Morning came too early and too bright. I woke up sore, groggy, and half-convinced last night's assassination attempt had just been a stress dream—until I saw the broken window, the scorch marks, and Alzareth still drooling on his pillow with Soulrender cuddled to his chest.
"Morning, sunshine," I muttered, thinking back to the one hour of sleep I was able to catch last night.
He cracked one eye open. "You look like shit."
"Yeah, about that."
I gave him the short version—hooded assassin, pepper-spray miracle, broken window.
He blinked twice, shrugged, and said, "Cool story, bro."
"That's it?!" I snapped. "Someone tried to stab me last night!"
"Yeah, and you didn't die. That's what we call growth, champ." He yawned. "Wake me when breakfast is ready."
I stared at him. "You're literally the worst bodyguard ever."
"Never said I wasn't."
While he snored, I started packing my things, trying to ignore the faint smell of ozone and crispy assassin residue.
That's when I saw it—half-buried in the floorboards, glinting faintly under the morning light.
A small, warped metal plate, blackened and scorched around the edges. Strange symbols were etched across it—an ouroboros wrapped around a sun, its serpent jaws biting its own tail. The metal still felt warm to the touch, like it had been forged in something not quite fire.
I frowned. "Yeah. Totally not cursed."
Tossing it in my pocket, I headed downstairs to find Luthren—because apparently, I'm a magnet for bad omens.
Luthren was halfway through a mug of ale and a midlife crisis when I walked in.
"Morning," I said, dropping the metal plate onto the counter. "Found this upstairs left behind by last night's home-invasion. Pretty sure it's not part of the continental breakfast. Also, I am not paying for the damages. Just letting you know that."
He glanced down—then froze mid-sip.
"Where… where did you find this?"
"Under my bed. Next to the bloodstains and my dignity."
His face went pale. His hand trembled slightly as he picked it up. "This… this is no mere trinket. It's the mark of The Ouroboran Choir."
I started to sweat a bit. "Please tell me it's a recently discovered metal band and not an evil underground sect trying to revive eldritch entities."
Luthren didn't laugh. "They are no band, Samuel. They are an ancient cult. One so old that most kingdoms have them written off as folklore. They worship Vorgathon, the End-Serpent—the first abyssal god, the one said to coil around creation itself."
"That is one crazy snake."
He ignored me. "They believe existence is a loop of rebirth and destruction, and that by reawakening Vorgathon, the world will begin anew in their desired image—after it ends."
I stared at him. "…You can stop talking now."
"They predate even the historic Demon King's Empire," Luthren said, voice dropping. "If their mark has resurfaced, something ancient stirs beneath Gryndalon's crust. You must go to Brislewick and warn the Holy Church of Solaria Sanctum stationed there near the edge of the city. They guard records about the Ouroboran seals—if any still exist."
At that exact moment, Alzareth appeared on the stairs—half-dressed, hair wild, one sock missing.
"Yo," he mumbled. "Who's waking the ancient snake god at what now?"
Luthren looked at him with strained reverence. "Azure Dragon… may I ask—are you on the side of humanity, or the devil?"
Alzareth scratched his head, rubbed his face, and said, "Bro, I haven't even had coffee yet. Let's circle back to that first."
And that's when I snapped.
"NO! No, no, no, NO! I'm done. I am so done!"
Luthren blinked. "Doing what again?"
"This!" I shouted, pointing at him like he was the physical embodiment of bad news. "The whole ancient cult, cosmic snake end of the world apocalypse thing! You think I care about this lore dump, Luthren? I don't give a shit! Monsters, demons, bandits, and now doomsday serpent enthusiasts—it's like living in a 24-hour panic attack!"
Alzareth yawned. "Technically twenty-three hours. You said you slept one hour tonight."
"Yeah, BECAUSE EVERYTHING WANTS TO GODDAMN KILL ME!" I yelled. "My entire survival plan depends on this walking natural disaster who only hangs around because I bribe him with chocolate!"
