Azami

The hall was vast, its grand arches disappearing into the darkness above. Torchlight
flickered against the stone walls, casting jagged shadows. Hooded figures in black cloaks stood in
silent attention, their faces obscured. The air was heavy, damp with the scent of ancient stone, and an
unsettling sense of movement lingered—like the walls themselves were alive, waiting. This was one of
the hidden lairs of the Reapers, deep beneath the world above, where they gathered to plot their next
move.
She lounged lazily in her throne, exuding a regal yet dangerous allure. Her black hair cascaded loosely
around her shoulders, framing her sharp, calculating eyes. Her outfit, a blend of dark leather and silver
accessories, clung to her figure, exuding both elegance and power. Chains wrapped around her arms
like sleeves, shifting with her movements. She wore a faint smile, one that never quite reached her
eyes. Her gaze roamed across the dim hall, shadows dancing for her amusement.
Kneeling before her was a tall, wiry man with a grotesque white-painted face, his red outfit clashing
starkly with the eerie atmosphere of the room. The Puppet Master. His chest heaved with shallow,
nervous breaths, his painted grin faltering under the weight of her scrutiny.
"It’s done," the Puppet Master stammered, his voice trembling. "The girl... she was found guilty for the
murder of Layne from the Sakamoto family."
Her smile grew wider, her fingers drumming idly against the armrest of her throne. She leaned forward
slightly, then suddenly threw her head back in laughter, a sound that echoed through the hall,
unnervingly joyous. "Oh, Puppet Master, do you think failure is amusing to me?" she said, her voice still
tinged with mock amusement. The room thickened with anticipation.
"You were supposed to control the knight—kill the girl... Aria, was it? With the wolf girl beside her, it
was a perfect opportunity. Two girls, a wolf, and a boy—eliminate them all at once. Their deaths would
have been a significant blow to Aleria. Our path forward would have been assured."
The Puppet Master pleaded, his voice trembling, "B-but, my lady, she's locked away. She can't be a
threat anymore!"
She paused, her gaze darkening. "You remember the Red Mage, don't you? She was troublesome
enough. I won't let another one rise."
The Puppet Master swallowed, his painted smile trembling. "W-with you in charge, that will never
happen. Not again," he stammered.
She remained silent for a moment, her gaze unwavering, then spread her arms wide as if addressing
an audience. "Why have you failed me, Puppet Master?" she called out dramatically, her voice dripping
with theatrical flair, before dropping back into a deadly calm, the unmistakable edge of menace still
there. "Tell me, where did you go wrong?"
The Puppet Master’s painted smile twitched, and he hesitated. "I got... carried away," he began, his
words stumbling out, frantic. "I-I wanted her death to be slow, to savor it. But the knight—he resisted!
My possession... it's never failed before. I... I might've lost control." He forced a shaky grin, desperation
seeping through.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, the amusement in her expression vanishing. "Lost control?" she
repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
"The wolf girl lives," she added, her tone dripping with disdain.
"But her voice is gone, my lady! She can't threaten us anymore. We're safe, untouchable even," the
Puppet Master added quickly, panic seeping into his voice.
Her smile widened as she rose from the throne. She stepped closer, her boots echoing softly against
the stone floor. Leaning down, her lips hovered near his ear, her voice a soft, seductive purr. "She can
write. She can point. She can accuse."
The Puppet Master’s eyes grew wide with fear as her words sank in. He opened his mouth to speak,
but no words came. He knew he had failed, and now he would pay the price.
She stood up straight, her expression cold and unforgiving. Then, she smirked, tilting her head to one
side, her voice ringing out with a performer's precision. "A liability, that's what you've become! Tell me,
my friends," she called out, her gaze sweeping across the hooded figures, "how should I deal with
liabilities?""
His body trembled as he realized what was coming next. "I—I’ll fix it! Please, my lady, give me another
chance! I'll make it right, I swear! I'll finish her—I'll do whatever it takes—just don't kill me! I can still be
of use, please!"
She silenced him with a flick of her wrist. Then, she sighed theatrically, rolling her eyes with
exaggerated flair. "Oh, she’ll die," she said softly, her voice dripping with malice. "But not at your hands.
No, no... you've had your chance."
In one swift, lethal motion, her chain gauntlets shot forward, slithering with a deadly grace before
striking true. The sharp, glowing ends of her gauntlets pierced his sides, and the Puppet Master let out
a strangled cry. The Puppet Master gasped, his eyes widening in shock as she twisted the chains, the
tips glowing ominously. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she began draining the mana from his body.
