Demon Realm
The air over the Infernal Realm trembled.
A storm without wind.
A silence too deep.
The skies bled red as something ancient stirred from the abyss of slumber.
Beneath the obsidian peaks of the Demon Palace, in a chamber locked by spells so dark even shadows feared to enter, the King of Demons opened his eyes.
They weren't red.
They weren't black.
They were void.
A deep, bottomless nothingness that devoured everything they touched.
Raelith Salvatore.
The name alone turned generals into ash and kings into dust. He was the nightmare angels still prayed against. The butcher of stars. The demon who once made the heavens bleed.
And now—after two thousand years of silence—he awoke.
"…He's back…"
A servant whispered the words in horror somewhere in the far corner of the palace.
But Raelith heard it.
He heard everything.
His body, carved from obsidian and shadow, cracked as he rose from the crimson throne where he'd slept—no, waited—for the one thing that could make his heart beat again.
He looked down at his wrist.
There it was.
The Mark.
A sigil etched in ancient runes, glowing like molten silver under his skin.
For centuries, it had been cold.
Dead.
Now?
It burned.
Like lightning in his veins.
Like fate had screamed her name again.
"Seraphina…" he whispered.
The name tasted like blood and fire.
He clenched his fist.
The mark flared brighter.
The bond had awakened.
Without a word, he stormed out of his chambers.
Servants scrambled out of his path as a wave of power exploded behind him. Glass shattered. Pillars cracked. Shadows slithered away like rats before fire.
"Get the demon priest!" Raelith roared. "Now!"
He didn't slow.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
He ran—through hellfire halls, down spiraling stone staircases that wept blood, through corridors that whispered madness.
Until—
He reached the dungeon.
Far below the palace.
Where screams were born and light came to die.
The guards didn't question him.
No one dared.
They flung open the last gate.
And there, bound in rune-chains, hair matted with age, eyes like fractured gold, sat the Demon Priest.
Zarayan.
The mad oracle.
The only one who had seen the threads of destiny clearly enough to survive them.
Raelith didn't wait.
"Bring him."
Two guards dragged the priest forward, half-limp, half-smirking.
They dropped him before the throne in the war chamber.
Raelith leaned forward, towering, his aura shaking the obsidian walls.
"I felt her," he said, voice low and dangerous. "The bond. The pain. The mark."
He shoved his wrist forward, letting the silver fire blaze for all to see.
"She's been reborn. Tell me it's true."
Zarayan lifted his head slowly.
And smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
It was a smile carved from prophecy.
He reached up—his fingers trembling—and gently tapped Raelith's glowing wrist.
A spark danced through the room.
Then—
Laughter.
Not small laughter.
Not joy.
Madness.
"Ah… you fool," Zarayan said between cackles. "You still chase ghosts in fire."
Raelith's patience snapped.
Dark magic exploded from his body in a soundless pulse. The palace windows—every single one—shattered across the realm. Thunder rumbled through the earth. Servants screamed and fell to their knees.
He grabbed Zarayan by the throat, lifting him effortlessly.
"I didn't wake for riddles," he growled. "Say it. Is she alive or not?"
The priest didn't flinch.
Even choking, he smiled.
He always smiled.
"…She's alive," Zarayan rasped, eyes wild. "Your… Seraphina... breathes again."
Raelith froze.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then—
His grip loosened.
"…Where is she?" he asked. "Tell me."
But Zarayan didn't answer.
He just… laughed again.
Softer, this time.
Sadder.
"She's alive," he repeated, "but not as you remember. She is no longer the Seraphina who burned kingdoms beside you… no longer the blade who kissed your blood."
Raelith's brows furrowed.
"…What do you mean?"
Zarayan stepped back, the chains clinking with every movement.
He tilted his head.
Eyes gleaming.
"She's the opposite of everything you remember."
"She's not the one you think she is."
Raelith's breath caught in his throat.
"What?"
The priest's smile widened—one part pity, two parts chaos.
"You'll see."
___________________________________
Zarayan– The Demon Priest
Race: Ancient Demon
Age: 7000+ | Appears mid-30s
Background:
Zarayan was once the Demon King's most trusted spiritual advisor, known for his forbidden research into soul-merging and prophecy. He fell in love with Alvinar and became the fathered the child both realms conspired to destroy. After their betrayal, Zarayan vanished—many believed him dead.
In truth, he's been in chains deep beneath the Demon Palace, kept alive only by his knowledge of the child's hidden soul.
Personality:
Clever, bitter, seductive with a dark sense of humor. Hides pain behind arrogance. Loyal only to the soul of his child and Alvinar.
Likes: Chaos, blood wine, forbidden magic
Dislikes: Hypocrisy, angels, and Raelith's temper