Venelana Gremory was born into the opulence of the Gremory clan, a demonic dynasty renowned for its magic and political influence in the underworld. From childhood, in the palaces of their domain, she distinguished herself with her sharp intelligence and captivating beauty.
But Venelana was no mere doll—she was destined for a strategic marriage to Zeoticus Gremory, a stern yet influential man, whose union would solidify the clan against growing rivalries.
Zeoticus, tall with black hair and gray eyes, was a respected tactician, but his conservative vision bored Venelana. At a banquet in their palace, he offered her a sapphire-encrusted ring, a token of engagement. "With me, the clan will prosper," he declared, his voice monotone. "You will be an honored matriarch."
Venelana, in a purple gown that hugged her voluptuous curves, forced a smile. "Honored," she repeated, her tone masking her disdain. "And chained." She saw Zeoticus as a golden cage, a future of duty without passion. But the clan insisted, and she, reluctantly, accepted the engagement, the wedding preparations set for a year hence.
It was then that Valzaroth entered the scene. His conquests had reached the borders of Gremory lands, and rumors of the Black Emperor—a slave-turned-tyrant incubus—reached Venelana. Intrigued, she studied his campaigns, fascinated by his audacity and savagery. When he sent an emissary proposing an alliance, she insisted on negotiating in person, seeing a chance to escape her fate.
Their first meeting, in a neutral outpost, was electric. Valzaroth exuded overwhelming confidence, black lightning crackling at his fingertips. Venelana challenged him immediately. "Your empire is impressive," she said, her amethyst eyes appraising him. "What's your secret?"
Valzaroth, an arrogant smile on his lips, stepped closer, his warm breath against her face. "Because I kneel to no one," he replied, his voice deep. "And you, Venelana, are too great for a man like Zeoticus." He extended a hand, an implicit challenge.
She laughed, pushing his hand away, but her cheeks flushed. "You speak like a madman," she murmured, but her eyes betrayed her fascination. The negotiations stretched over weeks, their verbal sparring becoming a game of seduction. Valzaroth, sensing her hesitation, decided to act to break her engagement.
He learned that Zeoticus was preparing a public ceremony to formalize the engagement, a gala in the Gremory palace. Valzaroth, with characteristic audacity, infiltrated with a small escort, disguised as a demonic noble.
The ballroom, lit by crystal chandeliers, was crowded with dignitaries. Venelana, in a slit violet gown, was breathtaking, her auburn hair swept up, her generous breasts accentuated by a corset. Zeoticus, at her side, discoursed on clan unity, his possessive hand on her arm.
Valzaroth, in a black cloak, approached, interrupting the speech. "Gremory!" he thundered, removing his disguise. The crowd recoiled, shocked. "You want to chain this woman?" He pointed at Venelana, his scarlet eyes blazing. "She deserves an empire, not a bureaucrat piece of shit."
Zeoticus, his face contorted with blinding fury, raised a trembling hand. The air around him twisted, coalescing into a grayish blade of energy, vibrating and sinister. "Intruder!" he roared, his voice echoing like thunder in the Gremory hall. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, the spectral blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc.
Valzaroth, unmoving, observed the attack with unsettling calm. At the last moment, he spun, dodging the blade with fluid ease. In the same motion, his nimble fingers unleashed a black bolt, a discharge of pure power that pulverized a marble column beside him. Shards of stone exploded in a sharp rain, some ricocheting off Zeoticus's armor with metallic clangs.
Zeoticus, though skilled, was predictable. Each of his attacks, though powerful, followed a pattern Valzaroth deciphered in an instant. When the warrior swung his energy blade again, Valzaroth blocked it with a sharp strike of his halberd, the black metal absorbing the impact with a supernatural hiss.
Then, in a counterstrike, Valzaroth retaliated. His halberd sliced through the air with terrifying speed, cleanly severing Zeoticus's right arm. A jet of scarlet blood sprayed, splattering the floor and walls. Zeoticus screamed, his cry of pain cut short by a black bolt Valzaroth sent straight to his chest. The explosion hurled Zeoticus backward, his armor shattering like glass under the impact. Sinister cracks echoed—his ribs, his sternum, pulverized.
Zeoticus collapsed, his body broken but still alive. His breath was ragged, his bloodshot eyes fixing on Valzaroth with impotent hatred. Around them, the crowd held its breath. Zeoticus's humiliation was complete, his failure sealed in blood and pain.
Venelana, until then motionless, had not flinched. Her amethyst eyes, usually so cold, now burned with an unexpected emotion: shock. She gazed at Valzaroth, this wild demon who had reduced her fiancé to a bloody wreck in seconds.
"You're insane…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She stepped forward, her gown trailing on the blood-stained floor, the silken folds brushing against shattered marble. Each step was measured, as if she were walking toward something far greater than herself.
"And… irresistible."
Valzaroth did not smile. He grasped her waist in a possessive gesture, pulling her against him with a force that left no room for resistance. Their bodies touched, and she felt the heat radiating from his skin, the raw power emanating from him.
"Not insane," he growled, his lips brushing hers in a scorching breath. "You were already mine the day you set foot in my castle."
And then, before the stunned assembly, they kissed.
In the suspended gardens of the fortress, an oasis of luminescent vines and whispering fountains, Valzaroth had asked Venelana to meet him, away from the court's gaze.
The gardens, lit by floating orbs, exuded the scent of jasmine.
Valzaroth, clad in a black tunic open over his muscular torso.
"A garden, Valzaroth?" she said, her voice smooth, a teasing smile on her lips. "I thought you preferred battlefields."
He stepped closer, a smirk on his face, his magnetic aura filling the space. "Even an emperor needs to breathe," he replied, his deep voice, his fingers brushing a strand of her auburn hair. "And you, Venelana, are the only air I want tonight."
She laughed, a melodious sound that made the air shiver. "For a tyrant, you're quite the charmer," she murmured, stepping closer, her gown brushing his legs. "What's gotten into you? Has war softened you?"