The chamber was vast, gilded in ancient marble and blessed by celestial architects — yet none of that beauty mattered when he stepped in.
The Demon King, once prince of Verdantia, now embodiment of destruction, took his first step across the polished stone floor of the Queen's throne room. Behind him, his silent, broken brother trailed like a shadow.
And then — the barrier descended.
It was invisible at first, like the press of divine air. But in seconds, the pressure twisted, folded, and weighed down like the wrath of gods. The Queen's ultimate defensive seal, said to multiply all sensation by ten thousand — especially pain. A single breath within it could turn lungs to fire. Moving through it was suicide.
None had ever broken it.
The chamber's guards, attendants, generals, and high priests exhaled, some in relief. Now they would see the Demon King kneel.
But he didn't stop walking.
He didn't stagger, stumble, scream, or even flinch.
He advanced.
One step.
Two.
Every movement of his boots echoed like a war drum. The pressure warped around him, reality bending — but not him. The aura radiating off his body ate through the spell like it was paper in a bonfire. The marble floor cracked under his power instead of the barrier stopping him.
Whispers broke out. Faces twisted in terror. The Queen's personal guards stepped back involuntarily.
And still he came.
He looked around as he moved. The chamber was beautiful — adorned with crystal walls, floating chandeliers of everlight, murals of peace and unity. It was not like his realm of darkness and ash. It was what Verdantia could have been.
And then his eyes met hers.
The Queen had risen, cloaked in radiant white and silver. A calm storm brewed behind her eyes — the same age as him, yet she stood like someone born to rule, not destroy.
Then she activated her gaze — the gift of fragmented foresight.
She saw glimpses — shattered pieces of a boy in chains, beaten beneath stone, blood pooling on cold floors, crying without sound, starving, burning, surviving...
Her breath caught.
And he felt it.
His gaze darkened instantly.
A chill ran through the chamber.
"Don't look into me."
His voice rumbled like an ancient curse. A beat later — he unleashed everything.
The barrier shattered into dust.
The holy constructs binding the room cracked and fell in silent pieces. Lamps extinguished. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Before anyone could speak — he moved.
Five blurs of steel and motion — and then five heads fell with a wet thud. Blood spread like ink across white stone.
Gasps rang out.
It wasn't the shock of death that stunned them. It was who had died.
General Varnax, Commander of the Guard.
High Priest Selor, spiritual leader of the realm.
Chancellor Mevra, voice of policy and law.
Councilor Haldein, speaker for the people.
And... Maid Nessa — the Queen's most trusted handmaiden.
The Queen didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply watched.
The Demon King turned to her. Their eyes met once again.
"Don't trust everyone."
That was all he said. Cold. Absolute.
Then he turned and began walking away.
Guards surged forward, weapons drawn.
"STOP HIM!"
But the Queen raised a hand. Her voice was firm.
"No one moves."
Shock. Confusion. Rage. But none disobeyed.
They all trusted her — even now.
Even when she let the most feared being in the world walk out after murdering her closest council.
Later…
As the blood was being cleaned from the marble floor, a soft clink echoed. A rolled scroll dropped from the robes of Chancellor Mevra. The Queen picked it up with trembling hands.
She unrolled it — and her eyes widened.
A signed pact.A treacherous plan.The five conspirators. A foreign kingdom. A coup to dethrone her.
The Queen said nothing. She stared at the parchment, at the betrayal, at the faces of those she'd trusted.
Her hands shook not with grief — but with guilt. She hadn't seen it. She couldn't see it.
He had.