The scent of burning stone and blood hung heavy in the air.
Duke Elias stumbled backward, eyes wide, sweat dripping down his wrinkled face as he stared at Daemon. Beside him, one of the remaining noble Dukes stood frozen, watching from a safer distance—face pale, hand trembling on his sword's hilt.
"S-So this is the power of the Demon King..." Duke Elias muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "Terrifying..."
Daemon's glowing eyes swept the battlefield. Ash still floated like snowflakes. Then, faintly he heard them.
Footsteps. Gasps. Screams.
Civilians. Drawn by the thunderous explosion, they were already gathering near the ruined wall, trying to see what had happened.
Daemon clicked his tongue and sighed. "Oops. Guess I've been caught."
He lifted his gaze casually.
"Nyxtriel," he called, voice smooth and bored, "take care of the ones who saw too much."
SWOOSH.
Nyxtriel shot forward like a bolt of death, her sword form slicing the air. The moment she appeared above the crowd—
"AAAAAHHHHH!!"
"RUN! RUN!"
"IT's coming—!"
"PLEASE DON'T KILL US!"
Children shrieked. Mothers grabbed their babies. The narrow street filled with panicked screams and trampled feet as Nyxtriel descended like a specter.
Back near the blast zone, the commander—his severed arm still bleeding—dragged himself to Daemon, his eyes wide with horror, his mouth trembling.
"N-No! Your Majesty, please—don't kill those people! There are children! They're innocent!"
He clung to Daemon's leg, blood soaking into Daemon's boots.
"You won't kill kids, right?" he whimpered. "Please... I'll do anything."
Daemon didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on Elias, who was still cowering, kneeling in the dirt like a defeated dog.
Nyxtriel returned in a slow glide, blood dripping from her blade. Daemon caught her hilt midair, calm.
He turned toward Elias, sword raised—ready to finish it.
"P-Please! Spare me!" Elias threw himself down, forehead to the dirt. "I'll serve you! I'll give you whatever you want! Please!"
Pathetic, Daemon thought.
Before he could strike, another voice rang out—sharp and desperate.
"WAIT!"
A woman bolted from the corner of the battlefield, flinging herself between Daemon and Elias. She fell to her knees in front of Daemon, arms spread.
"Please... I beg you! Spare my father!"
Daemon blinked, surprised for a moment. The woman was young, her silver gown stained with blood and ash, long dark hair tangled in the wind. Her lip trembled.
"And who the hell are you?" Daemon asked flatly.
Then he kicked her across the face.
CRACK.
She collapsed sideways, blood pouring from her mouth and nose.
"No! My daughter!" Elias screamed, crawling toward her.
"She's the queen," he gasped. "She's... the king's wife,queen Angela!"
Daemon paused. His sword lowered an inch. "Really now?"
Nyxtriel narrowed her eyes.
"I was the one who sent the letter!" the woman sobbed, wiping the blood off her lips. "Don't you want to know the truth about the king—my husband?! The reason the palace feels cursed? The reason people are acting like dolls?!"
Daemon's smirk returned. "Huh. You might actually be useful."
She looked up with hope in her eyes.
"But," Daemon added coldly, "that doesn't mean you don't pay the price for trying to kill me."
"No—wait—!" Elias shouted, lunging forward.
SWISH.
Daemon's blade flashed.
The woman screamed as her right hand hit the dirt, fingers twitching in a pool of blood.
"Aaahhhhhh!"
"I'll let you live," Daemon said calmly. "But only because your truth better be worth the scream."
Nyxtriel stood beside him, watching silently as the queen curled into herself, sobbing.
Daemon glanced down at Elias again.
"And you," he said, "have five seconds to convince me not to make your corpse the next warning."
"You've already taken my daughter's hand," Duke Elias spat, blood caked in the corners of his mouth. "What makes you think I'll beg for my life now?"
Daemon's voice stayed low, mocking. "Because I haven't taken her life yet. But maybe if I take a piece of you, you'll find your voice."
"You monster!" Elias roared, surging forward.
"FATHER, SHUT UP!" Angela's voice cracked with pain and fury. Her face was pale, eyes wide from shock. "He already spared me! Just do as he says and beg for your life!"
The Duke's jaw clenched. He trembled, but he said nothing more.
