Lucian POV
The penthouse was cloaked in silence, the kind that amplified every creak and
whisper of thought. The city of Caelum sprawled below, a glittering sea of lights,
but I wasn't admiring the view. My gaze was fixed on the whiskey swirling in my
glass, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the moonlight.
The conversation with Seraphim replayed in my mind, every word, every glance,
dissected and turned over like evidence in a trial. At first, I was satisfied—
another meeting carefully steered, another potential threat managed. But then,
like a splinter buried deep, a memory jabbed at me.
"Like Thorne's study, for example—meticulously clean, not a speck out of place.
Almost as if it was scrubbed down before anything happened. Doesn't that strike
you as strange?"
The words had slipped out so naturally, I almost hadn't noticed. But now, they
hung in my mind like a noose. That detail wasn't public. No one but the
investigators and myself should've known.
I cursed under my breath, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Seraphim hadn't
reacted immediately, but I'd caught the brief flicker in his eyes. He didn't know
yet, but the seed was planted. The thought of his mind working through it, piece
by piece, sent a chill down my spine—not fear, but annoyance. A misstep.
I set the glass down on the table with a soft clink and leaned back in my chair,
the cool leather pressing against my skin.
"A slip like that could cost you everything."
The voice slithered into my thoughts, a venomous whisper that sent a ripple
through my composure.
"Kill him, Lucian. End it now before his divine stench chokes you. That creature is
no mere man. He is poison to your cause."
The Demon King's presence was as familiar as my own reflection, his voice dripping
with mockery and malice.
"Patience," I replied aloud, my tone steady. "Killing him now would be reckless.
He's following a false trail, one I've laid carefully. Let him chase ghosts."
The laughter that followed was low and guttural, shaking the air like distant
thunder.
"You think you control the board, little king? Seraphim is no pawn. He's the blade
poised at your throat, and you handed it to him."
I didn't answer. Instead, I stood and walked to the window, staring out over the
city. The mark on my chest pulsed faintly, a dull ache that I had grown used to.
The Demon King's words were designed to unsettle, to sow doubt, but I knew his
game.
"He'll learn," I murmured, mostly to myself. "But not yet. By the time he sees the
truth, it will be too late."
The Demon King's presence faded, his laughter lingering like smoke. I traced the
edge of the glass in my hand, my mind already turning to the next move. The slipup was unfortunate, but it wasn't catastrophic. Seraphim could dig all he wanted—
he'd find exactly what I wanted him to.
And when the time came, when he thought he'd uncovered the truth, I'd remind
him who set the game in motion.
With a final glance at the skyline, I extinguished the lights, leaving the penthouse
in shadow. Mistakes could be corrected. Missteps could be managed.
This wasn't an end. It was merely a pause before the next act.
I barely took two steps toward my room before the air around me shifted
violently. It was like being caught in a whirlwind, an unseen force yanking me
backward with a strength I couldn't resist. My vision blurred, the familiar outlines
of my penthouse dissolving into a storm of shadow and flame.
The ground dropped out from beneath me, and I fell.
When I landed, it wasn't gentle. My knees struck an obsidian floor, smooth and
cold to the touch, faintly glowing with red veins like molten lava trapped beneath
its surface. The air was thick, suffocating, each breath tasting of ash and sulfur.
I pushed myself to my feet, my gaze sweeping the endless void of flickering fire
and darkness. Then I saw him.
The Demon King.
He didn't look like a monster.
Seated on a throne carved from blackened stone, its edges jagged and sharp as
if forged from the remnants of a shattered world, he radiated power. His posture
was elegant yet commanding, his legs casually crossed, his hand resting on the arm
of the throne as if he owned the universe itself.
He wore a tailored suit—a deep crimson jacket with subtle black embroidery that
caught the dim light, paired with black slacks and an open-collared shirt. It was a
look that seemed almost mundane, and yet, on him, it carried an air of
overwhelming menace.
His face was unnervingly perfect, sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and full
lips curled into a smirk that danced on the edge of mockery. His eyes, twin pools
of burning crimson, pierced through the haze that surrounded him, their gaze
heavy with both amusement and unspoken threat.
But it was the black haze that clung to him—writhing like living smoke, almost
obscuring his form—that gave him away. The haze shifted and twisted, forming
ephemeral shapes, whispers of faces screaming silently before dissolving into
nothingness.
"You've been careless," he said, his voice smooth, velvety, yet carrying a weight
that pressed against my chest. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
I stood tall, ignoring the oppressive heat and the tightening grip of his presence.
"You dragged me here for a lecture?" I asked, my tone sharp, though I kept my
face impassive.
He chuckled, low and dangerous, the sound reverberating like a distant quake.
"You've stumbled, little king. Revealing knowledge of that study… It was sloppy. A
slip like that could cost you everything."
I clenched my fists. That detail had been minor—a momentary lapse, not a
catastrophe.
"I'll handle it," I said coldly, meeting his gaze.
