The hall of the Demon Court was alive with murmurs, growls, and clinking chalices filled with fluids that reeked of iron and nightmares.
Twelve massive figures sat around a banquet table carved from obsidian and bone. Each of them radiated ancient power—horns, wings, or eyes that shimmered with forbidden knowledge. They were the Twelve Demon Lords, Lilith's inner circle. Rulers of realms that devoured stars.
At the head of the table sat Lilith Astarra, her expression calm but unreadable. Her fingers rested gently on her throne, her eyes gleaming with quiet malice.
Ethan stood at the center of the room, heart pounding, hands trembling.
He wore servant's robes now—black and collarless. A thin chain of silver was fastened around his neck.
"A human?" one of the Demon Lords hissed, licking sharpened teeth. "You dare bring one of those to the high table?"
"He is my husband," Lilith replied, sipping from her goblet. "Tonight, he serves."
Another demon slammed a clawed fist onto the table. "If he spills a drop of blood on my plate, I will eat him whole."
Lilith smiled. "That's the game."
Ethan's throat went dry.
He was expected to serve twelve monstrous nobles, each more terrifying than the last. No servants. No instructions. No second chances.
One wrong move, and he'd be a smear on the floor.
"Begin," Lilith commanded.
The room fell into deathly silence.
Ethan took a deep breath and moved to the first demon—Lord Kha'Zir, the Glutton of Pestilence. The creature's plate was alive, crawling with writhing parasites and smoking meat.
How do I serve this without touching it? Ethan thought.
Quickly, he spotted a pair of fireproof gloves left beside the table—a test.
He used them, gently placing the meal with tongs, arranging the dish in the exact cursed pattern the wriggling worms required. Kha'Zir hissed in satisfaction.
One down.
Next came Lady Virelle, the Bone Collector. She demanded her cup be filled with liquefied fear—but not too much, or it would scream.
Ethan carefully stirred the vial of bottled terror until it stopped twitching… then poured it in a spiral motion, as he had once seen in a bar back home.
She purred.
As he moved from demon to demon, Ethan adapted—observing, reading patterns, guessing preferences from the marks on their robes, the position of their weapons, the rings on their claws.
The room grew still.
The final plate was set.
Ethan bowed, drenched in sweat.
There was silence.
Then…
Laughter.
Deep, cruel, and delighted.
Lilith stood, clapping slowly. "Impressive," she said, walking toward him. "You didn't die."
Ethan tried to speak but couldn't.
Lilith touched his cheek. "You survived, because you thought. You watched. You adapted."
She leaned in close, her voice soft but sharp.
"You might just be more useful than I imagined."
The Twelve Lords bowed their heads in reluctant approval.
Ethan had survived the first night of their game.
But in his heart, he knew—
It had only begun.