The sanctuary deep within Pho's palace was a place few demons ever saw and fewer still survived visiting.

The chamber was circular, with a vaulted ceiling that rose fifty feet overhead, supported by pillars of frozen crystal that glowed with faint blue light.

The floor was polished to shine, reflecting the four figures who stood around a central table hewn from the same black ice as everything else.

Pho's four generals.

Kragoth stood to the north, his massive frame making even the oversized chamber feel smaller. Three meters of pure muscle and violence, his skin was a deep charcoal gray.

The greatsword strapped to his back was as legendary as he was, a blade two meters long and thick as a man's torso, forged from compressed ice that never melted and edged with enchantments that could cleave through steel like parchment.

His eyes, small and piggish in his brutish face, constantly scanned the room with the paranoia of someone who'd survived centuries by trusting no one.

To the east stood Rynath, leaner than Kragoth but no less dangerous. Her form was almost serpentine, with scaled skin that shifted between silver and white depending on the angle of light.

Twin daggers hung at her waist, their blades wickedly curved and perpetually coated in a thin layer of frost.

She was responsible for Pho's intelligence network, the eyes and ears that fed information back to their master.

Her expression was calculating, her posture relaxed in a way that suggested she could strike faster than most demons could blink.

Loryn occupied the southern position, and if Kragoth represented brute force and Rynath cunning, Loryn was pure magical devastation.

Robed in flowing garments that seemed woven from frozen mist, his hands were covered in intricate tattoos that glowed faintly with arcane power.

He oversaw the Flesh Factory, the place where Pho's most disturbing work was conducted. His face was gaunt, almost skeletal, and his eyes held the distant look of someone who'd stared into abyss that stared back.

And to the west was Kaedor, the master of Pho's vaults and commerce.

Where the others dealt in violence and horror, Kaedor dealt in tokens.

He was shorter than his fellow generals, dressed in fine clothing that seemed out of place in the frozen sanctuary.

His fingers were adorned with rings, each one representing a different business venture or subsidiary operation. He looked more like a merchant than a warrior, which made him perhaps the most dangerous of the four.

Gold, after all, could buy armies. And Kaedor controlled more gold than most kingdoms.

At the head of the table, elevated on a platform of black ice that put him above his generals both literally and symbolically, sat Pho.

The Deathfrost Demon lounged in his seat with casual arrogance, his pale blue-white skin seeming to glow in the dim light.

Frost formed in the air around him with each breath, creating a constant swirl of ice crystals that danced in his personal orbit.

His eyes, pale and lifeless as a winter sky, moved between his four generals with the lazy attention of a predator watching prey that couldn't possibly threaten him.

"The quarterly reports," Pho said, his voice like wind over a frozen tundra. "I trust you all have something worth my time?"

Kaedor stepped forward first, producing a ledger from within his robes. "Profits are down seventeen percent from last quarter, Master. The loss of the Aurion and Thal'Gorin contracts has created a significant gap in revenue. However, I've been negotiating with three new clans in the eastern territories. Within two months, we should recover most of the shortfall."

Pho's expression didn't change. "Seventeen percent. How unfortunate. And these new contracts, they're secured?"

"Pending your approval, yes, Master."

"Then you have it. Move forward." Pho's gaze shifted. "Loryn. The factory?"

The gaunt demon's voice carried an ethereal quality, as if he was speaking from somewhere far away.

"Production continues as planned. We've successfully created forty-three new demons this month. Twenty-seven Terror-rank, fifteen Dread-rank, and one experimental Nightmare-rank specimen that shows promise but requires further refinement."

"The Nightmare specimen," Pho said with interest. "Elaborate."

"It possesses enhanced regeneration and ice affinity superior to standard units. However, it lacks cognitive stability. Three handlers have died during containment protocols." Loryn's expression remained utterly neutral, as if he was discussing crop yields rather than the deaths of his subordinates.

"I'm implementing corrective measures. The next iteration should prove more controllable."

"See that it does. I have no use for weapons I cannot aim." Pho turned to Rynath.

The serpentine demon straightened slightly. "Our network remains intact across twelve territories. Three minor houses have approached us seeking information on their rivals. I've provided limited intelligence in exchange for favorable trade agreements. Additionally, I've confirmed that the Soul Warden has not left Floor 24."

That got a reaction from Pho. His pale eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication of interest. "The Soul Warden. You're certain?"

"As certain as I can be without direct observation, Master. Our informants in the neutral zones report no sightings beyond the forest regions. Either he's still hunting in the wilderness, or…" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Or he's being exceptionally careful about his movements."

"Or he's dead," Kaedor interjected with a dismissive wave. "Perhaps one of the forest predators got lucky. It's been months since anyone's confirmed a sighting."

Rynath's scaled skin rippled with what might have been annoyance. "The Soul Warden killed Vok'thar and bound two entire clans. I doubt a forest creature poses much threat."

"Vok'thar was arrogant and overconfident," Kaedor countered. "The Soul Warden caught him off guard. That doesn't make him invincible."

Before the argument could escalate, Pho raised one hand. Silence fell immediately.

"Kragoth," Pho said, his attention finally settling on his largest general. "You've been quiet. Unusual for you. Speak."

The massive demon shifted his weight, his small eyes moving between his fellow generals before settling on Pho. When he spoke, his voice was a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through the black ice floor.

"I've been hearing rumors, Master. From the slaves in the pit. Whispers among the workers." He paused, and for the first time since the meeting began, something like uncertainty crossed his brutish features. "They speak of a yellow-eyed demon."

The sanctuary fell silent. Rynath's serpentine form went completely still. Loryn's distant expression focused slightly. Even Kaedor stopped fidgeting with his rings.

"A yellow-eyed demon," Pho repeated, his tone unreadable. "How poetic. And what does this yellow-eyed demon supposedly do?"

"Makes demons disappear," Kragoth said, his voice carrying an edge that hadn't been there before. "The slaves talk about it in whispers when they think the overseers aren't listening. They say demons go on patrol and never come back. Guards vanish from their posts. Overseers disappear mid-shift. And sometimes, right before it happens, they see yellow eyes watching from the shadows."

"Superstition," Kaedor scoffed, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "Slaves telling ghost stories to make their miserable lives more interesting. Next you'll be telling us they've seen the Frost Wraith or the Devourer of Souls."

Rynath tilted her head, her calculating gaze fixed on Kragoth. "How many disappearances?"

"Seven in the last three weeks," Kragoth admitted. "All from the pit. Two overseers, five guards. No bodies recovered. No witnesses. Just... gone."

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