The air in the Throne Room of the Netherworld was thick with a stillness that only absolute power could command.
Delkira, the Demon King, sat upon his throne of obsidian and moonlight, a figure of silent, immense authority.
His gaze was fixed on the swirling mists that danced in the hall, a part of him restless despite the tranquility of his domain.
Centuries of rule had brought a profound loneliness, a weight of responsibility that no one else could understand.
He longed for something more than reverence and fear.
He yearned for a connection.
Suddenly, the stillness shattered. A brilliant, blinding light erupted in the center of the room, smelling of ozone and something foreign and earthy-the scent of the human world.
A summoning circle, crude and hastily drawn, pulsed with raw magic. Delkira's guard, an imposing demon with six eyes, immediately fell into a defensive stance, his weapon drawn.
"What's happening?!" he roared,
but Delkira merely raised a hand, his curiosity piqued. He was the strongest of all demons; a poorly executed summoning could not harm him.
The light faded, revealing a figure huddled on the floor. It was a young woman, her clothes torn, her face streaked with tears and dirt. Her hands, trembling, clutched a worn, dog-eared book, a makeshift grimoire.
"Please," she sobbed, her voice a fragile whisper.
"Please help me. He's going to kill me."
She looked up, and her eyes, a startlingly bright shade of blue, met his. In that moment, the weight of centuries lifted from Delkira's shoulders. This was not a summoner seeking power or glory; this was a plea for help from a soul in absolute despair.
"Who is this 'he'?" Delkira's voice, usually a deep rumble, was a gentle query.
"My boyfriend," she choked out,
"he's... he's a monster. I can't escape him. He's going to find me. He's going to..."
She couldn't finish the thought, consumed by fear.
She saw the most powerful demon in existence, and all she could feel was the terrifying love and fear for a monster in human skin.
Delkira rose from his throne, his form shifting and shrinking until he was a human-sized figure. The guards, shocked, watched as their king descended from his throne, not to punish the intruder, but to stand before her, his hand outstretched. He had felt the raw, powerful magic of her summon, a magic born not of a spell, but of a strong will to survive and protect. It was a force more ancient than any demon, and he was captivated by it.
"He will not touch you again," Delkira promised, his voice now a comforting whisper.
With a simple gesture, he stepped through the lingering residue of the summoning circle.
The Throne Room of the Netherworld vanished, replaced by a squalid human apartment filled with the stench of cheap liquor and fear.
A man with a cruel sneer stood over a broken chair, his eyes wide with surprise and rage.
The man saw the young woman and Delkira, and his sneer turned into a smirk.
"So you found a new man, did you?" he snarled, taking a menacing step toward her.
He didn't get to finish his thought. A wave of silent, invisible power rippled from Delkira. The man didn't scream, didn't fall, he simply ceased to exist, turning to dust and scattering in the stagnant air.
The young woman watched, her eyes wide, but there was no fear in her gaze. Only wonder and relief.
Delkira looked at her, truly looked at her. He saw not just a victim, but a survivor. A fierce, brave, and utterly beautiful soul who, in her darkest hour, had reached out and pulled the Demon King out of his eternal loneliness.
And in that moment, in a dingy human apartment, Delkira, the King of the Netherworld, fell in love.