The Demons were losing.
The Army of the Radiant Empire fought the advances of the Infernal Legion led by Lilith Zevra—Queen of Demons. Her invasion of the mortal plane—meant to spread her sovereignty was failing utterly.
The Radiant Empire's heroes proved more than capable against her Legion's best.
Now, with a great number of her men slaughtered and with the Infernal Houses swiftly losing all trust in her, she was left with no other choice.
She invoked the ancient rites and called upon Azrakul, the Primordial Demon.
She gave her blood and prepared to lose her crown to the demon of myth and legend that possessed unfathomable power.
The ground shook as her blood met the circle. The Legion watched in rapture, shadows bending toward the light.
Then—where they expected a god—instead stood something none of then could have ever forseen...
...A human.
"Who... are you?" The voice of Lilith echoed with absolute authority, sending Liam's heart into a frantic rhythm at the sound alone.
He turned, his eyes sweeping first across the Infernal Houses' generals, each one a more terrifying sight than the last.
They looked like any other human in face and figure—but only that. Each one possessed a horn protruding from their head.
And their forms? Clad in armor of imposing black, heavy in ways that made one not even dream of piercing through them.
Then finally, his eyes landed on her.
The origin of the voice... the Demon Queen.
A sight of her alone was enough to make most fall to their knees.
She was the greatest contradiction of insurmountable beauty and terror reality could ever conjure.
Her most arresting feature was the waterfall of luminescent, snow-white hair that cascaded past her waist, a glaring contrast to the shadows she commanded.
From her crown sprang a pair of wicked, obsidian horns tipped with a dangerous, blood-red hue—a clear mark of her infernal lineage.
Liam couldn't tell what froze him in place—fear or reverence.
However, when her voice came again, loud and imposing:
"I asked you a question."
He became certain it was most definitely fear.
'The knife. The office. Maria... Oh god, Maria.
I died...and this is hell.
This is my punishment. But for what? For not getting Mark a better birthday present? For that time I—'
His spiraling panic was severed as his vision was blotted out by screens of stark, alien light.
[Synchronization Complete.]
[Designation: "Infernal Sovereign" — Activated.]
[Requirement: Subjugate the Realm of Demons.]
[Warning: You are not the real Demon Lord... yet.]
"What?" Liam muttered in confusion as he looked down at the screens.
[Entering Tutorial Mode]
Suddenly, everything vanished—the Demon Generals, the guards, the castle, and even the terrifying Demon Queen.
All Liam saw was darkness...
And it all lit up.
The scene morphed into a field that stretched long and endlessly, the sun rose, its light cascading down on the plains like a final defense against an inevitable darkness.
Then in the distance, Liam saw a figure standing, the winds billowing against its clothes as he simply stood and stared into the horizon.
"I don't have long left... come quickly."
The figure's voice transcended distance, meeting Liam as though he stood right in front of him.
'First hell and now heaven... it seems I really did die.'
Liam's heart thumped in his chest, and it took everything for him to steel himself and take a step forward.
He didn't need another.
With that single step he covered all distance between him and the figure, now standing side by side with him.
Liam looked up at him, swiftly finding the horn protruding out his head, then turned back to the horizon with a sigh.
"You're a demon as well," Liam blurted, his voice carrying a calmness so contrasting to the fear he felt moments ago, one born from the resignation of a man who now understood he had nothing left to lose.
"I'm what's left of one," the entity answered with a sigh that sounded almost like regret.
"So... I'm dead." Acceptance soaked Liam's tone as he spoke.
"No, much worse than that..." The figure turned to Liam. "You've been chosen."
Ashra raised its arm and the fields dissolved into darkness and stars, and in the midst of this endless stretch of the cosmos, a flame burned so brightly it threatened to consume the universe.
"Long ago, all living things were born from the same source — the Primordial Flame."
The vision shifted again, revealing a colossal being clutching a world in its grasp. Its eyes burned like dying stars.
Liam could only stare, his breath shallow, the sheer scale of what he was seeing turning his stomach. Every instinct screamed that no human mind was meant to witness this.
"But when one god sought perfection, he divided the world into Light and Shadow," Azrakul continued, his voice echoing like a storm across eternity. "That act created the first demon: Azrakul, the Lord of Will. Me."
Liam swallowed hard.
The scene dissolved again—silhouettes of demons performing a summoning ritual.
"I was the original 'Primordial Demon' the demon race intended to summon," Azrakul said, the weight of regret in his tone. "But I cannot help them. The gods destroyed me long ago."
Liam's head spun.
He didn't know whether to feel fear or pity. Even gods could die. Even this thing could bleed.
"But my essence survived in the void," Azrakul went on, "merging with the remnants of creation—the foundation of the Infernal System that now bonds to you."
"Infernal System?" Liam asked, blinking rapidly. The words tasted metallic on his tongue, unreal.
He half-expected to wake up in his office cubicle with Mark yelling about deadlines again.
"Yes," Azrakul said.
