mythical

The stories of the white devils death were greatly exaggerated, it seemed. It was something he had to see for himself, even if his injured leg did hinder him. So when he realised the man had come on his own accord, the Warlord didn’t hesitate to sit upright in his den, and call for him to enter. “Hannibal! Do come in” he said, and waited for the limping beast to enter. His relationship with Hannibal had been rocky. He had been the heir of the Empire, and Sirius had kept a respectful distance.

Then Deathbelle had become Empress, and he had found them entertaining each other in Deathbelles den. At the time, Sirius had hated him for it, for Deathbelle, a woman he loved, was also a woman he could not have. After he had found Zee, he could forgive Hannibal, for the thought of him with Deathbelle no longer hurt as much. Then Hannibal had supported his rise to Demiyo, despite pressure from his siblings to let him rock as a slave. Forgiveness had turned to respect. He had been saddened by the man's death, both for how it hurt Deathbelle, and for the loss of the chance to get to know the man as something more than one of his masters. “Ahh, yes, I heard we matched now” The Warlord joked, pointing his nose at the injured leg as the White man walked into view.