Great demon king Pov
The moment Lucian accepted the mark, I felt it—a ripple through the fabric of
reality itself. His soul, fragile and trembling with grief, became bound to me in an
instant. That moment was... exquisite. Perfect. He was more than I had
anticipated. Stronger. Darker. A vessel not just for my power, but for chaos itself.
I stood at the heart of my domain, the darkness coiling and shifting around me
like a living thing. My throne, forged from the abyss, hummed with the resonance
of his transformation. The void trembled, aware of the change that now rippled
across the planes.
He was no longer the man the world thought it knew. The Lucian Blackwell who
walked the earth moments ago had been shattered. What remained was mine—his
pain, his anger, his thirst for vengeance. They coursed through the bond like a
song, raw and beautiful in its torment.
I extended my senses, reaching across the planes to where he knelt, his mortal
body still wracked with the agony of the mark. The suffering had twisted his very
soul, reshaping it into something magnificent. The gods and their sycophants
would call it a curse, but they lacked vision. They could not comprehend what I
had given him.
"Yes," I murmured, my voice reverberating through the void. "Feel it. Let it
consume you."
The shadows around me deepened, drawn to the power flowing from the bond. His
mark was unlike any other—not a divine blessing but a brand of chaos, carved into
his very being by my will. It pulsed with life, a living, breathing testament to what
he would become.
The gods would tremble if they saw him now. Not because of his strength—no,
not yet. It was his potential that would haunt them. His grief, his rage, his
defiance—all of it was the fire that would fuel his rise.
Mortals are so fragile, so fleeting. Yet in their pain, they find purpose. It is a
truth the gods fear, for they coddle their chosen ones, whispering promises of
strength in exchange for obedience. But strength given is hollow. Strength earned
through agony—through suffering—is eternal.
Lucian understood that, even if he did not yet realize it. That is why he was mine.
That is why he would burn the world that had wronged him.
I gazed into the swirling vortexes of power that filled my domain, watching as
they bent to my will. The void itself responded to the resonance of his awakening.
His suffering was not a flaw but a foundation. The torment that twisted his soul
was proof of his worth.
He would serve his purpose, as many before him had. But unlike the others—those
fragile puppets who danced for me until their strings frayed—Lucian would not
falter. His thirst for vengeance would drive him further than any of my creations.
A faint smile played at my lips. "Lucian Blackwell," I whispered into the abyss, my
voice a low growl that rippled through the darkness. "You are no longer a man. You
are mine. And soon, the world will bow to what we will become."
The shadows seemed to tremble at my words, echoing the promise of what was to
come.
The shadows coiled tighter around my throne, feeding on the resonance of my
satisfaction. The void knew its master's will and responded with eager submission.
And yet, not all shared my vision.
A voice broke through the silence, sharp and laced with barely contained anger.
"By him, my Lord?"
The sound echoed through the chamber as one of my subordinates stepped
forward, their silhouette wavering against the oppressive darkness. Their
defiance was laced with fear, their tone with agony at the choice they dared
question.
"Why him?" they repeated, their voice cracking under the weight of their
audacity. "He is... mortal. Unremarkable. Why bestow such a gift upon one so
ordinary, when you could have chosen—"
The void seemed to pulse as I slowly turned to face them. The air grew heavy,
suffused with power that pressed against the very essence of those who dwelled
in my domain.
"Ordinary?" I repeated, my voice a soft murmur, though it carried like a storm.
They faltered but did not fall silent. "Yes, my Lord. He is nothing. He was not
even awakened before you marked him! Surely, there were others—stronger,
more worthy—"
The subordinate's words hung in the air, brittle and fragile, daring to linger where
they should not.
I rose from my throne, a movement that was unhurried yet carried the weight of
inevitability. The void trembled with every step as I descended toward them,
shadows curling at my feet like obedient hounds.
"Stronger?" I asked, my voice a low growl that resonated through the chamber.
"More worthy?"
The subordinate dared not meet my gaze. Their defiance had already faltered,
and the weight of my presence bore down on them, threatening to crush what
remained of their insolence.
"Tell me," I said, stepping closer until the distance between us was no more than
a breath. The void writhed around us, eager for my command. "What strength is
it you speak of? The strength of those who crawl to the gods for scraps? The
strength of those who parade their power as though it was earned and not
bestowed like a bauble for the obedient?"
The subordinate stammered, their arrogance dissolving into incoherent muttering.
"Lucian Blackwell," I continued, my tone sharper now, a blade cutting through
their feeble protests. "He was forged in fire. He clawed his way from nothing,
not by divine favour or chance, but by sheer will. His strength is not borrowed. It
is not gifted. It is his. And now, it is mine."
I paused, letting the weight of my next words descend like a storm. "The gods
choose the strong to preserve their honour. But if I were to choose a stronger
man, what would be the difference between me and those gods?"
The subordinate faltered, clearly caught by the question. Their breath hitched
as they struggled for an answer.
