It was already past midnight when Shin entered, not his bedroom but the study.
From the desk drawer, he drew out an intricate wooden box, dark and opulent in its craftsmanship.
When he opened it, the sight within was enough to steal one's breath, the infamous pink diamond ring.
According to the auction house, they had chosen to keep the original box, said to have once belonged to the Duke of Thalia. Whether the duke had truly been its owner or not hardly mattered.
Whoever possessed it must have sensed the ring carried something ominous. The black wood was etched with strange carvings, as though meant to ward off or contain the jewel's sinister will.
At the bottom of the box lay a crude formation of symbols, but to Shin's eyes, the markings were nothing but nonsense with random symbols, a false formation, nothing of substance.
Perhaps, for humans of an age without knowledge, they leaned instead on superstition.
Shin gave a soft, derisive scoff and lifted the ring.
The diamond stirred at his touch, unseen to mortal eyes, it pulsed violently, as if aware it had finally found a new master.
He raised a brow, twirling the band between his fingers.
Greed.
That was its essence. The ring did not create the hunger within its bearer but magnified it beyond control.
It drove its owners to ruin, binding them to an unending thirst for their deepest desires.
History had recorded its tragedies. The first noblewoman who owned the jewel must have coveted eternal beauty. Her obsession reduced her to bones; she wasted away from anorexia.
The duchess must have been desperate to keep her figure, to keep her body flawless after childbirth and that vanity condemned her to countless miscarriages until she, too, was lost.
In the end, all who wore the ring were doomed.
No human could deny greed, not entirely. Good or bad, noble or vile, it lay within every heart. Even those who believed themselves free of it merely deceived themselves, and the ring thrived on that delusion.
Shin studied it with quiet detachment.
Then he pressed his thumb firmly against the diamond. A sharp hiss rang out as black fire burst forth, writhing with malicious intent. Yet his dark mist surged instantly, smothering the flames before they could breathe.
His eyes narrowed. Such a curse was no ordinary malice. Even if a human discovered the demonic intent bound inside, to break it would be to step into its trap.
The black fire was not of this world, and nothing in the human realm could extinguish it. Whoever had carried this ring across realms had delivered the seed of an apocalypse, one merely waiting for the right hand to unleash it.
When the flames died, the jewel appeared unchanged, still dazzling, still enchanting, its allure unbroken.
To an unsuspecting gaze, it was nothing but a flawless gem, harmless and beautiful.
But now, Shin had imprinted his own intent upon the ring. With that done, he placed it carefully into a new velvet box he had commissioned after winning the bid.
---
That night, Shin did not know when sleep claimed him. Yet his dreams carried him back to the time when he had stood once more in the demon realm.
Before he was Emperor, he had been the Demon King of the vast North, Hexion Richt Svade.
It was no wonder he clung to the name Hexion, even naming his mafia organization after it, for that name was his very essence.
A warmonger, relentless in conquest, obsessed with sovereignty absolute.
Like humans, demons too possessed civilization, culture, and laws. Marriage and family were foreign concepts to them, yet they were not without emotions.
Their hierarchy was not built upon wealth nor bloodline, but upon strength alone.
Avernus, the Imperial Capital, domain of the strongest demons, was at present in a frenzy, its streets filled with demons from every direction, gathering to witness the rise of the next Emperor.
The Daiesthai, the thousand-yearly festival of battle was approaching.
It was the most celebrated and awaited event in the demon realm, where the kings of North, South, West, and East clashed for the right to challenge or dethrone the Emperor himself.
The festival was more than mere spectacle. It determined not only the ruler of darkness but also the rank, title, and privilege of demons to dwell within the Capital.
To mortals, a thousand years was eternity. To demons, it was but a lifetime or sixty years in the measure of human span.
---
"My King, how fare your preparations for the Daiesthai?" asked Faris Helle, the General of the North.
His long white hair was tied back, his crimson eyes sharp, and his pristine white cloak fell over gleaming armor.
"Preparations?" King Svade's lips curled. He swung his sword, Achlys, and without even a whisper of aura, the blade sheared through an entire grove of trees as though they were paper. "I need no such thing."
"Must you destroy the Imperial Garden in the process?" Faris gave a faint smile, though his words carried weight.