Alzareth mumbled without opening his eyes, "And a guitar."
"AND A FUCKING GUITAR!" I screamed.
Silence.
Luthren blinked, lips twitching. "…I was merely trying to be of help to you, Samuel."
"Yeah, and I know, Luthren, I know! You mean well!"
I held up my hand, fingers an inch apart. "But I am this close to losing it. This close!"
Luthren stepped back. "Samuel, you must remain calm. Such erratic behavior is unbecoming of a man of—"
"Oh, shut up! You think I don't know?!" I was pacing now. "I'm twenty! I was supposed to be worrying about rent, not Ragnarok! I'm not built for this, Luthren! You might be, with your whole 'righteous knight with a tragic backstory' vibe, but I'm not!"
Luthren's voice hardened. "Then heed my words. The Church of Solaria—"
"OH, HERE WE GO!" I threw my hands in the air. "The Church! Yeah, let's talk about them! Guess what. I bet they're evil too, huh? Secretly sacrificing orphans, setting fire to villages, and blessing the ashes in the name of god! THIS SHIT WRITES ITSELF LUTHREN!"
"Blasphemy!" Luthren barked. "Do not speak such vile heresy, lest the light of Solaria smite your tongue!"
"AND THERE IT IS!" I yelled.
"Inquisition, right on cue! The Church is just a cult with more paperwork!"
Alzareth nodded solemnly. "Facts."
"THANK YOU!" I pointed at him like a game show contestant. "Finally someone who gets it!"
I grabbed my coat, stormed toward the door, then spun around dramatically.
"And if the Church of Solaria wants to 'cleanse my soul'—they can start by cleaning these nuts!"
"Samuel!" Luthren called after me. "You're making a mistake!"
"Story of my goddamn life!" I shouted back, nearly tripping over the step as I stormed out.
The door slammed shut behind me.
Inside, silence.
Then Alzareth, sipping Luthren's ale:
"Man's one bad day away from becoming a warlock."
Luthren sighed deeply. "At this rate, I fear he already is."
By noon, the carriage was ready—A really large sturdy horse, packed lunches, and the faint hangover of last night's emotional rock concert paired with the trauma of my recent assassination attempt.
Before leaving, I wheeled the jukebox over to Luthren. "Parting gift. For hospitality, and as an apology for my emotional outburst earlier."
He clutched it like a sacred relic. "It is okay Sam. I know you meant no ill intent. May the gods bless you and that 'Bon Jovi' fellow."
"Tell him I said hi when you ascend," I said.
Alzareth gave a lazy wave as we climbed aboard. "Keep the stew hot, old man. We'll probably blow something up on the way back."
And that was when we finally set off the continuation of our journey.
The road to Brislewick wound through grass-clad hills wrapped in wheat fields. The driver—a young man named Joren—hummed softly, reins steady.
I tried to focus on the landscape instead of cults, assassins, or the fact that my traveling companion was a dragon demigod with clinical apathy.
"So," I said, "we gonna talk about the murder attempt?"
Alzareth leaned back, eyes closed. "Nope."
"You're unbelievable."
"I know."
Hours passed. The air thickened. The horse started snorting and stamping nervously.
"Uh, Alzareth?" I said. "You feel that?"
He nodded, sitting up slowly. "Yeah. Something's off."
The driver suddenly groaned and collapsed, hands slipping from the reins. His skin went pale.
"Joren!" I caught him as he slumped. "What the hell is happening—"
"Demonic pressure," Alzareth muttered. "Stay still."
The air grew dense, shimmering with oily black mana. Then the shadows ahead rippled and condensed into a figure—tall, elegant, and terrifying. His cloak was woven from smoke, horns curling back like polished blades and his eyes glowed the color of bruised twilight.
Now, here's the thing—
I'm not even from this world.
Back home, demons were just movie villains and bad tattoo art. When I got dumped here into this fantasy world, people wouldn't shut up about the "Demon Empire" that almost wiped out humanity four hundred years ago.