Daemon's expression didn't change, but his aura shifted. A cold pulse of power rippled through the air. He could feel it—soldiers would arrive any minute now. He turned his attention to Angela.
"You have thirty seconds. Talk. Before we're interrupted."
Angela swallowed her pride and pain, blood still dripping from her wrist. "The truth is... my husband has been hiding a fragment—something he got from the mages. He fed it to our sick son. He said it would cure him."
Daemon's eyes sharpened. "A fragment? Describe it."
"I didn't see it clearly... but he said it could cure any illness. That it came from a place of pure mana. From the Dominion of Vaelthar," she said, voice shaking. "But instead of healing him—it twisted him."
Daemon was still.
"Twisted?"
"He's no longer human," she whispered. "He's always hungry now. He screams in his sleep. We've been... feeding him Raw meat at first. But it wasn't enough. Now—now it's anyone. Servants. Strangers. Children."
Daemon was silent. The air thickened.
So the king had the fragment all along—and used it on his son? And the fragment doesn't just empower it corrupts. Turns people into demons. That... is valuable information.
Nyxtriel's voice echoed in his mind: "That explains the lifeless maids. The fear."
Daemon looked down at Angela. "Interesting," he murmured. "That fragment holds more than just power—it corrupts."
She nodded desperately. "Please, help us. We'll kill him. Just... help us end this."
He smirked, brushing dust from his coat. "Alright. I'll allow it. But we'll do it my way. I'll set the bait, you sneak into the palace and take your shot."
Elias and Angela exchanged a tense glance.
"You want to help us kill the king?" Angela asked, wary. "How do we know this isn't another trap?"
Daemon shrugged. "You don't. But let's not pretend you have better options. You want him dead. I want the fragment. Help me get it, and I won't stand in your way."
Then he leaned in and whispered the rest of the plan—low and deliberate.
A sharp gasp came from behind.
The commander had heard every word.
Daemon turned to face him, smile curling like a blade. "Oh, the hero finally speaks. You stood by while children burned, and now you think you'll redeem yourself with truth?"
Daemon stepped closer to the commander, voice low and cutting.
"You saw it, didn't you? The bodies. The children. The screams. And you did nothing."
"Shut up!" the commander barked, staggering to his feet. "I'll report everything to the king! I'll make sure—"
"Will you now?" Daemon bent down, picked up the commander's dropped sword, and offered it to him hilt-first.
"Here. You want justice?" He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, spreading his arms wide. "Take it. Avenge the innocent. Prove you're not just another coward in a polished breastplate."
The commander's breath caught.
"I said stab me. Right here." Daemon tapped his own chest, right over his heart. "Be the hero. Slay the monster."
The commander grabbed the sword with shaking hands.
"You can't do it, can you?" Daemon's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because deep down... you're not angry at me. You're angry at yourself."
"Shut up," the commander muttered again, his voice cracking.
"Do it," Daemon hissed. "End me. The demon king. The murderer. The reason you failed to protect them. Come on... be the hero."
The commander raised the blade, pointed it at Daemon's chest—but the moment his eyes met Daemon's glowing crimson stare, he froze.
In those eyes he saw it—souls screaming, lost in eternal fire. Rage, grief, torment. A storm of darkness older than his own existence.
His knees buckled slightly.
Then—
CLANG!
Soldiers burst into the scene, weapons drawn. They caught the last glimpse of Duke Elias and the others fleeing across the far end of the ruins.
"Commander!" one of them yelled. "What's going on?!"
In a flash, Daemon took the sword and, with a grunt, drove it through his own shoulder—just shy of his heart.
SHUNK.
Blood poured out as Daemon stumbled, coughing.
"Y-you traitor..." he wheezed, collapsing to one knee.
The soldiers froze in horror.
They turned to Rhodes, the commander, who still had blood on his hands.
"No! I didn't—I didn't stab him!" Rhodes shouted, letting go of the sword. "He did it himself! He—he gave it to me! I didn't mean to—!"
"Arrest him," one of the knights said grimly. "We'll sort it out at the palace. But for now, he's a suspect."
"No—wait! I'm loyal to the king! I didn't betray anyone!"
But it was too late. Shackles clicked around his wrists.
Daemon, still bleeding but smirking faintly, watched as Rhodes was dragged away screaming.
Another pawn off the board.