"Good evening humans," one spoke with a strange rumble.

The candlelight cast a golden glow over his skin. There wasn't a single flaw to mar his appeal... not even those light-blue scales scattered all over his wide chest plates and on parts of his long legs and thick arms. White hair framed a face that was almost angelic, if one could ignore the white horns. Glacial blue eyes surrounded by a red ring watched and assessed, unblinking.

"Hello to you, dragon." The Pastor solemn voice greeted the beautiful monsters. He held his head upright, his gaze unwavering.

The flaps of his cloak were caught by the unnatural wind caused by these unwanted guests, revealing a flash of worn woollen pants.

"You know of my people."

The Pastor nodded, "I do, Lord Zerberus."

The dragon-man tilted his head to the side, offering a smirk with fangs so sharp they could probably rip a man in half within mere seconds.

"You are wise, but your flesh has already begun to rot," Zerberus commented, "What do you think of death?"

The Pastor had to gather all his courage... and had to ask for a little bit more to the Two Mothers before he could produce a reply.

"I do not mind it." He breathed out, "It's the way of life."

"Your life."

"Do not ask foolish questions, Zerberus." The other male snapped before addressing the Pastor, "Excuse him. Dragons like to play with their food."

The women let out small whimpers, as did most of the men.

The two nonhumans ignored the whining pile of mortal meat.

"And demons don't, Zante?" The Pastor asked the other male as he finally stepped into view.

AN/ Zante, the Demon Lord, on the picture above!!! 

Hard, blue skin, long black nails, black horns that curled towards the ceiling, almost piercing it. Pointy ears surrounded by a cascade of luscious black hair that reached never-ending shoulders. The skin around those red glowing eyes was darker, making the creature look sinister. Yet, there was something handsome about him.

"Sometimes my kind does." He shrugged, "I'm not fond of your meat though, too chewy, too sweet, like squirrels'."

The Pastor nodded, squeezing the hand of a small girl at his side.

"Your eyes," she whispered, mesmerising by those crimson abysses surrounded by that darkness. Although they were pleasantly almond-shaped, the irises and thin pupils were just so terribly red.

"To see through flames, little rat." Zante grinned, the harsh line of his lips morphed into a wicked grin, showing off long fangs.

He cared little of human pups, nor could he remember being a child either.

"Zante, stop wasting my air," Zerberus said with a hiss. Dragons weren't known for their patience.

"I'm just getting to know the rats..." Zante observed as he ran his clawed finger between two canines. He looked down at his findings and tilted his head, "I have never met so many humans..." Alive.

Growls and screeches echoed somewhere far, yet near. As if to agree.

By then, men had also begun to sing cries along with their females. The children, half curious, half petrified, stared at these Lords of Monsters with rapture.

"Oh, do not worry about them," Zante, the demon-king, waved his hand as he checked out the row of potatoes, onions and other revolting roots, "They had been fed already."

"Why don't you tell us what you did, Pastor," Zerberus demanded, crossing the massive arms over his chest, "Our King isn't happy with this trick of yours. And neither are we."

The Pastor then smiled, "A sort of...peace agreement has been made. It benefits both us humans and your...community," he said, going on to explain his reasoning, "We will live on the surface with you and share the earth designed for us all... and you, in return for the sharing, will find..." he paused for a second, "happiness."

Zante and Zerberus glanced at each other, blue and red eyes locked briefly from across the chamber.

They were so huge and feral, so inhuman. Two males in their prime, with that unfair beauty and predatorial intelligence. Their black blood-pumped hearts were colder than the corpses left in their wake.

Until now.

"Happiness?" Zerberus repeated, not bothering to hide surprise, "We are already happy, old bone."

"Apologies," The Pastor murmured, "When I said happiness, I meant love."

Zante burst out laughing. Some of the children cried and shrunk away. It was indeed terrible music, with a husky, manly ring.

"Please, Pastor. This is not time for jest."

"It's not." The Pastor agreed, with peaceful eyes - acceptance was there too. He knew he wouldn't meet another day, "let me rephrase the concept for you, my Lords." 

