The throne room stood as a monument to a war Veridia had barely won. A crude map of the demonic court's political factions, drawn on flayed hide, lay spread across a stone table, its surface stained with the wine she'd spilled in a fit of rage. The scent of ash and old blood was a permanent part of the air she breathed.
Direct confrontation was a brute's game, a fool's gambit. She had spent her life's blood, and the blood of her followers, to hold this miserable patch of rock, only for a creature like Zael to dismiss her as a "fragile asset." The thought no longer sparked rage.
The crucible of her humiliation had forged it into cold, hard clarity. True power was not winning a battle; it was making your enemies so terrified of the consequences they never dared to fight at all. Her new weapon would not be a boon from the Patrons or the claws of a beast. It would be fear, distilled from secrets and aimed at the heart of their pride.
She turned with a new, precise economy of motion. "Skara," she called, her voice echoing in the chamber.
A shadow fell across the threshold, and the harpy matriarch landed with a whisper of leathery wings. Skara Shriektongue's sharp eyes took in the room, her expression a mask of professional deference.
Veridia gestured to the map, her clawed finger tapping a sigil that pulsed with a faint, golden light. "I have a new hunt for you." She slid a small, rolled parchment across the stone. "A list of targets."
Skara took the list, her eyes scanning the names. She froze, a flicker of surprise crossing her predatory features. "My Queen… Lord Valerius? He is neutral, holding no grudge against you."
"I am not looking for grudges, Skara. I am looking for weaknesses," Veridia said, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "I don't want battle plans or troop movements. I want their hidden vices. Their broken pacts. Their shameful desires. I want the name of the mortal pleasure-slave the stoic Lord Valerius keeps in a secret spire. I want proof of the tainted Essence Matron Vesperia uses to maintain her flawless skin. I want leverage."
The harpy's eyes widened as the sheer, ruthless scale of the ambition dawned on her. This was not a war of territory. This was a war of annihilation, fought with whispers. A slow smile, sharp as a shard of glass, spread across Skara's face. "The rewards for such… sensitive information will be substantial, I trust?"
"They will be a kingdom," Veridia promised.
Skara gave a curt nod and launched into the sky. The moment the harpy vanished, Seraphine's shimmering form appeared at Veridia's shoulder. "Tired of fighting your own battles, sister? Now you have birds doing your dirty work?"
Veridia didn't glance at her. Her gaze remained fixed on the map, her mind already charting the flow of secrets, a general planning a campaign of pure, exquisite fear.
***
The communication crystal pulsed with a cool, blue light, projecting the handsome face of Prince Zael into the gloom of her tent. He was all charm and conspiratorial camaraderie, a predator who thought he was speaking to his favorite hunting hound.
"Veridia, my brilliant, brutal catalyst," he began, raising a glass of soul-wine in a mock toast. "Your last victory was a masterpiece of attrition. Malakor is reeling. His backers are furious. You see? Our partnership already yields the most delicious returns."
Veridia played her part, forcing a rough, impatient edge into her voice. "He is not broken yet, Zael. He still has allies. Wealth." She leaned forward, letting the scrying light catch the grim determination on her face. "I need to cut the legs out from under him. Financially."
Zael's interest sharpened. "Go on."
"My mortal spies are good for whispers, but this requires a more delicate touch," she said, feigning a frustrated grunt. "Malakor's power is in his ancient pacts and hidden investments. I need to see them. I need to know who owes him and who he pays. You have a network, don't you? Data-mining imps, I've heard. Creatures that can trace the flow of capital through the Network."
She let the request hang in the air, a simple tool for their shared goal.
Zael's smile was a flash of white teeth. He saw her as a blunt instrument, incapable of subtlety. "An excellent thought. A direct, brutish, and wonderfully effective idea. Of course." He gestured, his rings glittering. "I will grant you temporary control of their scrying pool. Find his rotten roots, my dear, and pull them out. I want to watch him wither."
"He will," Veridia promised.
The blue light of the crystal faded. Severing the connection, Veridia turned to the scrying pool. The swirling energies now showed a dozen chittering, anxious imps awaiting her command. Her expression was a mask of cold, surgical precision.
"Your first directive," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Compile a complete and unabridged dossier on the hidden debts, the broken contracts, and the secret political alliances of your master, Prince Zael. I want every secret he has ever paid to bury. Start now."
***
Seraphine, who had been watching the exchange in silence, let out a slow, appreciative laugh. It was a sound Veridia had never heard before—not mockery, not cruelty, but genuine, impressed admiration.
"Oh, sister," she purred, her illusion drifting closer. "I thought you were learning to play the game. I didn't realize you were trying to burn down the entire stadium."
Veridia finally turned, looking directly at her sister's shimmering form. "The stadium is rotten, and the players are predictable," she said, her voice flat and cold. "I'm not here to win their game. I'm here to build my own. I'm creating a library of sins, Seraphine, and every powerful demon in the court will have a volume. I will be the only one with the key."
The sheer scale of it, the pivot from their petty feud to a strategy of total political domination, finally broke through Seraphine's cosmic boredom. This… this was a show. A real show. One with stakes that could shatter their world. A grin, sharp and hungry, spread across her face. This was far more interesting than watching her sister get mauled by beasts.
Her illusion leaned in, her smirk now a mirror of Veridia's own predatory calm. "A library of sins? How delicious. Every collection needs a curator." Her eyes glittered with a malicious glee now aimed outward, at the world. "Let's start our first acquisition."
Seraphine's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You assumed Warlord Grummash's betrayal last season was simple Orc politics. It wasn't. It was sponsored. I have the broadcast logs. I can show you the exact moment Lord Kasian the Gambler granted Grummash a boon of 'Unquestioned Authority' just before he turned on you.
Your ally's treachery had a Patron." She paused, letting the implication land with the force of a physical blow. "Shall we go remind the Gambler that some debts are paid in blood, not ratings?"