These days it's just folklore, a legend told between generations—something grandpas whisper to kids to make them eat their vegetables: "Finish your stew, or the Demon King will come for you."
Nobody's seen a demon in centuries.
Well… until I just did.
The demon stepped forward, every stride cracking the dirt beneath him, each exhale warping the air like heat off a furnace.
When he spoke, his voice was velvet over thunder—deep enough to shake the marrow.
"Azure Dragon," the demon rumbled, "after a century of watching from the Rift, we finally meet."
Alzareth blinked. "...Do I know you?"
A flicker of irritation crossed the demon's obsidian features, quickly smothered beneath regal composure.
"No. Not personally. But we have been aware of you for quite some time. I am Alyknor, First of the Four Heavenly Demon Generals. My kind has watched your realm for nearly a century, monitoring the ripples of your awakening. You've been… difficult to ignore."
Alzareth scratched the back of his head. "So you've been stalking me?"
"Observing," Alyknor corrected. "Your emergence shook the mana spectrum across half the continent. The demons stationed along the Veil reported an entity with draconic energy unmatched since the Age of Calamity. Naturally, we assumed you were one of them."
"Them?" I asked.
Alyknor gave me a look like I'd just spilled wine on a royal carpet, then quickly returned his gaze to Alzareth.
"Our scouts report seven Z-class beings now walk this world. I was sent under orders to treat your kind as equals, not enemies. The late Demon King himself forged peace with your predecessors. He swore not to harm them, in exchange for their permission to rule the mortal plane. He offered them titles of nobility under the Demon Throne, their sovereignty untouched."
Alzareth startled. "Wait—permission?"
"That is correct," Alyknor said gravely. "It was a pact of power and respect."
There was a pause. Then Alzareth started to giggle.
"Pffft—sorry, my bad," he wheezed. "It's just… man, that's so lame. Imagine wanting to take over the world but you gotta file a request form first. Like, 'Hey, can I go to war now, Mister Z-class?' Bro. That's just embarrassing."
Alyknor's expression didn't move, but the temperature in the air did—up.
I felt it crawling up my spine like boiling water. The amount of murderous intent bleeding off this guy could've suffocated a swamp of alligators. Yet alzareth didn't stop giggling. In fact, he started to laugh now.
"'Hey mom! Can I start Orc War Eight now? I finished my oatmeal and cleaned my room. I'll be back before dinner, promise!' Hahahahahaha!"
Alyknor's lip twitched, his fist tightening at his side. His composure wavered, but somehow he forced it back down.
"Please allow me to elaborate on the history of this treaty," he said through clenched teeth. " Our former liege first constructed this pact with the two Z-class entities who walked this realm four centuries ago—the only beings our late Demon King dared not to confront."
He glanced toward the horizon, voice dropping lower.
"The first was a human known as The Mercurial Mountain Cleaver—a swordsman who could cut miracles themselves. The second, an elf mortals once called The Forest God. His roots still spread through this world even now. One of your seven, I believe."
Alzareth whistled lazily. "Okay."
Alyknor went on stiffly. "There was a third, though not part of the treaty—a lizardman. Savage, impulsive. He slew one of our generals over what records describe as… an 'insult about his hat.'"
"Classic," Alzareth muttered. "Never diss a man's drip."
I tried not to laugh. I failed a little. Alyknor didn't notice; he was already moving to the heavy part.
"Do not take this lightly. The age of silence is over," he said. "The Demon Realm stirs once more. Our king's son—the last of his blood—prepares to ascend. A century of preparation, observation, and ritual has led to this. Soon, the Ecliptic Core will open a permanent bridge between realms. We shall no longer be fleeting spirits bound by time or death. We will return."
"Cool," Alzareth said, totally unmoved. "You guys get, like, vacation days with that or what?"
The muscle in Alyknor's jaw twitched. "This is not mockery, Azure Dragon. I speak of the rise of an empire. The heir to the Demon Throne will reclaim the surface of Gryndalon and unite all realms under one eternal dominion."
