King Arkenthorn

"I am a predator." the King announced, swirling a goblet of Gargassian Wine around in his long, jagged fingers. "When I see something I want, I take it."
"And that's why I'm here?" Jack scoffed, pulling at the chains around his wrists.
"Quite so." Arkenthorn glared with his colourful, lidless eyes. They rolled gently around in their sockets as he eyed his prey. "I am the greatest artist the galaxy has ever known, Jack. I am six thousand years old and I have painted... countless... truly countless things." He raised his hand up to the wall behind them - the depiction of a gruesome battle between Arkenthorn's race and a storm of different alien invaders. "Every one. Every one of those creatures my kind have eradicated from their homeworlds to ensure our beautiful aesthetic."
"Beautiful aesthetic? You're trying to justify murder."
"I'm not of a half formed species like yours, boy. We've chosen our path. We are predators. Destroyers. And from blood and ash and the end of worlds, I create what is better. What is right."
"You're delusional."
"I am pure." Arkenthorn snapped. "I know what you've been doing. With this... mask of yours. Trying to become a living vessel for all the art techniques across the cosmos... Trying to bring civilisations together... Being intimate with a Valkorian..." Arkenthorn sneered. "You are a stain, Jack. And once I have shamed you... broken you... Then I'll paint you. Right here."
He pointed at the mural of lost souls once again, before nodding to his guards.
"Take him away."