The vast, starry canvas around them thrummed once, like a heartbeat. Liam felt the vibration in his bones.
"The Infernal System is not a tool of mercy or order. It is my broken will—my lingering consciousness given form. It has bonded to you, Liam, not because you are mighty, but because you are possible."
"Possible? What does that mean?" Liam echoed, his voice cracking. "You picked the wrong guy. I—I barely held it together at a 9-to-5 job. I'm not built for this."
Azrakul's gaze burned through him, ancient and merciless.
"And yet, here you stand."
He raised a hand, and the stars coalesced into a burning throne of black rock and fire, its heat washing over Liam like an open furnace.
His skin prickled; his heartbeat thundered.
"This is the core of your new reality," Azrakul declared. "The Throne Engine."
Liam stared at it. Something deep inside him—fear, awe, or maybe acceptance—shifted.
"The universe your enemies know rewards virtue, patience, and repetition," Azrakul said. "Not this one. The Infernal System rewards only three things: Dominance, Belief, and Sin."
Three radiant columns of hellish light erupted from the throne. Liam instinctively shielded his eyes, but curiosity kept him from looking away.
"You have been granted a system designed to steal power," Azrakul said. "To earn it through might, and to fear it into existence."
The scene shifted again—this time to a battlefield drenched in crimson light.
Liam stumbled as the stench of blood hit him. He saw the Infernal Legion—armored demons roaring triumphantly over the broken corpses of radiant soldiers.
"The first pillar is Dominance," Azrakul explained. "To rule the world, you must first rule those who fear you."
A ghostly notification flashed in the air:
[Dominion Established: Fortress of Grathar now feeds Essence to Vraeloth.]
[1000 souls kneel beneath your name. Authority +1%.]
"What you see here is possibility, not reality" Azrakul reminded as Liam stared at the notification in Awe.
"Dominance enhances your aura control," Azrakul said. "Your mental influence. Your foresight. It is the foundation of all rule."
The battlefield melted away, replaced by a sprawling medieval city kneeling before a statue—his statue.
Liam stared, his pulse hammering in disbelief. The people bowed, some praying, some trembling.
He felt their emotions as tangible weight—fear, awe, reverence—pressing into his skin.
"The second pillar is Belief," Azrakul said. "Truth is irrelevant. Belief is godhood."
Liam clenched his fists. "You're saying… if they believe I'm unstoppable—then I am?"
"Exactly," Azrakul replied. "Their perception becomes your reality."
A pulse of data shimmered, an example of Azrakul's words:
[Faith Resonance Detected: 2,431 mortals invoked your name in fear and worship.]
[Conceptual Strength increased by 0.03%.]
Liam's breath caught. The numbers meant nothing—and everything. Each one was a soul, a life reshaped by his existence.
He felt sick. And yet… some quiet, forbidden part of him understood the allure.
The city faded into nothingness, leaving behind only a gigantic, crimson heart chained in the void.
Azrakul's voice deepened. "The final pillar: Sin."
Liam's chest tightened as he stared at the heart's rhythmic pulse. Each beat sent shivers through the stars.
"Sin grows when you defy the cosmic order—when you kill angels, corrupt saints, and rewrite fate itself," Azrakul said. "Every broken law feeds the Infernal System."
Liam shook his head. "So the more I fall… the stronger I become?"
Azrakul's gaze softened—just slightly. "Yes. But each act of Sin brings you closer to losing yourself. To becoming what I once was."
The sorrow in the Primordial Demon's voice was almost human.
Liam said nothing.
He just stared at the heart, listening to its terrible rhythm—and to the whisper in his chest that said maybe, just maybe, this was the only way to survive.
Azrakul's figure became less distinct, his form beginning to dissipate back into the starlight.
"Remember the core directive, Liam," he murmured, his voice fading. "Power is not given. It is stolen, earned, or feared into existence. Now, go. The world awaits..."
Liam understood with unnerving clarity. He wasn't dead, he was just in a new world and to survive in this world, he had to be the monster they want him to be.
And the only thing worse than a monster, was a man desperate enough to become one.
The stars, the void, the remnants of the ancient Demon Lord—all dissolved as the world snapped back to the stark, empty darkness from which it had sprung.
A screen appeared before Liam, solitary and glowing.
[Tutorial: Complete.]
The darkness shattered like glass.
Liam felt it all, the stone beneath him, the air thick with sulfur and heat.
Then his eyes met her once more, Lilith. Her gaze—molten gold, sharp as blades—locked on him.
"You," She hissed, voice trembling on the edge of fury and something she'd never known—uncertainty. "Answer my question. Who are you?"
Liam felt it press on his head—the faint shape of the black crown.
A pressure built behind his eyes. Whispers slipped through the cracks of his mind, tasting his fear.
Then the fear drained away, replaced by something cold and absolute.
The hall went still.
The torches bent toward him as though drawn by gravity. Even the shadows hesitated.
He looked at her—and gave the most menacing smile he could muster.
"I," his voice deeper now, resonant and unshaking, "am your Lord."