Alzareth leaned against a rock, eyes half-closed. "Neat. So… world domination again? Man, that's gotta be stressful. You ever just… chill in your own realm, do some yoga, take it easy? Global conquest sounds exhausting."
"…You truly bear the same madness as your predecessors," the demon muttered darkly.
"He does," I said before I could stop myself.
Alyknor's head snapped toward me, eyes burning like molten suns. "Silence, lesser creature. This is not your tongue's place."
I shut up immediately. But Alzareth didn't.
His grin vanished. His eyes opened fully—two orbs of molten scarlet. And his voice dropped low enough to raise the dead back to life.
"Let him speak," Alzareth said.
A weight fell on the world.
Not gravity.
Not even pressure.
Just him.
Even Alyknor—the First of the Heavenly Demon Generals—stumbled. His knees buckled before he caught himself. For the first time in centuries, fear touched his blood.
But then—rage crept in.
Hot, prideful, suffocating rage.
This…THIS IMPUDENT BRAT! To speak to me, Alyknor, the Marauder of Darkness, which such audacity. A demon noble, born from a bloodline of superior devils. To be humiliated before a mortal—or by this…smirking degenerate who reeks of smoke and insolence.
"F-Forgive me, Azure Dragon," he managed. "I meant no disrespect."
"Good," Alzareth replied, his voice mellow again, like he'd already forgotten the apocalypse he'd just caused. "Then let's continue the sales pitch, buddy. I'm listening"
The demon swallowed hard, trying to rebuild his composure. "The Demon Realm will rise again. But the new king seeks peace first—an accord between the bearers of the rank called Z-class and the Abyss. We do not wish to repeat the wars of old."
Alzareth blinked slowly, then fished in his pocket for a flask. "Peace, huh? Yeah, I'd angle for that too if I just kept on losing inter-dimensional scuffles like that."
Alyknor stiffened. "…We do not lose. We endure."
"Sure," Alzareth said, taking a lazy swig. "Like that one king of yours, right? The fiery guy from those bedtime stories people tell their kids before bed—what was his name? Lord Toasty or something?"
The demon's cape bristled. "You mean Lord Tolthanos. He was our late king, the Eternal Sovereign of the Nine Flames and the one responsible for unifying the demon realm under his divine rule. Watch your words, mortal."
"Yeah, yeah, Nine Flames, big whoop." Alzareth tilted his head. "Didn't he get wrecked by some teenager with daddy issues wielding a holy sword and an elf who talks to trees?"
"YOU! Blegh-GHagdc…."
Alyknor was now on the verge of crashing the fuck out. Never in his near 500 years of existence, has he ever received such a disrespectful tone from anyone. Much less from a man who looked like he just walked out of a rehab center.
Now he even mocks the King.
The Eternal Ruler of the Abyss.
My lord… my savior… reduced to a mere punchline.
"You dare," he hissed. "You dare speak ill of His Majesty as if he were—"
"Oh yeah," Alzareth interrupted. "Wasn't he the guy with a foot fetish for dwarves or something?"
That was it. The last thread snapped.
Alyknor roared—a sound that split the clouds—and in a blur of motion faster than lightning, he slammed his fist into Alzareth's face.
The punch landed like a meteor. The shockwave vaporized the grass, shredded the carriage, and sent me tumbling through the dirt like a rag doll.
For a moment, everything was silent except for the ringing in my skull.
Alyknor stood there, panting, eyes wide. His knuckles steamed from the impact.
Alzareth hadn't moved. His head hung low, neck twisted at a crooked angle.
Then—crack.
He straightened it with a slow, casual twist. The vertebrae popped back into place like puzzle pieces.
"Oh," he said softly. "So you wanna do it that way."
He smiled one last time, before any shred of emotion left his face entirely.
"Hope you brought a map, Alyknor…"
The earth trembled.
"'Cause I'm about to show you every road—"
Blue fire erupted, swallowing everything.
"…that leads straight back to hell."