ALL MY WIVES ARE BEAUTIFUL ELVES

Chapter 137 Giving a demon lord head?

In the grandeur of the expansive boardroom, the scent of crimson-flamed candles filled the air with an intoxicating allure, weaving a tapestry of opulence and mystique. The atmosphere crackled with an ineffable sophistication, each corner of the room pulsating with an undeniable sense of importance.

The long, mahogany table stretched its regal form, commanding attention and radiating an aura of authority. Twinning chairs, meticulously arranged at each corner, orchestrated a dance of gazes, ensuring every figure in attendance was locked in a visual duet with their counterparts across the hall. The wood, polished to a lustrous sheen, mirrored the flickering dance of the candles, creating an illusion of ethereal firelight.

Before each of the twelve figures, a crystal-clear glass held a scarlet elixir, refracting the ambient glow in a dazzling display of ruby hues. Adorned in formal attire of black, each suit was a testament to impeccable tailoring, draping the figures in an air of dignified elegance.

Red ties, expertly knotted, served as a striking contrast to the somber backdrop, uniting the assembly in a silent proclamation of shared purpose.

At the epicenter of this symphony of luxury and power, the woman presided with an enigmatic grace. Her ebony gown, a masterpiece of artistry, cascaded in graceful folds, adorned with rubies that caught the light in a hypnotic dance of crimson brilliance.

The stark contrast against her alabaster skin emphasized the sculpted contours of her face, a study in angular refinement. Her eyes, pools of inky intensity, held a knowing gaze that pierced through the room, leaving an indelible mark on each occupant. With methodical precision, she tapped the table with blank nails, punctuating the air with a palpable sense of anticipation.

As she extended her hand, it moved with the grace of a maestro wielding a baton, claiming the glass filled with the scarlet essence. With deliberate elegance, she raised it to her lips, the liquid gliding across her palate in a symphony of flavors. The act was a choreography of refinement, a ballet of poise and grace that left no doubt of her mastery over the room.

A sigh, laden with both gravity and intrigue, escaped her lips, echoing in the hallowed space. Then, with a voice that commanded attention, she uttered the singular word that hung in the air like a promise of revelation.

"Welcome," she intoned, each syllable resonating with a weight that seemed to reverberate through the very foundations of the room, affirming the gravity of the moment and the significance of the gathering.

In the hushed grandeur of the boardroom, all eyes turned towards the woman. As she adjusted her posture, a flicker of candlelight caught the gleam of the crown adorning her head, casting an ethereal halo around her. It was a crown that spoke not just of adornment, but of authority, a tangible symbol of her dominion.

Before them stood none other than the demon queen, a ruler and overseer of the demon race, a figure of both awe and trepidation. The chorus of greetings that followed was not born out of adoration, but out of the sheer necessity to acknowledge her sovereignty. Even in a room steeped in sophistication, an undeniable tension hung in the air, a palpable undercurrent beneath the veneer of refinement.

It emanated from the queen herself, an aura that was both overwhelming and graceful, an alchemy of power and poise that left an indelible mark on all who were in her presence. The twelve figures seated around the table were no mere subjects; they were the demon heads, leaders of clans spread far and wide, united in their allegiance to their queen.

On this seemingly ordinary day, they were acutely aware that this was no ordinary gathering. The summoning by the queen carried an air of gravity, a signal that something of great import was afoot.

"Have you heard?" The queen's voice, lowered and measured, cut through the stillness, sending a shiver down the collective spine of the assembly. It was a question that hung in the air, pregnant with layers of meaning, a riddle that demanded an answer.

The minds of the demon lords raced, grappling with the implications. Was this a test? A challenge? To answer or not to answer? Each one weighed the potential consequences of their response.

These were not just any demons, but the foremost figures in the demon society, holding the rank of demon lord, second only to the queen herself. The hierarchy was immutable, but the audience with the queen remained a ritual of dread, a moment of reckoning.

The silence was palpable, a thick veil that stretched across the room. The queen's patience was unwavering, her gaze unwavering. When the response did not come, she continued, her words laced with a potent mixture of allure and mystery.

"They are making plans. Making their moves, seeking an uproar. They want to claim rights. Why has no one done anything about this?" The queen's voice, though calm, held an undercurrent of seething rage, a tempest that simmered beneath the surface. Her fingers danced with a rhythmic tap against the table, a metronome for the tension that suffused the room.

