so he had been told.

"You're a hideous monster. You should always put this on so people don't have to look at you," the prince recalled a memory as his mother had anxiously shoved a black mask to cover his face that day. Although he always kept his entire face covered, his eyes were said to be terrifying enough. Hardening his gaze, he focused on the man in front of him—the embodiment of the wolf Descendant and embodiment of the demon Lycan, Kronos.

Focusing back on the messenger, who was still bowed and trembling with outstretched arms, the announcement of the message from the palace irked the prince's nerves.

"What did the king want? He was more at home on the outskirts and the battlefield, the scent of blood filling his nostrils, and the painful cries of victims gave him an unexplainable satisfaction. A terror on the warfront, he was called the God of destruction. Here, he could unleash his beast completely without the need for any restraints. It wouldn't be the same if he went back to the palace, where he would be completely choked up with the fear emanating from those serving him. Although he loved being feared, the smell of it from those trembling servants and people at the palace filled him with irritation. Even Kronos despised it.

"I would remain here," he replied decisively. Kronos's powers were growing, dangerous and stronger—he could sense it. He and his wolf battled for control constantly, more than before. Kronos nagged and mocked him inwardly.

"You'll grow weaker; I'll take possession of this body soon. Soon, I'll be free," he could hear Kronos whisper inside his head. Damon had blocked off his screaming for years, but recently, they began to get louder, almost taking over completely. It would be safer if he were far away from home; his quest for destruction was unpredictable.

"He insists on your return," Devin, his right-hand, suggested to him, peering over the message. Devin, a strong Knight, was one of the few people who weren't afraid of him. He was still his closest companion and right hand. A long scar ran through his arm—a reminder of the bitter battle Devin had fought when Kronos took charge. Still, Devin remained loyal and steadfast to his prince and leader.

"We'll take care of everything at this end," Devin said convincingly. Damon gave off an irritated sigh. Steam flew out from his nostrils, and the messenger flinched, stumbling backward in fright from getting burnt and almost falling over.

"Is there anything else?" he asked the man on the floor. The messenger hesitated; he had been informed of the prince's new bride's arrival but had been warned to keep the news away from him. He shook his head vigorously.

"Fine. I'll return to the palace," Damon agreed with a sigh.

The man scampered to his feet, hurriedly got on his horse, and rode away without glancing back. He couldn't wait to get away from Damon and his deadly aura. It was like being suffocated by death itself. Its strong stench lingered and clung to him like a second skin.

"Get my horse readied. I'll be riding out tonight," he said decisively. Within him, he dreaded returning back there, still the king had summoned him.

The hooves of the horse hit the floor powerfully, shattering the quiet and peaceful atmosphere of the night. Although the horse was fast, still, he felt the urge to shift and break out running. He could shift to his wolf form due to his Lycan nature whenever he wanted to, unlike others of his kind whose shifting and wolf abilities were limited. In a couple of minutes in wolf form, he would have been at the palace. But he couldn't risk shifting and running through town.

Growing up, Father had banished him—a useless, destructive son he despised. His only function and use to him were in battle, and that was where he kept, mostly at the battlefield and at the outskirts of the kingdom guarding it. The horse rode faster, the night air ruffling his long mane of hair, trotting through the familiar routes. It had been years since he last returned. The castle came into view, and he subconsciously tightened his grip on the reins of the horse.

Pulling the horse to a stop he got off immediately.

He had gone through the other entrance of the castle. This part of the palace was unpopulated and only a few guards hung around. They stared at him mouth agape as the dark prince descended entrailing the whole place with a dark aura,his clothes once regal were drenched in dry blood. His aura, that of darkness and death. He wasn't called the dark prince for nothing. Wearing a black mask he was an even more frightening presence. He wasn't called the dark wolf for nothing. Wearing a black mask he was an even more frightening presence.

The guards stood rooted in their spot, no one wanted to go close to where he stood, they had no idea why he was there nor intended going close to him. He was unpredictable and unhinged. The prince wasn't welcomed to the throne room where the king resided, he was practically an intruder. Still he was a prince, they couldn't accost him and with his nature there was no way they could get into a brawl with him without it ending badly for them. Sensing their gazes on him, Damon glanced in their direction. His face covered with a mask but his eyes shone a maniacal glint. As Damon's penetrating gaze swept over them, the guards, ensnared in the undertow of his unsettling aura, remained rooted like statues