His mana flowed into her, and Azami shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed as she absorbed his life
force. The intoxicating power filled her completely.
The Puppet Master’s body slumped forward, his strength fading rapidly as she fed on his essence. She
released him with a flick of her wrists, and his limp form crumpled to the ground, his painted grin now a
frozen, grotesque mask of terror.
Azami took a deep breath, letting the mana settle within her, her eyes opening slowly. "Let this be a
reminder," she said, her voice carrying through the hall, "that I do not tolerate incompetence. You are
here to serve, and failure will not be excused."
The hooded figures that lined the hall shifted uneasily, their heads bowed even lower. None dared look
directly at her, and a suffocating silence fell over the room. Azami turned away from the body, her gaze
unfocused for a moment. This was the weight of power. It wasn’t just control over others; it was the
necessity of proving herself, again and again, to remind her followers why they feared her.
From beneath the shadows of their cloaks, the hooded figures exchanged wary glances, the shuffling of
feet barely audible in the otherwise silent hall. The tension was thick, their collective unease palpable.
They had witnessed her power, and they understood the consequences of failure. Azami let the silence
stretch, savoring their discomfort. Azami could sense their fear—fear she had cultivated, and fear that
kept them obedient. She straightened, her expression as cold and calculating as ever, masking any
flicker of uncertainty. Power demanded sacrifices, and she had long accepted her role.
She looked down at him with a sneer. "Pathetic," she declared, her voice ringing out, before her tone
dropped, muttering as she wiped a stray splatter of blood from the corner of her mouth. "Simply
pathetic." His body twitched weakly one last time before going still.
She turned her attention to the left, a playful glint returning to her gaze. "Raven," she called, her voice
laced with command.
From the shadows emerged a figure—Raven, her most mysterious subordinate. He was a rat-like mage
hailing from the far away Rat Kingdom. His body was hunched and slender. He had sharp, beady eyes
that glittered in the low light. His fur was dark and matted, and his long, clawed fingers twitched with
nervous energy as he approached. He bowed low before her, his long tail curling around his feet.
"Find out where the girl rots. I want to know exactly which dungeon they threw her in. Her latent power
must not be allowed to grow; therefore, I'll deal with her."
Raven’s head bobbed in acknowledgment. "As you wish, my lady," he hissed, his voice rasping as he
melted back into the shadows, his presence vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
She turned her attention to the right. "Nia," she called with a soft smile.
A figure stepped forward—Nia, her fox-like ears twitching playfully as she approached, a soft purr
almost escaping her lips. Her hair, the color of autumn leaves, cascaded over her shoulders, amber
eyes sparkling with mischief.
"What’s up, Aza-nyah?" she asked with a teasing grin, using the pet name she had given Azami. Her
voice held no reverence, a casual familiarity laced with audacity—something anyone else would have
paid for with their life.
She tilted her head, her smirk returning. "Find the wolf girl," she said, her tone playful.
She flicked her tail lazily. "Oh, I can do that. What about her furry companion?"
She chuckled softly. "The wolf will fall in due time. For now, focus on Lyra. Finish what the Puppet
Master couldn’t."
Her fox-like ears twitched again, and she licked the back of her hand playfully. "Sure, sure, Aza-nyah.
I’ve got this." She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "And the knight’s brother? The Sakamoto
family isn’t exactly the forgiving type."
Her smile turned wicked, eyes gleaming. "The Sakamoto family is honorable, yes. But add a little
chaos, and everything falls into place. We'll see what he's seeking. Maybe it'll turn into a race for the
girl."
She tilted her head, amber eyes narrowing playfully. "I don’t really get it... but it sounds fun!" She
giggled, her tail swishing behind her.
Azami chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "I expect nothing less, my dear."
With a final nod, Nia turned, her light footsteps barely making a sound as she disappeared into the
shadows, her laughter echoing faintly in the hall.
She moved to a long table in the corner of the room. A large map of the continent lay spread across it,
cities and fortresses marked with symbols and strategic lines drawn throughout. Her eyes scanned the
map, a flicker of determination crossing her face. She thought of all the years spent in the shadows,
gathering information, exploiting every weakness. This was her moment—the culmination of years of
careful planning. Her fingers traced along the paths, her mind already calculating her next move. The
cities of the surface world were ripe for the taking, their leaders corrupt, their defenses riddled with
weaknesses she had spent years studying.
A sly smile spread across her lips, satisfaction evident as her plans began falling into place.
"And so," she whispered to herself, her voice soft but dangerous, "we begin."