The Threadripper’s - Ori’s - agonized visage reflected in the King’s white eyes.

  Yet, his radiant eyes held no apparent emotions in them. No pity, no disdain, nor even a small trace of contempt.

  Mechanically and methodically, like performing well practiced ritual, he inflicted the maximum amount of pain his targets could withstand.

  It wasn’t his first time doing this, of course - nor would it be his last.

  It was simply the natural order of things; when somebody withheld information from him, he would make them speak without fail.

  Just an ordinary interrogation, no different from the any other.

  It would be wrong to say he felt nothing, though. Rather, as The King of Nether and the best user of flame arts, he had learned to detach himself from emotions.

  Emotions clouded judgement - something absolutely unacceptable during an act as delicate as torture.

  After all, essence responded to a user’s mental state. Even a powerhouse like him wasn’t exempted from this law.

  A slight waver in emotions; a slight show of hatred; all it took was one slip up for his victims to completely break.

  And so, he carefully but ruthlessly tore away at Ori’s sanity, hands and poise steady.

  Time dragged.

  ***

  After the passing of precisely twenty minutes, the sounds of sizzling flesh seized - only to be broken by a scarily even voice:

  “Change your mind yet?”

  “…”

  ”Tell me. What do you know about reversing demonic corruption?”

  The Threadripper shakily breathed a long sigh, voice creaking.

  ”…I told you… Already… It’s impossible… *Cough!*”

  Shortly after finishing his response, he broke into a violent coughing fit. The wet, gargling sounds produced by Ori’s throat were enough to make even a monster show pity.

  But the King was not a monster, in the traditional sense at least.

  Right now, he was simply an interrogator, and the Threadripper was simply the target.

  ”Very well. Let us resume.”

  *Fwoosh*

  Once again, white flames reignited on the King’s fingertips.

  And time dragged.

  ***

  Precisely twenty minutes later, down to the second, the King retraced his hands from Ori.

  His form had become unrecognizable.

  “This is your true nature, Threadripper. A poor mockery of human appearance - nothing more than a disguise to hide your vile insides.”

  ”I-is that… So..? Your son… W-will become… No better... Just… Give it a we-*Cough!*-ek… A week or two.”

  A pointless provocation.

  Such words were par for the course. Once a target’s mind reaches the point of concession, they try everything in their power to die.

  In other words, the Threadripper had lost his will to resist.

  “Now you seek an end? I can spare you from the pain, if you so desire. Spill it, and your death will be swift. You have my word.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  In the end, Ori simply repeated himself again and again.

  ”I don’t know.”

  ”I made it up in the first place.”

  ”There is no method.”

  ”Please, just kill me already. I’m feeling the truth, I swear.”

  It was a confusing situation.

  How strange. He doesn’t seem to be lying - that desperation of his is very real.

  Eventually, after a minute’s worth of deliberation, he had settled on an answer.

  ”Fine. Let us carry on, Threadripper.”

  The king himself may not have noticed it, but his decision was far from rational.

  He’d tortured many people. Too many to count, given his age. In other words, it should’ve been obvious by now that Ori was telling the truth.

  In fact, the king was beginning to suspect as much.

  But emotions are a powerful force.

  Admitting that Ori was being honest, at its core, meant only one thing - his son was doomed to die a dog’s death.

  So, deluding his own mind with flimsy rationalizations, the king forced himself to look the other way; to give that encroaching fear of losing his son no space to fester.

  His gaze was cold.

  His hands were steady.

  His time dragged.

  ***

  Another twenty minutes… Did not pass.

  An unforeseen factor made the king pause his hands.

  Brows furrowed, he slowly raised his head to feel out the surroundings.

  Essence flowed through his eyes, lighting them up with a blindingly vivid white glow before abruptly returning to their former look.

  Demonic essence…

  Why now? And why is it so similar to this kid’s?

  The murky essence had penetrated the nearby area in its entirety, spreading further and further by the second.

  Due to being so focused, he must've overlooked it until now. A reasonable mistake, but amateurish nonetheless.

