Surrounded by a barren wasteland, Killure's closed his eyes and allowed the wind to blow gently against his face, as he imagined what his home used to look like.

Northfall, was what it was once called. It hardly deserved the name now.

Icixes used to thrive here. Northfall was a few hours flight away from the other islands, which meant they were protected by all the sea monsters swimming in the waters, looking for sailors to devour. Some were huge, able to swallow entire ships whole if given the chance—and there was no shortage of such terrifying creatures in the sea. As a result, Northfall had always been impenetrable.

Sea monsters never bothered swimming between the cluster of six islands because of how shallow and warm the water was, but they were abundant between Northfall and the other islands. Not a single boat could reach here.

The Icixes could travel as they liked, however—flying to and fro, preying upon unsuspecting humans on the other islands and then bringing for their families whatever they hadn't eaten on the flight back. Some even liked to prey on the humans for sport, even if they weren't hungry and their actions weren't out of necessity.

Emperor Kael, arguably the most ruthless and barbaric Icix of them all, particularly enjoyed the hunt, and used to terrorize humans for the hell of it. He only ever ate what he personally caught and killed, but oftentimes he killed so many people that there was an abundance of human meat and it often went to waste.

His eldest son never quite had the same tastes.

Killure allowed a ghost of a smile to appear on his face. His father had always been far too sure of himself. Just because he was the emperor didn't mean he was immortal, and his death proved that.

Killure could still hear his father's harsh voice ringing in his mind, telling his son how worthless he was, and how he'd never amount to anything. Never be great like his father, the emperor.

And though he was dead, the man was still right.

Impossibly, frustratingly, always right. Even in death.

Perhaps it was his father's words that sealed Killure's fate—made the old man's words come true. Held him back from accomplishing anything of worth. Or perhaps this was his fate from the beginning, and what his father said had nothing to do with it.

Killure clenched his fists. He could feel the tips of his claws piercing through the surface of his palms, and pressed even farther until his hands began to bleed. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, embracing the pain, for it was all he knew.

His pretty little master probably thought all the scars on his body were from his previous masters. And some were, to be sure, but many were also inflicted by his own father. Killure hated those scars with a burning passion. The idea of wearing his father's marks—his brand—on his back for the rest of his life infuriated him.

Even after death, his father was with him.

However, there were very few Icixes left to remember the savage Emperor Kael. The rest were dead.

A burst of anger erupted within him, directed at the powerful men who'd orchestrated the massacre of his people. Not only had they destroyed everything he knew and cared about, they'd taken his father's life.

Before Killure could murder his father himself.

So many times he'd fantasized about hurting his father, and making him feel some of the mental and physical pain that he inflicted on his sons throughout the years. Watching the life drain from the man's cold eyes, see the cruel expression he always wore fall and turn into one of shock—Killure wanted to relish in the fact that he'd done it.

But that right had been stolen from him.

And Killure would make them pay.

Killure leaned back and basked in the sun, his dark skin absorbing the warm rays. His nostrils brought the scent of burnt ashes every time he inhaled, and he briefly wondered if he was breathing in the remains of someone he once knew. Ashes floating in the air.

The warm embrace of the sun eventually lulled him to sleep, and when he woke up a few hours later, he realized that his dreams had been about her, again.

He'd been sure all thoughts of her would have left his mind by now, but they hadn't.

The strawberry-haired doll with a raging fire in those glossy green eyes of hers.

Trying to save the world was an impossible, infeasible task, but his master took it on just the same.

She was always trying to save everyone.

Even him, and he knew he didn't deserve to be saved. How many people had he killed? Hundreds, to be sure. Enough to make him unredeemable.

And yet, she saw him for more than he was. For what he could be.

That day by the pond, right after she'd publicly saved him from being burnt at the stake, he remembered how overwhelming she was. The fact that she'd cared that much about him was astounding. He'd never had someone care for him before, other than his little brother all those years ago.

He'd known it wasn't right, but he couldn't help but to kiss her right then and there—fully expecting her to wrench herself away from him in disgust and avoid him from that point forwards. But she . . . didn't. She pulled him towards her and kissed him back.

Killure let out a low growl of frustration. Here she was, in his thoughts—again.