The King gave no answer. He strode deeper into the forest, leaving silence in his wake.
Faris watched his sovereign's figure vanish among the towering trees. Of late, the King had visited these woods often. Was it truly training? Or something else?
As Faris turned back toward the palace, he noticed an elder councillor gazing intently after the King's path.
The old demon's expression was heavy with dread, anxiety, and something darker flickered in his eyes.
"Does Elder Councillor despise my King?" Faris asked softly, his tone edged with threat and curiosity.
The councillor flinched. "Not the King… no." His voice faltered.
Then, with deliberate emphasis, he spoke: "Beware the curse of the throne. It is not a matter your King should entangle himself in."
He hurried away, muttering still of curses.
Faris frowned, his gaze returning toward the dense, shadowed forest.
---
Within the forest's depths, King Svade moved with practiced ease. He had ventured here often, and today his path led him toward the Red Forest.
A voice, crystal-clear, serene, rose upon the air.
"Summon all the demons to the palace, Which ones deserving to die~"
The King's eyes narrowed. "What are you singing? Do you mean to curse me?"
"Hexi!"
From atop a massive crimson stone, a figure rose. She was clad in flowing silk the color of blood, her beauty surpassing mortal comprehension, her allure eclipsing that of any succubus. Her eyes gleamed with delight.
"It is King Svade to you," he warned coldly. "Unless you no longer value that mouth of yours."
She tilted her head, smiling warmly, unafraid. "You have come again."
He scoffed. "This is my domain. I may go where I please."
She only nodded, her slender white feet swinging idly as she seated herself once more upon the rock.
The King studied her for a long while before unsheathing Achlys to practice, striking again and again with tireless precision.
It was in the forbidden books of the North that he had first encountered her name:
Jewel, the living curse of the Emperor's throne.
The first record dated back hundreds of thousands of years. That emperor was said to be madly in love with his empress, he worshipped her as though she were his realm, his most precious treasure, his very existence.
Many claimed he was bewitched. His love, so fervent at first, grew into obsession and finally into madness.
When he was dethroned, the next emperor took the empress as his own, only to fall into the same spiral of obsession and ruin.
Thus began the tragedy of Jewel, repeated over and over until her very existence became branded a curse.
Feared and hated, Jewel was finally executed during her fourth reign as empress.
Yet the records claimed she was immortal. Unlike ordinary demons, who lived long but not without end, Jewel could not be killed, no matter the method she always returned.
There were many assumptions and distorted tales, but most books that spoke of her were burned, and those who dared whisper the truth were executed. The empire hid its darkest secret.
Still, one book remained. It said Jewel was not born from a demon tree, as all demons were, but created by an outcast dark mage.
A weapon meant to break Emperors.
Through countless sacrifices and forbidden seals, he forged her as a weapon to claim the throne.
But when he failed to seize power during the Daiesthai, he instead placed her at the emperor's side.
The irony was cruel: the emperor who first crowned Jewel as his empress fell into madness, but the mage himself soon perished, destroyed as he also succumbed to the very curse he had birthed.
Before his death, the mage erased all records of his creation, leaving only a lingering curse upon the throne. Perhaps for demons to remember his existence or his resentment.
Then five thousand years ago, the emperor sealed Jewel deep within a forbidden forest. Not out of mercy, but out of madness, if he could not have her, then no one would, even after his death.
Over time, history was rewritten. Jewel faded from memory.
Even so, then emperors still dreamt of her, an alluring succubus clad in red, haunting their nights.
So even sealed away, the curse of the throne endured.
---
"How long have you been here? Are you truly that Empress Jewel?"
"Jewel is just Jewel!"
King Svade smirked. Was this not fate presenting him with an opportunity?
The living curse of the Emperor's throne. The succubus who had driven rulers into madness.
How absurd that such a feared and detested figure in history was before him now, nothing more than a strange, simple-minded creature. No wonder her story had been erased; she was a disgrace to the throne.
Yes, she was alluring, capable of stirring lust and greed in demons. But his desires lay far beyond fleeting temptations. What he sought was dominion. Sovereignty eternal.
He would use her.
Once he became Emperor, he would prove the curse powerless against him.
He, Hexion Richt Svade, would reign as the Supreme Ruler of Darkness. Unmatched, unchallenged, and eternal.