Subtitle: Or How the Silver Kings Accidentally Filmed an 18+ War Movie at 3AM
Date: Saturday, April 14th
Time: 3:00 a.m.
Location: Outskirts of Wendigo Valley
Mood: You summoned what now?
The iGlass pinged at 02:56 a.m.
No fanfare. No chime. Just a silent, pulsing notification across eight bonded screens.
A single line of black-letter dread.
> EMISSION: FALLEN GRACE OUTPOST
Location: Wendigo Valley
Status: HIGHLY COMPROMISED
Cultists: 100
Demons: 48
Suspicion: Pact Offer
ORDERS: Eliminate. No Interrogation. Burn the Archive.
BLOOD COMPANIONS: Mandatory
Threat Level: 12 → Possible 15 (Baron Class Detected)
Exit Strategy: Optional. Death Is Not.
The Kings looked up.
They did not flinch. They did not panic.
They simply moved like men who had been waiting for someone to piss them off.
Because it was 3:00 a.m.
Where nightmares flirted and tactical vengeance sipped its tea.
Location: Hogwarts Sublevel - Chamber of Secrets (Repurposed)
Alias: The Silver Den Armory
What once housed a basilisk now housed regret.
Vaulted ceilings veined in rune-light. Walls spelled against sound, time, and common sense. Four medical pods lined one side. The other held an enchanted bar called Last Words, where the liquor was legally classified as both therapy and arson.
And then: the weapons.
Racks of blades forged from soul-steel and demon-glass. Guns blessed by archangels and hexed by sadistic grandmothers. Arrows that whispered.
Mateo Salazar Slytherin, Blood Prince of the High Unseelie and last heir of the Black Vow, moved first.
No words. No theatrics. Just blood against rune-lock.
The vault shivered open.
Inside: a shotgun wrapped in raven-feather charms and red twilight silk.
He touched the barrel. Whispered a name into its chamber.
The gun purred.
"Carnage," he said.
Then: "And Blood Thirst."
His blood companion Maisie blinked. "You're naming your guns now?"
"They asked politely."
Elsewhere, Chaos Manifested
Draco Malfoy was already shirtless.
Frost veined his arms. His bones crackled with ice. He was mid-shift teeth long, claws half-formed, eyes glowing like winter storms reconsidering mercy.
His blood companion Celene just handed him a vial of war-fangs and moved on. No questions. No fuss. Perfectly normal Tuesday. On a Saturday.
He didn't speak.
He snarled.
Battle strategy translated: "I go first. I eat last."
Blaise Zabini glided in like sin in designer boots.
Crimson armor sealed over his skin in glistening waves. Blood-resistant. Lust-enhanced. Insurance-liability high.
Lucette, blood companion, was already checking camera angles.
Blaise smiled. Not nice. Not friendly. Lethal.
He kissed the hilt of his blade. "Time to teach demons that Hell has dress codes."
Theo Nott, sarcasm in siren form, wandered in barefoot, chain weapon wrapping around his arm like a pet python with mommy issues.
He read the demon count aloud.
"Forty-eight?" he sniffed. "Rude. I didn't even stretch."
Pearl handed him her spiked gauntlets without a word. Then filmed him yawning at the weapons rack.
Captioned: #JustSirenThings
Lucca Lestrange was calm. Polite. Serene.
Which meant he was planning genocide.
He traced the map on the table. "I call the summoner. Slowly."
Mariette hummed. "With or without skin?"
"Flexible."
Owen Bones descended from the chapel wing with celestial menace in full glow mode.
A halo flickered above his head—not ironically.
He kissed his cross. Kissed Sylvester.
Prayed.
Then cracked his neck and said: "Let's go give them absolution. With fire."
Marcus Bulstrode, six-foot-sin with gryphon tattoos and arms thicker than bad decisions, arrived last.
He looked at the demon tally.
"Bring back heads?"
Mateo, already loading his shotgun with bullets named Regret and Karma, didn't look up.
"No. Bring back nothing."
Oliver Rivers, summer boy of smiles and deadly metaphors, double-checked his arrows.
Fifty demon-bane arrows. One for each creature. Two for dessert.
His blood companion Raj handed him tea. Which somehow wasn't sarcastic.
"I'm bringing flair."
"No," Draco grunted. "You're bringing containment."
Blood Companions: Currently Shirtless. Aggressively Filming.
The Hextok Challenge was in full swing.
Eight companions.
Sweat. Muscles. Battle gear in the background.
Maisie posted:
"Murdered a latte and my trauma #VenomFit #StabSquad"
Lucette added:
"Kill prep. 💅 Demon edition. #CultCleanup #WitchTok"
The Kings froze.
Stared.
Mateo: "You're being left behind."
Draco: "No field time. You're cringe."
Lucca: "Your angles are a war crime."
Theo: "Your captions lack teeth."
Deployment: 3:27 a.m.
Travel Method: Portkey Skull
Object: Apex bear skull, rune-etched, glowing eightfold.
Activation: Spoken coordinates.
The bear skull roared. The air tore.
The Kings vanished in light and dropped—
From. The. Sky.
Free-fall. Casual.
Draco cheated and accelerated.
Because of course he did.
The rest fell with varying degrees of drama and velocity.
Wings opened: Mateo, Marcus, Owen, Oliver.
No wings: Crashing elegance from Lucca, Theo, Blaise.
Mateo landed with a single shotgun spin.
No thud. No sound.
Just war.
Wendigo Valley. 3:30 a.m.
The ground was ash.
The air was poison.
The Cultists were already mid-chant.
Blood circle. Sigils. Demonic laughter in seventeen octaves.
The demons?
Licking the veil.
One cultist stepped forward, holding a severed unicorn horn and a newborn's cry preserved in glass.
He smiled.
Then turned.
And saw the Silver Kings.
The camera drone zoomed in.
Live stream title: Crown and Kill™
Tagline: They Came. They Saw. They Unmade Reality.
The Crown Princes didn't speak.
They didn't monologue.
They moved.
Mateo fired first.
Shotgun sang: BOOM one demon exploded in black fire.
Draco followed: claws out, jaw unhinged, tearing through cult ranks like bad memories.
Blaise danced. Every cut a seduction. Every kill a promise unfulfilled.
Theo's chains writhed twisting mid-air into sonic spears that ruptured lungs and souls.
Lucca? Strolled. Summoner in sights. Fingers flexing like a pianist about to ruin your faith.
Owen hovered. A spear of radiant fire in hand. His halo split into three rings.
Marcus thundered through the ritual wall, cracking the circle open with his bare hands.
Oliver? Laughed. "Let's try arrow roulette."
Demons screamed.
Cultists ran.
The Kings followed.
Blood everywhere.
The drone filmed it all.
End Timestamp: 4:12 a.m.
All demons: Dead.
Cultists: Evaporated.
Archive: Burned.
Threat Level: 0.
The camera did one last pan.
Eight men.
Drenched in blood. Glowing. Unbothered.
Subtitles:
> Mission #9,000: Complete
8 Realms Safe. Again.
Crown Princes: Gods or Monsters? You Decide.
Realm-side?
Cheers. Screams. Fan edits within the hour.
In Unseelie? It was declared a feast day.
In Direwolf territory? "Murder omelettes" became breakfast tradition.
In Seelie realm? A child whispered, "I want to grow up to be the arrow."
The Council? Smiling. Quietly.
Because propaganda had never looked so bloody good.
And the monsters?
They'd just cleaned house.