A Game That Destroys ✓

1- The Last of Dragos

Author's Note: All righty then, the first chapter is up and ready to be read. Picture on the side or top (depending on which device you're on) is of Omar Borkan Al-Gala who will be playing my Za'yaal. He fit the role perfectly minus the fact that Za'yaal has sharp blue eyes. Never mind that now. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 1- The Last of Dragos

It was raining again, large droplets slamming against the window panes and echoing through the mansion. The curtains were pulled together and the lights were off. The only signs of life were the gentle footsteps traveling through the hallways and corridors. A single bulb flickered on and cast a yellow hue in the dark room. The man looked around, sighed and walked out. He pressed a finger to the Bluetooth attached to his ear.

"It's all clear," he said in a thick British accent. "The mansion is clean."

"Good," a bored voice drawled at the other end. "I want it ready by next week. Can you manage that, Midas?"

"Of course. Will that be all?"

"Not quite. Come see me. I have to see you about a matter of great importance. You have ten minutes."

Midas twisted on the heels of his polished black shoes and turned back in the hallway he had come from. "Very well."

The call clicked off and Midas was left hurrying down the staircases and through the corridors. The mansion was large enough to get lost in, that was for certain. He made his way to the bottom floor, above the basement, and out the main double doors. His car was parked in the front, the large black Prado seemingly in place between the center fountain and the black wood mansion. It didn't take him long to get it started and ease it out of the looped driveway.

He pushed on his dark sunglasses and rolled up the blackened windows. The only problems with the mansion were the savages that had settled around it. The mansion consisted of over five hundred acres of land but right where the land ended, the signature spiked fence appearing, the homeland of the poor began. They would have to do something about that. Preferably to just run a bulldozer over the whole place and wipe out anything or anyone in the way. Yes, that sounded like a nice idea.

The drive to the boss's office took a while. Midas messaged him that he would be late. Had he not been such a close friend of the boss and his chief advisor, he would most certainly be beheaded for having the audacity to.

His reply came almost instantly.

Za'yaal (8:15 a.m.)

'Get me a mocha latte.'

Midas rolled his eyes.

'Aye, aye, captain.'

Za'yaal (8:16 a.m.)

'Extra cream. No sugar.'

Midas (8:17 a.m.)

'I've been buying you coffee since you were born. I know.'

Za'yaal (8:19 a.m.)

'Hurry.'

He didn't bother replying to that one. Instead, he slipped his cell phone back in his pocket and typed in the address for the nearest café on the GPS. It wasn't far. If he went over the speed limit, he'd be able to meet up with Za'yaal in twenty minutes. That was good enough.

The speed of the car accelerated to well over 150 miles per hour. No one dared stop him though. The rectangular flag slapping against the wind on the hood of the Prado was enough to warn anyone to stay away. And besides, no one but Za'yaal's men could afford such a car in the first place.

Midas screeched to a halt in front of the café, barking out an order for his boss's coffee. The waiter nearly wet his pants when he caught sight of the intricate dragon tattoo covering half of Midas's face. Midas's lips curled up in a sneer and the man was scurrying to do as he was told. He returned only moments later, barely balancing two coffees in his hands. His bottom lip trembled when Midas's angry glare found the bill he held. He instantly stuffed it in his pocket and Midas took the coffee mugs. And just as quickly as he'd come, he was gone, leaving a swirl of dust behind him.