Shadowreach Academy loomed like a fortress of nightmares, carved from blackened obsidian and twisted, jagged stone.
Its spires pierced the darkened sky, shimmering with a sinister glow of flickering runes that pulsed with demonic energy.
The entire structure exuded an aura of oppressive power, a place where the strongest demons from across the Netherworld came to hone their skills and ascend through the ranks.
Inside, the halls were labyrinthine, lined with glowing sigils and enchanted torches fueled by soulfire that cast flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls.
The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and dark magic, making every step feel heavy with anticipation.
Tsuramo, with his rune-etched bag slung casually over his shoulder, strode through the shadowy corridors with an air of nonchalance.
His crimson eyes flickered with curiosity and quiet confidence.
Beside him, Masakiro dragged his own bag along the uneven floor, the straps tangled and his footsteps echoing softly.
They were searching for their assigned room, a demon dormitory labeled with the number D-042—a modest designation for demons of their rank.
They finally reached a massive door carved with glowing demonic runes.
Tsuramo pushed it open, revealing a typical demon student's room—dimly lit and functional but far from luxurious.
The walls were lined with dark stone and adorned with faded sigils.
A sturdy iron bed with a tattered velvet curtain sat against one wall, and a battered wooden desk cluttered with enchanted scrolls and broken weapons.
A small orb of flickering shadowfire hovered in the corner, casting a faint orange glow. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of ash and magic—a typical demon's quarters.
Masakiro threw his bag onto his well-made bed with a sigh.
"I already miss home. Why are we even here?" he asked, glancing at Tsuramo, who was calmly settling in, eyes half-closed in thought.
Tsuramo exhaled slowly, crimson eyes gleaming. "I don't know why," he murmured softly.
"Weren't you the one who convinced Father to enroll us in a school full of low-rankers?" he sneered, voice laced with disdain.
Masakiro rolled his eyes, flopping onto his bed with a dramatic sigh.
"Oh, please. Don't act like it's my fault. I thought this place might be interesting," he said, kicking his legs lazily.
Tsuramo's crimson gaze sharpened. "Maybe if we act the way Empress Thai told us," he whispered, eyes narrowing,
"we'll avoid those D Wraithlings Demons—the ones with less power. They'll exhaust us if we're careless. Thank The lord has we are in one class ahead of them"
In their world, demons are ranked by strength, with D Wraithlings -rank being the lowest—weak, often immature, and barely capable of minor magic or physical feats.
Yet even those DW-rank demons can be dangerous in groups or if underestimated often like Ghost like Demons.
Masakiro smirked. "Yeah, yeah. We'll play it safe—until we figure out how to get out of here," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.
------
Chatter filled the air in the dimly lit demon classroom.
The room was a strange but fascinating sight: demonic students with horns and tails, some with features that hinted at their mixed heritage.
There were half-demons with sharp, curved horns and sleek tails, some with wolf-like features—fierce yet noble-looking—and others with goat-like horns and cloven hooves, resembling goblins but far from unpleasant to behold.
The Mistlings, the class of lower mid-tier demons, sat quietly, their small forms whispering softly among themselves.
Though not the strongest, each possessed a unique power—quick, sneaky, and clever—more than enough to make a hundred humans tremble.
The whispers of the students fluttered like restless spirits as a voice suddenly cut through the murmurs.
"Do you think they are powerful like the king?" someone whispered, eyes flickering with curiosity.
"I hear they are half-human, half-demon," another added, voice hushed with intrigue.
"Aren't they supposed to be in the SS-Rank?" someone else queried, and the room hummed with speculation.
Suddenly, a sharp bang on the wooden table silenced everyone. All eyes turned toward the front of the classroom.
Standing there was a figure that commanded attention Mrs. Kurohana—a human woman with an air of authority.
Her black wings were folded neatly beside her, and her horns curled elegantly on her head, a symbol of her high status.
Her long, dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a face set in a no-nonsense expression.
Dressed in a sharp brown blazer and a sleek black pencil skirt, she carried a file tightly in her hand.
Her voice was sharp, precise, and commanding as she spoke, piercing through the hushed whispers:
"Attention, everyone."
The room fell silent as everyone turned to face her.
"It is my honor to announce the arrival of two distinguished students," she declared, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "The sons of Lord Malakar himself."
A brief pause as she lifted the file, her eyes scanning its contents.
"Prepare yourselves to welcome them. Let us ensure they feel honored and respected in this hall."
Her words carried a weight that made even the most restless Mistlings settle into quiet anticipation, knowing that these two newcomers were destined for greatness.
The whispers grew louder as a student leaned over, whispering to a friend, "How do they look like? I've never seen them in any gatherings."
Another voice chimed in, "I think I saw the one with white hair once. He looked... different."
Someone else muttered nervously, "They could kill us all if they wanted. Why are they even in this CM class? They fight magic beasts and monsters, not kids like us."
The classroom buzzed with anxious murmurs, each demon speculating about the mysterious sons of Lord Malakar. The noise grew louder, and some students glanced nervously at the door, waiting for the newcomers to arrive.
Suddenly, a commanding voice cut through the chatter. "Shut."
Suddenly the class instantly fall silent all eyes turning to Mrs. Kurohana.
"Enough of these pointless whispers," Kurohana declared, her voice sharp and unwavering.
"The sons of Lord Malakar are not to be underestimated. They are here to learn, just like all of you. Show some respect."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room, leaving no room for doubt. "You will treat them as you would any other student—if you value your place in this school."
The classroom fell into a heavy silence once more, the whispers subdued.