The Pastor exhaled, in three intervals, "You have been cursed by the Two Mothers..."

Fake cheerfulness vaporised from those inhumanly handsome features. They seemed to grow, to darken, to obscure the room with their cold presence.

Zerberus, Lord of all Dragons and wingless snakes, was infuriated too.

At the Pastor's words, the crimson ring surrounding his glacial blue eyes had thickened, those disconcerting thin pupils had thinned even more. It was a reminder of what hid behind the human façade...

"Cursed!" He spat as his nostrils flared and smoke curled up from them, "How dare you utter such blasphemy! I've used human bones as fangpicks for a lot less!"

"You can kill us all, but you will still be cursed. Nothing can change it!" The Pastor hastened to add, trying hard to control his air flow but his lungs weren't obeying him anymore, "but you will thank me, and remember me..." He paused to catch his breath, "quite fondly I hope..." Inhale, exhale. "Perhaps in a few months or hundreds of years."

A long tail with black spikes whipped the walls, creating a small rockslide, the air heated up so much that it felt like being inside the belly of a volcano...

"Calm your fires, Zerberus." Zante said and yawned with noise, not bothering to cover his mouth, before evaluating the feeble man, "What exactly have we been cursed with, Pastor? I don't feel a fucking difference." He craned his neck to the side, producing a pop.

"Yes, Demon Lord, you do feel a difference," corrected the Pastor. Zante narrowed his crimson eyes and curled his fingers.

More snarls rose from the background, like an army of breathing shadows waiting to be summoned.

"You have the void. For now, it's just a tiny, almost non-existent hole...an invisible crevice. It will grow." The Pastor cleared his throat, "A painful pain. And bear in mind, my Lords, it can be filled by one thing only."

"Deer and elk are faster and tastier," Zante spatted, angered, "You are boring and rotting. Your meat doesn't interest me, but right now I'm tempted, old man."

"What did you do, exactly?" Zerberus intervened before the demon lord could kill everyone, including their answers, "Tell us. Now."

"I told you. You have been cursed with love."

A deadly silence followed.

"From the next generation onwards," continued the Pastor, "any man could be the father or the grandfather of your-" Zante cut him off, his demon snickering behind his face, "He said from the next generation, Zerberus."

The latter smirked, a long tongue licking even longer fangs, "He did..."

Then something changed. It was so sudden and unexpected that even the Lords grew silent.

Terror.

Panic.

Like nothing anyone had ever felt before. It conquered everything, from the hearts of all the presents to the grains of the cold earth.

A chilling sound, like the screams of thousands of people in agony, imbued the whole room. A wind. So cold that stole the heat and the beat of the hearts.

Zerberus and Zante quietened, their chins lowered a little as they glided backwards, letting the limbs of darkness envelop their deadless forms.

The Pastor was afraid; a bizarre trembling started in his empty stomach and spread to hands, knees, feet.

'He's here.'

The humans were a mess of slobbering tears.

'He's here.'

The ground seemed to bulge.

'The Prince's here.' 

The current King could be described as scary, utterly evil, without a shred of goodness or mercy in that immortal body of his. 

But the Prince, who would become king as soon as he decided he wanted to kick his father away, was.... something else. Oh, he was indeed. 

If the King was a tale used to scare children, the Prince was the monster in it. 

"My Prince," the Pastor mumbled, bowing a little. He began to shake, his heart felt cold, his nightmares became real, they were all around him, all inside him. A voice had whispered that inside his weak head, and he had believed it. He believed all the voices. He had no choice.

The prince himself was somewhere in there, probably in the darkest corner of the hole dug underground. 

The Pastor prepared himself to meet the monster of all the monsters. The Ruler of all beasts and beyond. 

He imagined something awful, an abomination, like ten eyes of different colors, fur covering hard scales, three heads of three different beasts – maybe one dragon, one demon and one lycan. Yellow drools dripped from various mouths that contained too many teeth.

Instead, what climbed into view was something terrifying and mesmerising, all at the same time.

The Future King of all the Beasts and beyond stood tall- easily over six and a half feet- on two legs, like a man...

He also did look like a man. 

Though he wasn't.