The atmosphere grew taut, a web of anticipation woven with threads of unease. Each lord could feel the chill in the air, a frisson of apprehension that clung to their skin. The room seemed to close in, the air growing thicker with every passing moment. The queen's presence loomed, a force that could not be ignored, casting a spell that held them all in thrall.

As her words hung in the air, a sense of urgency settled over the room. The gravity of the situation was laid bare, and the demon lords were faced with a choice: to act, to remain passive, or to risk the queen's wrath. The weight of their decisions pressed upon them, their fates intertwined with the fate of their race.

In the midst of this charged atmosphere, the queen sat, a figure of regal poise and unrestrained power, her crown glinting like a halo of authority. The candles continued to burn with their crimson flames, casting flickering shadows that danced in time with the queen's tapping fingers. And in that moment, the fate of the demon race hung in the balance, poised on the precipice of upheaval and change.

In the charged atmosphere of the boardroom, the queen's impatience was palpable, a tempest of power and expectation that hung heavy in the air. With a benevolent gesture, she decided to put an end to their misery and began to explain her grievance.

"I sent Ashira, one of my trusted demon admirals, to inspect a mainstream cargo warehouse in the lower states. The report she brought back did not meet my expectations," the queen declared, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

A lord, unable to contain his curiosity and perhaps emboldened by the queen's slight show of mercy, dared to speak up. He adjusted his tie and kept his gaze fixed on his drink, voicing the question that hung on everyone's mind.

"What could have possibly displeased the queen?"

The queen turned her piercing gaze towards him, a look of intimate curiosity in her eyes, as if weighing the lord's worthiness. With measured grace, she responded, her words carrying the weight of her concern.

"Humans, in their ranks, quarreling over equipment meant for my allies. Their numbers and audacity grow by the day, becoming an increasing concern," the queen articulated, her voice carrying the gravity of the situation.

A surge of confidence coursed through another lord, emboldening them to speak out. "Surely, this is a matter that should not trouble the queen. It is a task even the demon privates can handle. Give the command, and I shall personally unleash hell upon every one of your oppressors."

The queen turned to the assembly, her question hanging in the air like a verdict awaiting affirmation.

"Do you all have similar believe?" The queen threw the question out.

"Yes, my queen, we will address all your concerns," one lord affirmed, the others nodding in agreement, their sheepish compliance a stark contrast to the earlier tension.

"Very well then," the queen declared, rising from her seat at the head of the table. From the shadows emerged two figures, clad in red-scaled armor, the only weapons they bore being the armor itself. Yet, a peculiar resemblance caught the eye—a mirroring of the queen's features, identical in every conceivable way.

They all looked just like the queen, identical in every way possible.The queen began to walk away while the two females by her side stood like they were guarding her seat.

As the queen strode towards the exit, the two armored figures stood guard at the table close to her seat, their presence a testament to the gravity of the situation. She paused, her hands draped on her black gown, and turned to address the lords.

"You all have not had your drinks," she reminded them, a hint of regal grace underscoring the ominous command.

"Apologies, my queen, but you have not given the order yet," one of the demon lords ventured, his voice trembling with trepidation.

"Have I not?" the queen mused, before turning to her twin guards at the table. "Send word to each of their clans. Instruct them to appoint new leaders. The current ones are now unavailable," she declared, her words falling like a decree.

Confusion and shock rippled through the assembly, their minds struggling to process the implications. Then, in an instant, terror seized the room. A lord clutched at his throat, horror etched on his face, as a gaping hole materialized, the void extending through his head. When one looked at his glass then, it was empty and stuck in his head now was a sharp pointed red object, almost like the liquid had flew into his head and solidified.

Panic swept through the remaining lords, their eyes wide with disbelief and horror. One by one, they fell, heads colliding with the table, squished into an unrecognizable form or eyes erupting in red fountains.

The room echoed with the sickening sounds of demise, a macabre symphony of death. Some unlucky ones missed the gift of instant death and instead bled from every conceivable orifice in their bodies.

The queen stood at the exit, an embodiment of ruthless power, her presence unyielding. The lords, once figures of authority, now lay in a tableau of carnage, their fate sealed in an instant. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and fear, an unspoken reminder of the queen's dominion. She turned to leave, the twin guards by her side, their identical features a haunting testament to the queen's power.

"The fight for supremacy has just begun," the queen muttered.

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