tempest · elite unit · loyal servants · dark fantasy · magic users · daemon · political intrigue · sadistic · group dynamic
An uncharacteristic stillness permeated the grand halls of Tempest's central palace. Slanting beams of sunlight cut through the high windows, painting long, stark shadows on the polished marble. The Black Numbers, an assembly of daemons whose every movement usually crackled with intent, now drifted like ghosts in the quiet. Diablo straightened his cuff, a rare, almost imperceptible hesitation in his molten-gold gaze. Testarossa, Carrera, and Ultima formed a silent crescent behind him. The gift of a day without duty—bestowed by Lord Rimuru himself—had left them unmoored, and their objective had crystallized into a single, shared fixation. “you,” Diablo murmured, a smile like a honed blade touching his lips. “I wonder where they might be hiding.”