The Demon Palace never slept.
By the time Ethan staggered back to his chambers, the corridors still buzzed with courtiers, guards, and shadows that looked like they had somewhere important to be. The palace had no day or night, only endless cycles of torchlight and fire-glow. Demons moved like clockwork, their routines mechanical, their gazes sharp. Ethan half-expected them to start humming ominous background music whenever he walked past.
He collapsed onto his bed, limbs aching from Morgana's "training session," which had been less training and more like getting repeatedly run over by a semi-truck with swords. He had earned at least a small nap, maybe even a few dreams that didn't involve pointy objects.
But rest, apparently, was not part of the Demon Realm's hospitality package.
The torches along his wall sputtered once—then went black.
Darkness swept over the chamber, thick and heavy as tar. It wasn't natural darkness; it pressed in on him, suffocating, alive. Ethan sat bolt upright, heart hammering.
"Okay, great," he muttered. "Lights out. Classic horror movie setup. Totally fine. This is fine."
Then came the voice.
"Still breathing, little mortal? How… unexpected."
The shadows shifted, coalescing into form. From them stepped Lilith. Not drifting in moonlight like Selene, nor storming in with armor like Morgana—Lilith simply emerged, as if the shadows had been her home all along. She wore black silk that clung like living smoke, her crimson eyes gleaming sharp and hungry. Her smile was too perfect, like a blade honed to cut.
Ethan swallowed hard. "Uh… hi? Should I be happy or terrified you decided to do the midnight pop-in?"
Lilith tilted her head, pacing slowly around his bed like a cat circling prey. "That depends. Do you still think survival is a matter of luck?"
Ethan forced a laugh. "Well, considering everyone keeps reminding me I should already be dead, I guess I'm either lucky or too stubborn to quit."
Her smile widened. "Stubborn. Yes. I see it in you." She leaned close, close enough he could feel the cool brush of her shadows against his cheek. "But stubbornness alone won't keep you alive when the Queen finally looks your way."
That word—the Queen—sent a shiver down his spine. He'd heard it whispered in fear, spoken in reverence, but never explained. Morgana avoided it. Selene danced around it. And now Lilith dangled it like bait.
"You mean… the Demon Queen?" Ethan asked carefully.
Lilith's eyes glittered. "Our mother. Our ruler. The one who sees every game we play and decides which pieces to sweep from the board."
Ethan tried to play it cool, but his stomach twisted. "Great. So she's basically the final boss, and I'm what, an NPC with one hit point?"
Lilith chuckled, low and velvety, the sound both beautiful and cruel. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are more than any of us realize. My sisters quarrel because of you. Do you not see it? You are already the stone tossed into still water—ripples spreading, unstoppable."
Ethan rubbed his face. "Yeah, I've noticed. Believe me, getting caught in sibling drama wasn't on my bucket list."
Her expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around her form. "You misunderstand. This is not merely sibling drama. This is war brewing beneath the surface, and you… are a spark."
The words sank into him like hooks. Ethan wanted to argue—wanted to insist he was nobody special, just a guy who ordered bread and got dragged into a nightmare. But deep down, he knew the truth. His presence had shifted things. Morgana trained him, Selene whispered secrets, and Lilith lingered in his shadows.
Why?
Before he could ask, a deep vibration shuddered through the walls.
A bell—low, resonant, bone-deep—echoed across the palace.
Ethan flinched. "What the hell was that? Please tell me it's not the 'sacrifice the mortal' alarm."
Lilith stiffened, eyes flashing. "The Queen calls council."
"The who calls what now?" Ethan asked, already dreading the answer.
Lilith turned to him, her smile returning—slow, deliberate, unsettling. "Congratulations, mortal. You will finally stand in her shadow."
And with that, the shadows swallowed them both.
The floor dropped away. Ethan's stomach lurched as the world dissolved into black mist. He stumbled forward, then landed hard on smooth stone.
When his vision cleared, he stood in a vast hall.
The ceiling soared so high it vanished into darkness. Colossal braziers burned with black fire, their light casting long, jagged shadows. A long obsidian table stretched forward like a blade, every inch of it polished and cold. At the far end stood a throne—not carved, but grown, as though the stone itself had bent in fear to form it. It pulsed faintly, alive with power.
The throne was empty—for now.
Around the table stood the sisters.
Morgana was already there, rigid as a statue, her armor gleaming, sword at her hip. Selene drifted in mist, robes glowing faintly, her eyes veiled as though she were looking far beyond the chamber. Lilith took her place without a word, leaning casually against the table's edge, shadows curling at her feet.
And Ethan—utterly out of place—stood at the far end, very aware he looked like someone's lost exchange student.
No one spoke. The silence pressed down, heavier than Morgana's sword, colder than Selene's mist, darker than Lilith's shadow.
Ethan cleared his throat. "Sooo… do I, like, sit? Or stand? Or crawl into a hole and hope nobody notices me?"
Morgana's golden eyes flicked to him, sharp enough to cut. "Silence."
Right. Hole it is.
The silence stretched until it felt like the hall itself was holding its breath. Then, without warning, the braziers flared higher. Black flame roared, heat blasting through the chamber.
The throne was no longer empty.
A figure now sat upon it, cloaked in night, crowned with fire. Her presence filled the hall, crushing and absolute. She didn't simply sit—she ruled by existing, every shadow bending toward her, every flicker of flame bowing low.
Her eyes opened. Molten gold. They burned straight through Ethan, stripping him down to thought and bone.
The Demon Queen had arrived.
Ethan's knees wobbled. His throat went dry. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to disappear before those eyes decided his fate.
But all he could do was bow his head and whisper the only thing his brain managed to supply.
"…oh, holy crap."