In my previous life, he had not waited for my coming of age before he chained me to the nuptial bed, tortured me with steel needles, and drank my blood to enhance his own dark powers.
His strength increased, and he fed my flesh to his soldiers, heightening their ferocity without end.
He would harvest my flesh periodically, careful to spare my heart to allow for my regeneration.
Eventually, he tapped directly into the heart's blood for his vile rituals.
Born of the Dragon Lord's second son, Zagan, the Beast King, was inherently cruel and quick to anger, a lover of strife.
Disdaining his own beastly heritage, he despised all realms alike.
Only the sacred blood of a Phoenix could facilitate his ascension; he sought enlightenment not for peace, but to bring ruin.
As I pondered this, a forceful magic swept me aside.
The Empress and a radiantly dressed Elara approached; Elara glanced at me warningly before shyly meeting the Beast King's gaze.
"Forgive this lowly one for obstructing your path, my lord," she said with a demure air.
Despite her demureness, she could not resist admiring the Beast King—handsome in form, yet utterly false.