Heavy footsteps echoed through Lockwood Village, and I made my way to the house that had been built for my temporary abode. A black throne had been erected there, radiating a dense aura of darkness. The pure obsidian, engraved with ancient runes, gleamed blood-red, reflecting my new status as ruler of this realm.
I sat on the throne, my eyes open, alight with a mingling of moonlight and the darkness of the abyss. The wounds of my soul had healed completely after the bloody battle with the bow hero, and a new power pulsed through my veins—stronger, angrier, and more eager for destruction.
Before me, Zereth knelt in his black mithril-plated armor that reflected the light of the campfire, every detail revealing his evolution into a more powerful demon. Rena stood beside him, graceful yet deadly, a sword of darkness hanging from her waist, a battle-ready aura pressing down on the room, making the air feel heavy.
"It's time to move," my voice echoed, cold and sharp, piercing the chests of all who heard it. Even the thick stone walls of the house trembled with the power radiating from my words.
"The mortal world has considered us mere monsters lurking in the darkness for too long. Tonight, we show them that the demons they despise are the truths they themselves have created with their hatred and prejudice."
Zereth raised his head, his red eyes blazing with absolute loyalty. "My Lord, we are ready to carry out any command. Which enemy shall we destroy?"
Rena bowed respectfully, her voice soft yet filled with terrifying enthusiasm. "Your command is my honor, My Lord. Which village shall we make the first example of our awakening?"
I stared at the map of the mortal world spread out before me. Old sheepskin with fresh red ink marked the various border areas—small villages that were the backbone of the elven kingdom's economy and defense. Places that seemed weak and defenseless, but teeming with souls that could fuel the rise of my demon legion.
"Start with the village of Riversholt," I said, pointing to a spot on the map on the banks of a large river. "A peaceful fishing village, population about two hundred. Destroy everything—their houses, fields, docks, even their ancient trees. But most importantly..." I paused, a cold smile spreading across my lips.
"But leave a clear trail," I continued with particular emphasis.
Zereth frowned, looking confused. "Trails, My Lord? What do you mean?"
I rose from my throne, my footsteps echoing on the stone floor. A dark aura began to emanate from my body, creating dancing shadows on the walls like ghosts thirsting for revenge.
"Let them know that a new Demon King has risen from his long slumber," I said, my voice deepening and echoing. "Let fear gnaw at their hearts like a caterpillar eating a leaf. Let them have nightmares of their impending death. Let that fear spread from mouth to mouth, from village to village, until it reaches the ears of those proud kings and heroes."
The aura of darkness grew stronger, filling the hall until the air felt like thick syrup, hard to breathe. The walls trembled violently, and even Simon the blacksmith, standing far in the back corner, felt oppressed, his breath coming in short gasps.
"More than that," I continued, walking around the two of them, "leave our symbol—a dark moon surrounded by demon wings—etched in the ground with the blood of our victims. Let it be a sign that a new era has begun."
Zereth clenched his fists against his chest, his eyes burning even brighter. "With pleasure, My Lord. Their blood will be the ink to write a warning to the entire world."
Rena glanced at me with a different look—something had changed in her since her evolution. A faint smile appeared on her beautiful face, which now looked even more cruel, even more sadistic.
"If that is your command, then I will ensure their dying screams reach the ears of the gods in heaven."
"Good," I murmured with satisfaction. "Bring fifty of the strongest demons from our army. Leave none alive, except perhaps one or two to spread the word."
I returned to my throne, sitting proudly, looking down at my two most trusted subordinates. "And remember—this is no mere random attack. This is a declaration of war. You two are ambassadors of the destruction I will bring upon this world."
"When do we depart, My Lord?" Rena asked, touching the hilt of her sword.
"Now," I replied firmly. "Tonight. Use the darkness as your blanket. Strike while they sleep soundly, while they feel safe in their warm homes."
I rose from my throne once more, standing tall with my dark wings spread wide behind me, creating a terrifying silhouette. "Go. Bring our best troops. Do not return until the village is reduced to ashes and bones."
"Yes, My Lord!" they both answered in unison, their voices echoing throughout the room.
They then turned with practiced movements, striding confidently out of the house, a fiery aura of war behind them. I could feel their excitement—they had long awaited the opportunity to show the world the true power of demons.
I watched their departure with a sharp, calculating gaze. The Bow Hero was still badly wounded from our last battle—physical and mental wounds that would not heal quickly. And by the time he fully recovered, it would be too late to stop my plans. The world would be reduced to a sea of fire and blood.
After they disappeared from sight, I rose from my throne with slow but deliberate movements. I had other business to attend to tonight—something more personal and perhaps more crucial to my long-term strategy.
I headed for the basement of this house, to the place I had transformed into my own personal prison. There, in a cell surrounded by a powerful magical barrier, lay a prized prisoner—the daughter of the arrogant Bow Hero.
Sylvene Lunethiel—a young elven girl with shoulder-length golden hair and the pointed ears typical of her race. Her body was still badly scarred from the previous battle, wounds I had deliberately allowed to heal slowly so she could not escape.
Her usually bright green eyes were now dim, filled with a mixture of fear and hatred. She sat in the corner of the cell, her small body trembling—either from cold, fear, or both.
"Good night, Sylvene," I said in a voice that was faked to be gentle. "Your father can't pick you up. So for now... you'll be staying with me."