It was a disturbing thought, to realize that somewhere deep down inside him, he cared for his master. Sure, he wanted her body, but he also wanted to keep her safe, and out of harm's way.

Killure knew that if he didn't find a way to pry her from his thoughts once and for all, it could be used against him. She would be used against him, just as his little brother had been before they slaughtered him like a pig.

Killure's eyes popped open. He squinted against the bright sky, and suddenly knew what had to be done.

If he was going to find every man responsible for the massacre of Northfall and kill them with his bare hands, he had to get to his master.

He had to convince her to disappear until they were dead.

———

"Yes, you heard correctly. I'd like to take it off your king's hands for a generous sum of money," Remi said calmly, placing her elbows on the table they were eating at in a most unlady-like fashion.

Lord Ballathe seemed to be thinking her offer over. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were furrowed.

It had taken a lot of planning and work to score herself an audience with the prestigious right hand man of Vertice's king. She'd had to entice him with a letter of beautiful words promising money, and arrange for a ship to carry her to the nearby island-city of Vertice. As the king's right hand man, Lord Ballathe dealt with everything business related so long as it was a big enough deal.

"How generous?" he finally asked.

Remi gave him a small smirk. "Enough to pay whatever the king demands, and a hefty donation to the man who spent his time negotiating the sale, of course. Anything less would be quite rude of me."

"Oh yes, quite!" Lord Ballathe agreed, his eyes glimmering with greed.

Remi could tell she'd already won him over.

As was expected of a prominent lord when asked for an audience by a young, prominent lady, he'd taken her out to eat at a splendid restaurant with a delightful array of food on its menu. Remi had picked one of the most expensive dishes—a sort of exotic, spicy, lentil soup. The broth was thick, and perfect for dipping her warm, freshly-cooked pita bread in.

When she'd first brought up the idea of buying one of the king's uninhabited islands, the lord had been flabbergasted, and a little suspicious. No one in their right mind would purchase an isolated chunk of land that had never been touched by the structures and technologies of men. Soon, though, the promise of money won him over and made him forget any suspicions he might have had.

Remi heaved a large, metal briefcase onto the table, causing their glasses and plates to rattle and clink.

She turned the lock and opened it up so Lord Ballathe could see, then raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps this would be enough to cover all the costs?"

There was enough to pay the king's price for the island two times over.

The lord lustfully scanned over the stacks and stacks of bills lining the inside of the briefcase, his hands fidgeting at his sides, as if he was doing everything in his power to keep from grabbing the cash. Finally, using what seemed to be all of his self-restraint, Lord Ballathe tore his eyes from the briefcase of cash and met her expectant gaze. "Lady Remi Goldridge, you have yourself a deal. I'll have a contract made up for the selling of the land, and then get the king's stamp of approval and signature. After that, the land is yours."

He went to reach for the briefcase, but Remi snapped it shut, and locked it.

She let out an easy chuckle. "Surely you don't expect me to act on blind faith, do you? As much as I trust your word, who knows if my contract for the ownership of the island will become lost along the way after my briefcase has been taken off my hands."

Lord Ballathe's shoulders sagged in disappointment. He'd clearly been hoping to take her money and run.

Remi hoped this would make him reconsider.

"Three mornings from now, let's meet again—but this time, for brunch. As is customary, we'll exchange our gifts," Remi suggested. This way, the lord would be forced to get the contract from the king and bring it to her if he wanted her money.

The lord seemed slightly suspicious, however. "I'm hoping your word is as unwavering as the strength of your family name."

Remi smiled tightly, taking the final spoonful of her delicious soup. "If I arrive without my gift, feel free to tear yours to shreds." Doing so would nullify the sale of the land.

"I'm sure I won't have to take such measures," Lord Ballathe chuckled, walking to her side of the table. "Allow me to see you out."

"Thank you, Lord Ballathe. That is very kind." Remi replied, standing up and taking his arm with all the grace of a lady.

Melee materialized from the shadows, taking hold of the large briefcase of money and nodding once at Remi, who nodded back. The hot headed prison guard would bring it to the predetermined location when it was time.

With a perfect smile painted on her face, Remi allowed the greedy lord to lead her out of the establishment.

In order to create a new world, one must often start from scratch.