Meanwhile

In an unknown location stood a broken tower against the night sky, its crumbling stone walls draped in shadows that seemed too thick, too alive. Once a bastion of magical research during the Great War, it had been abandoned for decades after the experiments conducted within its walls went catastrophically wrong. Now, it served as a meeting place for those who preferred their business to remain hidden from prying eyes.

Two figures materialized in the uppermost chamber through separate portals, their arrivals perfectly timed despite arriving from different locations. Both wore enchanted cloaks that blurred their features and distorted their voices—expensive magic that cost a fortune to maintain but was worth every coin for meetings like this.

The taller figure arrived first, moving with measured steps to stand near the chamber's single window. Moonlight filtered through cracked glass, illuminating dust motes that hung in the air like suspended time. When they spoke, their voice carried authority barely contained beneath the magical distortion.

"You're late. I don't appreciate waiting, especially not in a place like this where anyone could stumble upon us."

A laugh echoed through the chamber as the second figure emerged from their portal, shorter and moving with a predatory grace that suggested centuries of lethal experience. "Paranoid as always, my old friend. No one comes to this location anymore. It's been abandoned since the incident forty years ago. The magical contamination alone keeps most people away, and those brave enough to ignore the warnings never make it past the third floor. We're perfectly safe here."

"Safe is relative when you're plotting against another demon lord," the first figure replied coldly, turning to face their companion. Even through the magical obfuscation, tension radiated from their posture.

"Not plotting. Acting," the second corrected, their tone suggesting amusement at the distinction. "There's a significant difference between the two. And let's be clear—you came to me, remember? You're the one who needs this particular problem... removed."

The taller figure's hands clenched at their sides, the only visible sign of agitation. "He's becoming a nuisance. A thorn that needs extraction before it festers into something much worse. Three months. Only three months since he emerged, and he's already making waves that threaten to disrupt very carefully laid plans that have been decades in the making."

"Three months and he wounded The Reaper," the second figure said, and now there was something like genuine admiration in their distorted voice. "Not just survived an encounter, actually wounded him. Drew blood from a legend who hasn't bled in over a century. That's not just making waves, my friend. That's rewriting the fundamental rules of engagement. I can see why you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," the first snapped, their composure cracking slightly. "I'm being practical. Strategic. He's building alliances with frightening speed—the Iron Fang tribe, Seraphine of the Fallen Spires, and he has Loki's sponsorship. He's gaining power, attracting attention, showing capabilities that shouldn't be possible for someone so newly ascended. If left unchecked, he'll become a genuine threat to the established order. Better to eliminate him now while he's still vulnerable, still learning his limits."

The second figure moved to a table in the chamber's center where an obsidian mirror sat, its surface swirling with dark energy that seemed to drink in the surrounding light. They ran one hand along its edge, and the darkness within pulsed in response. "Dream assassination. You want me to use that particular talent of mine. It's been years since I've done this kind of work. Not since the war ended and the truce was established."

"You're the only one I know with that ability," the first figure said, moving closer but maintaining a careful distance. "The only one I trust to do this cleanly, efficiently, and without it being traced back to me. The political fallout if this were discovered..."

"Trust," the second figure laughed, the sound carrying decades of shared history and mutual betrayals. "We both know you don't trust anyone, not really. Not after what happened with the Conclave. But we do have... history. Old debts. Old friendships from before we became what we are now. Before the power and the politics consumed everything else."

The taller figure was silent for a long moment, and when they spoke again, their voice had softened almost imperceptibly. "We were different people then. Before the power. Before the politics. Before everything became about survival and advancement and maintaining position in an endless hierarchy of predators. Do you ever miss it? Being simple soldiers instead of... this?"

"Every day," the second admitted quietly, their own guard dropping slightly. "But we can't go back. We can only move forward and try to survive in the world we helped create. And because of who we were, because of what we shared in those simpler times, I'll do this for you. One last favor for old times' sake. For the soldiers we used to be before we became monsters."

"Just kill him in the dream," the first figure said, their voice hardening back to business. "Make it look natural—a nightmare that stopped his heart, stress and mana exhaustion finally catching up after his battle with The Reaper. No evidence. No connection to either of us. He simply doesn't wake up one morning, and everyone assumes it was inevitable after pushing himself so hard. Clean. Untraceable. Final."

"It won't be that simple," the second warned, their fingers tracing patterns on the obsidian mirror's surface, leaving trails of darker shadow in their wake.

"Dream assassination rarely is, especially not for someone as strong-willed as your target appears to be. The subconscious mind creates defenses—manifests fears and protections, builds walls from memories and trauma. The stronger the target's will, the more elaborate their mental defenses. I'll need to be careful, strategic, methodical. It could take hours in the dream world to break through properly, even if it's only minutes in reality."

"Take whatever time you need," the first replied. "Just ensure he doesn't wake up. The demon lord hierarchy has enough instability right now with vacancies and provisional appointments. We don't need a wild card disrupting everything further, especially not one with connections to both Loki and Seraphine. That combination alone makes him too dangerous to leave alive."

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