And somehow, Satou was caught in the middle of it.
"ENOUGH."
The single word cut through everything. The bloodlust, the tension, the building violence, all of it stopped as if someone had thrown a switch.
Malakor the Eternal had spoken.
His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it carried absolute authority. Every demon lord at the table immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to face the First Seat.
The Lord of Undeath had still not moved since the meeting began. He sat perfectly motionless, his skeletal hands folded on the table in front of him. But now, for the first time, he lifted his head slightly to look at them.
The temperature dropped another ten degrees. The frost that had been slowly spreading from his seat suddenly exploded outward, covering half the table in seconds. Not magical ice, not frozen water, but something else. The cold of the grave. The chill of death itself made manifest.
