Feeling particularly cruel, I let out a dark, twisted laugh before commanding them to, "run," granting two of the elves a brief hope of survival. 
They exchange panicked glances, but then, as though their legs are possessed by fear, they flee, running deeper into the corridors of the palace. 
I cackle loudly at their shattered courage, delighting in the thrill of the chase. With slow steps, my magic surges from my fingertips, extinguishing the lamps that line the hallways, darkness slowly seeping in.
I hear the elves desperate cries as they pound their fists against the throne room doors, their frantic pleas for their king to let them in falling on unbothered ears. 
Their ruler, that cowardly elf they call a king, has no interest in saving his own.
The last traces of light are devoured by the shadows I now summon—grotesque figures slithering across the floor, inching ever closer to the terrified elves. They press themselves against the door, their eyes wide with horror, breaths shallow and rapid as they witness the unholy nightmare I've unleashed. 
My smirk deepens as the shadows coil around them like serpents, the sickening sounds of tearing flesh mingling with their screams. The darkness, a ravenous beast, rips into their bodies, the crack of snapping bones a symphony to my ears.
Silence falls. 
Only the squelch of my boots disrupts the stillness as I step through blood, kicking aside entrails and body parts with ease. 
I stop at the golden doors, gazing down at the red river that oozes into the throne room—an announcement of my presence before I even knock.
Grinning, I raise my balled fist, ready to tap, but the harsh sound of retching draws my eyes to Thor, who's finally caught up, but hunched over, vomiting violently onto the palace floor. Joben stands beside him, his eyes wide with shock as he stares at the grisly remains of the elves.
"You... you did this?" Joben stammers.
I look down at the bloodied mess and shrug, "Yes, and I'll do worse before this night is over."
Joben cracks his knuckles, his shock morphing into a grin. "Well then, let's do this." Excitement shimmers in his eyes as he turns to Thor. "You coming, god of nausea?"
Thor wipes his mouth, his complexion nearly as pale as the marble walls surrounding us. "I... uh... just give me a moment." He takes a step forward, but slips on a severed finger, crashing face-first into what might be a dismembered leg, or arm? It's hard to tell in the mess of blood and gore.
I roll my eyes. The smell of iron alone has always turned Thor's stomach. He prefers quick, clean kills with minimal mess—not out of mercy, but simply to spare himself the humility of gagging in front of his men.
"Stay with him, Joben," I order. "Wait until his nausea passes."
Joben scowls, disappointed. "So I'm supposed to nurse him through his queasy stomach? I'm ready for the main fight!" 
His frustration flares, and in a fit of anger, he kicks the kidney in front of him. It spins through the air, spraying blood that lands messily across Thor's face.
Thor grimaces, his features twisting with disgust. He gags again, this time more violently.
"Don't you dare!" Joben snaps, glaring at Thor. "Man up! It's just guts."
But Joben's words only make things worse. Thor hunches over again, heaving up whatever remains in his stomach.
Ignoring them both, I return my focus to the door, knocking three times, each rap stirring muffled voices on the other side. I ready my magic, prepared to blast the doors off their hinges if necessary. But then the lock turns with a metallic click, and the doors creak open, agonisingly slow.