They crashed through the second floor, sword meeting sword, fists slamming against steel and flesh. Sparks flew with every strike. Blood smeared the walls.
The king grunted, deflecting a heavy slash from Daemon. "You're not fast enough," he growled, lunging forward.
But Daemon's eyes widened as he noticed the Killing intent from Above.
Daemon's body moved on instinct. He leapt sideways just as the ceiling cracked
BOOM!
an explosion of poison shattered the tiles where he'd stood. Acid hissed against the marble.
The mage dropped from the rafters, his robe in tatters, half his face melted, one eye missing yet the rage in his remaining eye burned hotter than hell.
Caius.
Daemon rose to his feet, blade in hand. "You've gotta be kidding me."
The mage staggered forward, grinning despite the hole in his cheek. "Surprised? Thought I was dead, didn't you?"
"Honestly? I hoped."
Caius laughed, the sound crackling like broken glass. "You're sharper than before. Good. Because I came to offer you something."
Daemon's grip tightened.
"Join us," Caius said. "You, me, the Dominion. The kings of this world are rotting in their thrones. You know it. But we—we're building something greater. You'd be worshipped. Respected. Feared. All the power you want, and no more crawling under men like Velrick."
Daemon's gaze flicked past him.
Up the stairs.
The king was already vanishing around the corner.
"I don't have time for this," Daemon said flatly. "Move, or I'll end you."
"WRONG ANSWER DEAMON I'LL HAVE TO KILL YOU FOR RUINING MY FACE !"he rasped. Poison swirled in his palm, glowing green, bubbling like lava. A bomb of pure death.
"I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS NEW GIFT THIS BOMB ALONE WILL KILL YOU AND THAT MEDIOCRE HEALING ABILITY WONT SAVE YOU !"
"And who said I'll let you power up!" Deamon roar as Nyxtriel shimmered into his hand, the blade expanding mid-swing, growing as wide as a door and twice as long. It hummed like a beast unchained.
SWOOSH—SHINK!
Caius didn't even scream.
His head separated clean from his shoulders. Blood gushed in arcs. The poison bomb in his hand fizzled and died.
Daemon caught the falling head midair. Its eyes still blinked once in horror.
"you still won't die creepy bastard."
He gripped it tightly—then crushed it.
CRACK.
He inhaled the swirling life force, the soul's last flicker. It seared into his core like fire through ice.
Daemon dropped the headless husk of Caius without a second glance and charged up the stairs.
The walls blurred.
His chest burned. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. Poison still clawed at his insides, but he pushed through it.
The fourth floor loomed ahead.
He reached it—and stopped cold.
The air was thick. Suffocating. His Astra Core surged, reacting violently to the oppressive demonic energy saturating the room. His hands trembled. Sweat rolled down his back. It wasn't just dark energy—it was alive.
He stepped inside.
And saw it.
The king stood near the center of the chamber, lit by the flickering glow of enchanted lamps. Beside him, sprawled across what remained of a shattered, reinforced bed, was the creature once known as his son.
Twice the size of a grown man. Skin gray and swollen. Veins pulsing black. Fangs protruding from a twisted jaw. The thing twitched, groaning like a dying beast.
"F...fa...ther... it...hurts..." it gurgled, voice warped beyond recognition.
King Velrick leaned down, brushing matted hair from its face. "I know, my son. I know. But the pain will pass soon. Then you'll be perfect."
Daemon's lip curled. "The hell is this?"
The king didn't look back. "You're just in time to witness it—my masterpiece. You wanted the fragment? It's right there." He pointed to the monster's chest, where a faint, pulsating red glow bled through cracked ribs. "But it doesn't belong to you anymore. He's the one who will inherit it fully. He's the future."
"Future?" Daemon spat. "He can't even get off the damn bed."
The king turned to him at last, smiling like a mad priest before the altar. "Power doesn't need to stand, Daemon. It just needs to exist. This world will kneel to him or be consumed."
Daemon drew Nyxtriel slowly, her blade gleaming in the red light.
"Well, then," he said coldly, stepping forward, "I guess I'll have to put him down before he learns to crawl."
Daemon charged with full speed, Nyxtriel's hilt firm in his grip.
The king moved to intercept, swinging his sword down hard.
Daemon twisted mid-air, his body snapping into a roll. He hit the floor and pushed forward—but Aleric caught his ankle.
Without missing a beat, Daemon kicked the king square in the face with his free leg. CRACK! A tooth flew. Aleric staggered backward, dazed.
Daemon landed in a crouch and shot toward the malformed son, blade drawn.
But the creature's eyes snapped open.
It saw the blood on its father. The dented armor. The smear of red.
Then it screamed.
"WHAAAT... HAVE... YOU... DONE... TO... MY... FATHER?!"
The sheer force of the roar split the air.
A pulse of raw demonic energy exploded from its body—BOOM!—sending Daemon flying like a ragdoll.
"Ugh—damn it!" he hissed, stabbing Nyxtriel into the stone floor to stop his momentum. The ground cracked beneath the impact.
"My lord, be careful!" Nyxtriel's voice rang out from the blade, strained with warning.
Daemon's eyes locked on the creature—and his blood ran cold.
The monster clutched its stomach. The flesh there pulsed—something inside it writhed violently beneath the skin, like a man drowning in meat.
"It... hurts... h-help... f-fath...er..."
Daemon took a step back. "What the hell..."
The king staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his jaw—but smiling.
"Yes," he whispered hoarsely. "Yes. Finally—it's born."
Daemon's eyes widened in horror.
Born? He thought the king's son was being reborn.
But this—this wasn't rebirth. This was birth.
A living womb.
"You're insane," Daemon snarled.
He lunged forward in a blur of black and red—SLASH!—and cleaved through the boy's neck. The head toppled with a sickening thud. The body twitched, spasmed—
Then split open.
SKRRRRRRCHHH!!
From within the gory cavity, something tore its way out—a shriek of metal and bone, of pain and fury and madness.
A creature no taller than a child but its presence filled the entire room.
Short, hunched, with cracked black skin and blood-red runes carved into its chest. Its horns curved backward like broken scythes. A third eye glowed from the center of its forehead, wide and unblinking.
Its mouth opened—not to speak, but to grin.
And from that grin, Daemon saw himself.
Not in shape. Not in voice.
But in hunger.
Nyxtriel pulsed with heat in Daemon's hand.
"My lord..." she whispered. "That... that's no ordinary demon."
Daemon's voice was low and Steady.
"I know."