"You would question my choice?" I said, my voice thick with menace. "You, who
cower in my presence, who dare to speak of worthiness when you cannot fathom
the depths of his potential?"
The subordinate collapsed to their knees; their bravado shattered. "Forgive me,
my Lord," they gasped, trembling. "I—I did not mean—"
"You did," I interrupted, standing tall once more, the full weight of my power
pressing down upon them. "And you are fortunate that I find your ignorance
amusing rather than intolerable."
The chamber grew colder, the void quieting as I returned to my throne.
"Lucian is no ordinary mortal," I said, my voice steady and resolute, echoing
through the vast darkness. "He is the storm that will tear apart the heavens, the
fire that will reduce their sanctimonious thrones to ash. And when the gods finally
see what I have wrought, they will weep at the knowledge that they were too
blind to see the chaos growing in their midst."
I leaned back, the throne embracing me with its shadows. "That is why I chose
him. Because where others falter, he rises. And where others serve, he will reign."
I let the silence stretch before adding, my tone dark and filled with purpose, "To
him, I am not a demon. I am his saviour. I am his god. And he will not only follow
me—he will show the gods the error of their ways."
The subordinate remained on the ground, silent and subdued, as the chamber
settled into an oppressive stillness.
The subordinate's voice broke the silence, fragile and uncertain, like glass
cracking under pressure.
"But my lord, what if he turns on us? Such strength unchecked could become...
dangerous."
I felt the weight of their words. The chamber grew colder, the shadows
tightening around me as my gaze sharpened. I could hear the pulse of my own
blood, a low hum that vibrated through the darkness. My eyes, glowing with bloodred intensity, locked onto the trembling subordinate. Their fear was palpable, a
scent I revelled in, but there was no time for such weakness.
"Then I will remind him who gave him that strength," I said, my voice low, like the
growl of thunder before a storm. The air thickened with every syllable, pressing
down on the subordinate as if it could crush them. "But fear not—"
I let the silence hang, stretching it for a long moment. The tension in the room,
the weight of my presence, it was enough to make the air itself shudder. And just
as quickly as the storm had gathered, it seemed to break.
A smile spread across my face, slow and deliberate, like a predator who had finally
cornered its prey. The intensity in my eyes softened, my posture relaxing as if a
weight had been lifted. My tone shifted, light, almost whimsical, carrying a
warmth that contrasted sharply with the shadowed depths of the chamber.
"His hatred, his grief, and his thirst for vengeance bind him to me." The words
spilled from my lips, cheerful, almost giddy, like a lover sharing a secret only they
knew. "As long as those chains hold, he is ours."
I chuckled, a sound that was soft but carried an undeniable edge. There was
something delicious about the way he would burn for me, something that made my
chest swell with pride.
"No need to worry, little one," I continued, my voice dripping with a lightheartedness that seemed to soften the very air around us. "It's a beautiful thing,
really—such perfect loyalty. The most... delightful kind."
I leaned back, basking in the comfort of my throne, the shadows wrapping around
me like an old friend. The weight of my power, my control, was soothing. It was
comforting to know that all of this—the fear, the loyalty, the strength—was mine
to command.
"Lucian Blackwell will never stray," I mused, my voice taking on a dreamy, almost
playful quality. "The fire that burns within him is all mine to feed. And when it
does—" I leaned forward again, my smile widening, "—he will burn everything, just
as I desire."
I let out a quiet laugh, a sound that echoed softly through the dark, full of dark
amusement and a touch of affection for the chaos that was about to unfold.
I watched as the subordinate bowed deeply, their fear still clinging to the edges
of the void like a lingering shadow. They would learn in time. They all would.
Strength did not come from power alone—it came from purpose, from fire forged
in the crucible of despair.
The chamber fell silent again as I leaned back in my throne, the shadows
embracing me as an old friend might. My gaze turned inward, toward the endless
abyss that stretched beyond even my comprehension. There, in the dark, I saw
him—Lucian Blackwell, his eyes burning with defiance, his soul a raging storm.
"Lucian Blackwell..." I murmured, the name carrying weight, as though speaking it
aloud gave it life beyond my reach. "You will be the reckoning this world deserves."
The void seemed to pulse at my words, as though even it anticipated what was to
come. I could see it already: the heavens trembling, the gods clutching their
fragile thrones as he rose from the ashes of their arrogance.
"When the gods beg for mercy," I continued, my voice soft yet resolute, "they
will learn the folly of turning their backs on men like you."
I let the silence stretch, savouring the thought. It was poetic, in a way. A mortal—
a man they scorned, ignored, and cast aside—would be the one to drag them from
their lofty pedestals and grind their sanctimony into dust.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. "Yes," I whispered, the shadows
swirling at my feet, "you will show them, Lucian. You will remind them that fire,
once ignited, cannot be controlled. It only burns. And it destroys."
The chamber grew still, the oppressive weight of my presence settling back into
its familiar rhythm. My throne seemed to hum beneath me, as though it, too,
revelled in the anticipation of what was to come.
And for the first time in an eternity, I felt... exhilaration.