  He directed a heavy gaze at the Threadripper’s ‘body’, now closer resembling a flesh carpet, and opened his mouth:

  ”Was this your doing?”

  Very slowly, a small clump of threads coalesced into something resembling lips and a mouth and connected to a still functional pair of lungs.

  The sight was grotesque, but the king didn’t react; he simply waited for the disgusting thing to speak.

  A little while later, the mouth twitched.

  Once, and then another time.

  Finally, as if having adapted to using this newly woven mouth, Ori pushed an incredibly weak gust of air through. The lips moved, too, forming a short string of words.

  Perhaps, if the king’s hearing wasn’t enhanced by his monstrous level of strength, he wouldn’t have even made out any words.

  But he did.

  Very, very quietly… The Threadripper whispered:

  ”Hey, king… We won.”

  The next moment-

  “!!”

  -an eery, utterly inhuman grin stretched across Ori’s disfigured mouth.

  Started, the king unconsciously took a step back and looked down - goosebumps crawled on his arms.

  Did I get spooked by this pathetic pile of threads..? Ridiculous.

  And yet, despite wanting to say otherwise, he really did feel unsettled. Ori’s confident declaration of victory, combined with that damned smile of his; all of the king’s alarm bells were going off.

  It’s too dangerous to go over my options now - I must dispose of him immediately. As for Malrik… I will find a way to cure him elsewhere.

  It might’ve just been nothing, like a ploy to cause confusion or divert his attention. But the king wasn’t one to take unnecessary risks.

  With those thoughts, he stood up while burning any remaining blood off of his hands and stretched an arm towards Ori.

  “I do not know what you did, or if this is just a stroke of luck the heavens had bestowed upon you… But you’re in luck, Threadripper.”

  ”…”

  A sphere of flames coalesced in the palm of his hand, spinning slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed by the second.

  Finally, he held out an index finger. The pearl of fire, compressed down to the size of a fingernail, warped the air around it from the sheer heat.

  “Now, die.”

  With those parting words, he released the fireball…

  Just then, in the corner of his eye, the king sensed a presence.

  It was closing in on him, bound to clash with his body the next instant.

  Instinctively, before his brain even processed the approaching attackers’ movements, he twisted the index finger which shot out the sphere mere moments ago.

  The fireball’s trajectory instantly changed, as if pulled away by an intangible force.

  *Boooom!!*

  it collided with the attacker.

  He had demonstrated an absolutely insane level of essence control, but was in no space of mind to praise himself.

  The enormous, ear bursting and earth shattering explosion rung out, covering the surroundings with tongues of white flames and molten chunks of rock.

  ”…”

  Several seconds passed.

  As the debris slowly cleared, two figures came into view.

  A demonic beast and a young woman, both cold out from the discombobulating blast.

  The beast was torn in half, blood pouring out of its wounds before instantly evaporating under due to extreme heat.

  The woman was no better; alive, but bound to die momentarily.

  Finally, the king had room to think.

  Who were those two..? Ori’s allies? But why was a demonic beast attacking together with a human-?!

  Thoughts interrupted for the second time in a row, the king sharply turned his head when a deep and repetitive drum entered his range of perception.

  Concentrating essence on his ears, he attempted to piece the picture together. It didn’t take all that long:

  More demonic beasts. Thousands of them, if not tens of thousands.

  That… Was genuinely dangerous, even for him.

  If such a massive wave of demons invaded Nether, the nearby cities may very well crumble.

  In other words, he had to stop it no matter what.

  A cold rage settled in his heart, mirrored in his tonality:

  ”Threadripper, was this your doing?”

  “Heheheh… Didn’t I Tell You..?”

  Ori cackled, his throat having partially recovered.

  ”Told me what?!”

  Finally, the king snapped at him.

  However, Ori’s voice remained condescending, brimming with mockery:

  “I told you… That we won… Our dearest of kings.”

  *Rumble*

  The demonic beasts’ drumming footsteps drew closer.