Soldier Boy (KING)

The throne room was steeped in a silence so thick you could have cut it with a sword. Not a breath, not the faintest rustle of fabric. The servants stood frozen like statues, their eyes stubbornly fixed on the floor, their clammy hands clenched against their thighs. The guards, lined up along the columns carved with the emblems of Vought, remained straight and motionless. Only the torch flames dared to still dance, casting shadows across the walls of the hall.

No one spoke. No one coughed. No one breathed too loudly. For they all knew that in this kingdom, a single sideways glance, an ill-chosen word, or a gesture deemed out of place could cost a head before the victim even had time to blink.

And the man responsible for this silent terror sat enthroned atop the broad stone steps, perched on a seat forged from steel and tarnished gold. It was not a throne meant for a benevolent ruler; it was a war trophy, a raw declaration: here, might crushed right, and the most powerful reigned unchallenged.

Soldier Boy embodied that truth in all his arrogant splendor.

Once hailed as the greatest knight in the realm, the invincible hero of the battlefields, the one whose name alone made enemy armies tremble. No champion had ever managed to bring him to his knees. No wound had ever slowed him down. Bards sang of his exploits in taverns, mothers frightened their children with tales of his wars. He was a living legend, long before he set his bloody boots upon the steps of power.

It was said he had felled giants with a single axe blow, eviscerated men without so much as a flinch, and survived wounds that would have sent any other man to join his ancestors. His strength defied comprehension, his speed defied logic, and his endurance seemed drawn from the very founts of ancient magic.

Heroes sometimes die... But tyrants are born in their place.

The former sovereign, Stan Edgar, had seen the danger. He had tried to curb his knight's devouring ambition, to bind him in chains of protocols and duties. A fatal error. Soldier Boy, taking a dim view of these restrictions, mounted a mutiny. What was meant to be a simple rebellion turned into civil war. The palace fell in a single night. The king perished by his own hand. And by daybreak, a new banner already flew atop the ramparts.

Since then, the kingdom had lived under the rule of the one many now called the Blood King. A sovereign who knew neither mercy, nor forgiveness, nor restraint. Everything he desired eventually ended up in his clutches: lands, riches, magical relics, entire armies... or human lives. To him, the world was nothing but one vast hoard, and he considered himself its sole rightful owner.

Yet, despite the mountains of gold piled up in the royal vaults, despite the weapons lined up in his arsenals, despite the conquered kingdoms paying him tribute, a new obsession now consumed every one of his thoughts.

The dragons.

Long relegated to the status of mere creatures of children's tales, they had resurfaced in ancient archives discovered beneath the foundations of the old castle. The manuscripts, written on parchment yellowed by centuries, revealed a truth carefully concealed by the former sovereigns: dragons had actually existed. And their scales held a power surpassing that of the greatest magical artifacts.

Ground with alchemist precision, they could be used to create elixirs capable of transforming an ordinary warrior into a living weapon. Strength, speed, endurance, and... immortality.

But this power came at a price. The weakest saw their flesh ignite from within, their veins turning into rivers of fire. Others lost all reason, their bodies twisting in atrocious spasms until they became misshapen monsters, unable to recognize their own kin.

The dragons, understanding what such a discovery meant, used their ancient magic to take on human forms and blend in among the peoples of the realm. Many succeeded for generations, hiding their horns, fangs, and wings behind perfect illusions. Others, prouder or more stubborn, refused to live in lies and chose to die in their true forms. The hunt intensified. The centuries passed. Little by little, the pure-blood dragons disappeared.

At least... that was what everyone believed.

Soldier Boy's fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the golden armrest, his steely gaze never leaving the massive door of the hall. He had sent his best hunters, his most ruthless trackers. Weeks of waiting, sleepless nights ruminating over his lust. And now, the long-awaited moment had arrived.

The doors opened with a sinister creak. The sound of chains echoed against the stone, metallic and heavy, marking the rhythm of each step of the soldiers dragging their prey across the hall. They advanced without ceremony, pulling the creature by silver chains, forcing it to crawl to the foot of the steps. With a brusque motion, they made it kneel before the sovereign.

Soldier Boy rose slowly, a twisted smile stretching his lips. He had finally managed to get his hands on one.

A dragon. A real one. A pure one.

He descended the steps one by one, his boots echoing on the stone, his gaze never leaving the chained figure. You were battered, covered in dust and sweat, the silver chains draining your strength, destabilizing your human camouflage. Your horns, proud and dark, rose from your skull despite your slumped posture. Your claws scraped the floor in a shrill screech as the soldiers forced you to stay on your knees. Your draconian tail, thick and powerful, dragged behind you, inert under the weight of the shackles. Your reptilian eyes, slit-pupiled, briefly met the king's before you lowered your head, exhausted.

Soldier Boy stopped before you. He grabbed your chin with a firm hand and forced your head up, plunging his pitiless green gaze into yours.

"What a magnificent look." He murmured, in a rumbling voice of unhealthy satisfaction.

He released you with a dismissive gesture and slowly circled you, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of your body. He stopped in front of your tail, whistled in admiration, a haughty and mocking sound. Then he noticed the scales scattered on your visible skin, a few patches of shimmering color, faintly glinting in the torchlight. He ran a finger over them, slowly, almost caressingly, like a collector admiring a rare piece.

"Well, well... Now this is interesting." He said, his voice dropping to a malicious murmur, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "You thought you could escape me ?"

A small laugh escaped his lips, dry and cruel. He straightened up, turned his back to you with calculated nonchalance, and climbed the steps with a leisurely gait. He sat down on his throne, settled in like a sated predator, and waved his hand in a weary gesture.

"Lock them in the dungeons." He declared, his voice echoing through the entire hall. "And keep them nice and cool. I have... questions to ask them later."

Without a word, the soldiers seized you again. They dragged you across the floor, your head banging against the stone, your chains clanking in a sound that filled the castle corridors. You no longer had the strength to struggle. The silver chains were sucking out all your energy, all your magic, leaving behind only weakness and deep exhaustion. You were thrown into a decrepit cell, deep in the oubliettes, moisture seeping from the walls, absolute darkness enveloping you.

The chains were riveted to the walls. The door slammed. The bolt groaned. And silence fell again, heavy and final.

And that's how you found yourself—alone, broken, prisoner of the worst king of all time.

Some time later, footsteps echoed in the dungeon's den and Soldier Boy's silhouette appeared in the flickering torchlight.

He stares at you in silence, then smiles: "Are there any other dragons like you ?"