Chapter one

Chapter one

Abraham's steps were slow and practiced while his thoughts fled. It disturbed him how a menacing creature like that had escaped from Hades. He had taken care of it...but he was certain it would return.

Now he walked through the doors of the castle, a mighty and gorgeous structure that surprisingly disgusted him till today.

His eyes roamed about him like his own home was filth, and if he noticed the shivering guards and maids that bowed or curtsied as he stalked past, he didn't show it.

Being the last Prince of his father but most feared, Abraham Tonnel snatched everything he wanted, believed he ruled them, owned them and was in control.

"Where is my father," his voice was a deep whisper that went well to chill the entire room. Coming to a halt, his blue eyes still roamed about.

The servants around pondered upon who would answer most accurately without having to anger him and lose his head.

"Your Highness," a blonde maid forced the words with a stammer.

She paused when his cold gaze landed on her intently, but went on after second thought, "His Majesty is still asleep in his chamber and asks not to be disturbed."

Abraham smiled to himself and resumed his slow, quiet steps towards the master chamber the size of a small field, built specifically for the passing Kings.

It was strange how the youngest Prince of five found himself attracted to that chamber, his father's sceptre and most especially...that throne.

Two guards had their spears crossed before the large door leading to where this hell tempered Prince planned to go to.

As he stood before them, releasing the cold and powerful vibe he always carried along, words didn't need to be said before the guards obediently parted the spears and pushed the doors open.

Abraham stepped into the master chamber and admired it for some time. Maybe his "small field" was much of an understatement.

When he felt the doors pull shut behind him, he went deeper in while he brought his eyes to the King, his old, dying father.

This time, he chose to ignore the crown that he was sure was going to be his soon enough. Now he smirked, something often seen, just before he sat at the bedside.

King Tonnel John was tucked beneath his covers in a limp, half-dead state, something concluded to be the end of his time here on Earth. For some reason, he now looked ten years older.

The man's eyes peeled open weakly when he felt weight compress the part of the bed beside his shoulder.

"Your Majesty," Abraham rasped with a smile plastered on. He even got more pleased when the King's face paled in fright as he saw him. "It is I," the Prince continued, "your son."

The older man forced himself to move away unsuccessfully. Obviously, he was feeling the same dark aura, "Go away! You demon!"

The Prince did not seem offended by the man's words. Instead, he put his hand over his father's in mock pity, clutching the fingers tight when he tried to pull away, "You know I can rid you of this misery. Just give me all I ask for."

King Tonnel cursed in Latin, a phrase meant to repel negativity, "You can continue your torture for all I care! Kill me if you must! But that throne...never Abraham. Never! "

Abraham smiled and glanced at his right palm. It took a little circle of his hand to turn it into a fire touch that scared the life out of the old man. As though it was a candle wick, a considerable size of scorching flame floated above his palm, an action the King knew only existed in history fiction.

He wanted to ask his son, "What have you become?" But somehow, his words failed him as the reflection of the fire danced in his eyes.

The Prince also seemed to be lost in the beauty of what he could do, " Killing you was my plan a long time ago old man, whether or not you choose to give me the throne. But I'll make you an offer."

He suddenly shut his palm, putting off the flame. Now the grin on his lips was a cold smirk, " I'll speak to my dear old friend; Lucifer, Satan, the devil, call him whatever you want."

A slight pause followed which he used to relish the look on his father's face, " I'm more than certain hell is your destination, a place he rules with every ounce of bone he harbours. I could make him make your stay pleasurable for you...or," the Prince turned back to his palm and formed the fire torch again, taking it as close as possible to the King's face, "an eternity of doom in the place of Hades. Your choice."

The old man was sure he saw an image in that fire. It was either real or imagined. The flames formed a figure he was sure was supposed to be him, and that figure was being scourged. His eyes grew moist while the fear ate him raw.

"Guards! Guards!" He had managed to break out of his trance and now quivered beneath the sheets.

Steadily, Abraham came to his feet and resumed his slow, perfect steps towards the door. He tilted his body as his father's men swarmed in and rushed past either side of him to the man in the bed. He didn't care what happened next, but he sure did grasp his father's last words before he went through the door.

"Go fetch the Royal attorney!"

Abraham Tonnel had smiled in satisfaction when he heard that, knowing fully well his prize was not far from his hands.

***

The blonde maid clutched a gold tray to her chest, harbouring potions and shrubs that were supposed to heal. It was to the King's chamber as always.

After the guards had parted to let her through, she pushed the oak door open and whirled into the room.

The lady placed the round plate upon the bedside table and approached the curtains. With a glowing mood, she parted the draped fabrics to welcome the warm swarm of early morning sun.

But then an uncomfortable feeling befell her, cold and dead. It made her turn around to look at the sick man.

He just lay there, as usual beneath the covers. But this time, it was obvious something was different.

The man's skin had paled to a bright grey color, and his lips slumped open with hands falling to either side, limp and dead.

But something else was dead.

He was...

And at the realisation, her breath caught in her chest.

***

The last rites of a King that important did not seem to hold much of a difference from those of any other person. It was either the story surrounding his death or... well it was surely the story surrounding his death.

The corpse had paled remarkably and released a dark liquid from its nostrils. To them, it was a terrible disease no one planned to get in contact with.

But Abraham was there, watching every bit of protocol till the point the corpse was buried six feet under. There was no better way to confirm he'd completely gotten rid of this man.

However, soon after, he stepped on the stirrup of his horse and mounted it perfectly, a monstrous sized black filly he felt was glorious enough for him.

Besides, the will was going to be read anytime soon. And that was one part he was not going to miss.