Netori: Stealing The Hero's Party!

Women, riches, and power, he'd finally had it all. The centaurs respected him more than the rest, and the Arachne kept to themselves in fear of drawing his contempt. He was the silkiest shade of dark as well as lean yet muscular, even some of the races threw themselves at him, although that had to be kept a secret from the other clans.

"Where is the girl?" Sitting on the back of a slave fair elf, he crossed his legs and glared at his subordinates who'd just come back after a month-long manhunt. Squinting his emerald eyes, he glared into their very souls and sensed the lies concocting within their minds.

"Don't you dare insult me with your tricks…" He whispered, calming.

Leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees, he put even more weight on the young elf's crouching body. The next thing they knew, the dusty tent echoed with the cracking sound of the woman's bones and a howling scream followed soon after.

"UGHHH! AHHH!" Knowing what her fate would be if she moved around too much, the elf kept struggling through the pain and stayed unmoved.

Even the subjects of Tymaan were chilled by her screams, it wasn't that they didn't love to torture their own, but in her, they saw a much worse future for themselves. Their shifty eyes darted back and forth between each other, and finally, as they landed back on their young chief again, the leader of the group reluctantly stepped up to answer.

"S-she escaped to the city. We tried to get her but those damned wings helped her slip away every time!" Speaking his mind, the leader fell into silence–waiting for their chief to speak his own mind about the matter.

'Those damned wings…' Tymaan agonized over their memories, it was supposed to be his gift from the centaurs, an offering of power that only he could conquer despite the parasitic nature. But the daughter of the late chief that he himself had murdered, managed to get her hands on it before him and stitched them to her back as if it were linen.

The silence from their chief was killing the battalion leader, his gray eyes jittered with anxiety as his attention kept shifting towards the nude woman coughing up blood underneath Tymaan.

He didn't care for the clan if the clan didn't care for him and unlike the past chief–the progress was no longer gauged by the prosperity of the people, but rather by the power held by the new chief in the alliance.

"We…we can always ask for a new pair of wings, right? The centaurs said that the parasite was common near their region of corruption, we just have to as–"

"Kill him…" Those words uttered by their chief froze the very air in that dark tent. They all knew that he meant it, but unsure if it would just be one of them, none of them dared to move an inch. However, when nobody said a word, Tymaan glanced up at the leader and glared at him. "Kill him or you're gonna die.

I can work with one soldier less, especially if it's an idiot who doesn't understand when to open his mouth."

"Y-yes!" Seeing this as out, the leader's eyes sparked at the opportunity.

The others felt the same, except of course the unfortunate man who'd tried to suggest that stupid idea to their chief.

"N-NO! YOU CAN'T!" Watching the people he'd grown alongside clutching at their weapons to reap his head, the foolish elf stumbled back on his feet and since he wasn't looking back, he fell right on his butt. "I CAN BE USEFUL! PLEASE DON'T DO THIS! WE'VE WORKED TOGETHER FOR SO LONG! YOU CAN–"

Before he could even finish his plea, the leader of the group cut his head clean off with his sword. A fountain of blood gushed out of the neck wound, and his hands desperately reached for the spot where his head should've been. But the blurred vision from his rolling head subsided, the same man watched his own body drop right next to his head.

He wanted to scream, he attempted to even, but with no lung or vocal cords–the only sound he could make was the sound of his mouth sloshing with blood. That is until his mind finally gave in.

"Now…" Not waiting a moment to let the battalion recover from what they'd done, Tymaan got off of his seat and began walking toward the exit. Running his hands over everyone's shoulder, the cold touch of his iron gauntlet spread fear through their hearts. "Kill each other until only one of you is left."

Standing in front of the exit he glanced back at them from over his shoulders. It wasn't a warning, but rather an absolute order, and the way he didn't say another word before walking out of the tent only solidified that notion in the dark elf's hearts.

The last thing many of them heard was the sound of Tymaan's iron boots stomping against the ground, as before they could even wrap their heads around what he'd said, others had already begun with the slaughter.

The screams that followed his exit from the tent echoed throughout the village deep within the forest. It served as a grim reminder to those who'd gotten too soft from the recent luxuries. Pairing it up with Tymaan's appearance from the war tent, the villagers were petrified in place, even holding their breaths as to what was about to happen.

However, thankfully for them, he'd only gotten out to meet up with the other two rulers of the elven village. Made of straw huts, mud, logs, and even some amount of concrete, the village was the least civilized among the three clans, but the recent import of humans, as well as demi-human slaves, was helping them improve bit by bit.

And yet, the plundering and destructive nature of the dark elves was what was keeping things from progressing much more quickly.

The slaves were lashed to death while they worked, and the women and men of the dungeons were raped until their minds turned to mush. As for the children, they served well as feed, especially with their bowels cut open and stuffed with spices while the children were still alive and breathing.

Worst of all, the ones who had the misfortune of being fair elves were treated like pigs–being force-fed filth after an entire day of either forced breeding or torture.

'Power, that's all you need.' And just like Tymaan thought, if you had power in their clan you could live like royalty, in fact–killing Tymaan anyone was allowed to claim their seat as the chief, but if you failed you'd be lucky to scrape the pits of a barrel for quite literally anything.

"Chief!" Abruptly stopped in his path by a soldier, Tymaan jerked his head in his direction with a look of pure rage, and his long silver hair visibly lightened up with a menacing aura. Even so, the messenger took a deep gulp and continued to relay what he had to say. "We've found a carriage coming towards our village from the city, it looks like some royalty is in there!"

"A royalty?" Hearing that word, Tymaan's anger quickly subsided. In its place came a menacing smirk that spread ear to ear. "Get them to me now!"

"HO!" Wasting no time, the messenger went to get a battalion ready.

In the meantime, Tymaan daydreamed about holding a nobility hostage and making demands of the kingdom that they couldn't possibly refuse. But before that dream comes to realization, he still had to meet up with his accomplices and discuss their next step for the politics and power dynamic between the alliance.

Even while making his way to them, he was blinded by the opportunity to kidnap a royal and not at all realizing what awaited him in his pursuits.