The Demon King uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his
knees. The movement was deliberate, his gaze locked onto mine, the faint smirk
never leaving his lips.
"Handle it?" he said, almost purring. "You cling to control like a man clutching a
blade by its edge. But how much longer before the blood dripping from your hands
is your own? Let go, Lucian. Let me guide you."
"I'm not your puppet," I snapped, my voice steady despite the tightening grip of
the haze around me. "You gave me power, but this war is mine. I decide how it's
fought."
His smirk widened, revealing unnervingly white teeth. "Ah, such confidence," he
said, leaning back against his throne. "But we both know the truth. You can resist
all you like, but every choice you make, every life you take, every drop of blood
spilled in my name—brings you closer to me. You're already mine, Lucian."
The air rippled violently as the haze around him expanded, coiling like a predator
ready to strike. The world began to fracture again, the obsidian beneath my feet
cracking as though rejecting me.
The last thing I saw before I was wrenched back was his smirk, wider now, his
crimson eyes burning with triumph.
When I landed, it was in my penthouse once more, the cool air of reality washing
over me like a bitter relief. My legs gave out, and I sank onto the floor, my breaths
shallow, my heart racing.
Even here, his voice echoed faintly in the back of my mind, carrying a taunt that
refused to fade.
"Run all you like, little king. The end always brings you back to me."
But just as his words echoed in my mind, his demeanor shifted. The oppressive
weight in the air lifted as his fiery crimson eyes softened, fading into an
unsettlingly bright, almost playful blue.
The corners of his lips curled into a mischievous grin, his posture relaxing as he
leaned back into his throne. He propped one leg casually over the other, his tone
suddenly lighthearted and far too amused for my liking.
"Well, it does amuse me to see how you struggle," he said, his voice now carrying
a playful lilt. "Like a mouse in a maze—determined, stubborn, utterly predictable.
I must admit, it's quite the show!" He let out a laugh, sharp and oddly melodic, as
if he found genuine delight in my defiance.
I stayed silent, glaring at him. The sudden shift in personality was jarring, but I'd
learned better than to let him see how it affected me.
His grin widened as he wagged a finger at me, mockingly scolding. "Oh, don't give
me that look! If I wanted to crush you, I would've done it long ago. But where's
the fun in that? Watching you scheme, stumble, and claw your way through my
game? It's... delicious."
He stood abruptly, his movements fluid and unnervingly graceful. With a dramatic
wave of his hand, the haze around him swirled and pulsed, as if alive, before it
rushed toward me.
"Well then," he said with a gleeful clap of his hands, "I suppose I'll let you be for
now. Go on, little king. Back to your dreary little world. But don't forget…" He
leaned in, his blue eyes gleaming with an almost childlike glee. "You'll always end
up here in the end."
Before I could respond, the haze engulfed me completely, the world spinning
violently as his laughter rang in my ears—a maddening mix of mockery and delight.
And then, as quickly as it began, it was over.
I landed hard on the floor of my penthouse, gasping for air as if I'd been held
underwater. The cool night breeze coming through the open window was a stark
contrast to the stifling heat I'd just endured.
But the mark on my chest burned faintly—a reminder that no matter how far I
tried to distance myself, I was bound to him.
The Demon King's voice lingered, faint but teasing, in the recesses of my mind.
"See you soon, little king."
I stayed where I was for a long moment, staring blankly at the ceiling, the weight
of his words pressing against my thoughts.
This was far from over.
The oppressive silence of my penthouse gnawed at my nerves as I stood by the
window, staring out at the city lights that flickered like distant stars. The
encounter with the Demon King still haunted my thoughts, and the disquiet in my
chest hadn't quite settled. But I couldn't afford to dwell on that now.
Seraphim.
He was more perceptive than I had anticipated. The slip-up—the mention of
Thorne's study—was a subtle thing, but it had lodged itself in my mind, gnawing
at me. I couldn't risk underestimating him. I could feel it—he was on the cusp of
something, and I needed to redirect his focus.
I couldn't afford to have him digging into the real truth, the one I was carefully
crafting. The last thing I needed was for him to stumble onto the heart of the
matter.
No, Seraphim had to be kept in the dark, chasing after shadows. The Saints. That
was the perfect distraction.
I could already see it in my mind's eye—the grand plan coming together. Push
Seraphim further toward the revolutionaries. Make him believe the Saints were
the true threat. That way, I would kill two birds with one stone:
One, I would force him to engage with the very people who could prove dangerous
to me—potential enemies who were just as corrupted and twisted as the society
they sought to topple. Two, I would divert the attention of the authorities,
keeping them away from my true operations, my movements.
Seraphim was smart, too smart, but that's why he would be useful. If I could
steer him down the wrong path, he would expose everything I needed him to. The
Saints would be painted as the true villains, and while they fought for their cause,
they'd be weakening themselves, diverting focus from my own moves.
I leaned against the desk, picking up a file that had been gathering dust. It was
time to refine my plans, make adjustments. There were whispers of the Saints
growing bolder, and I needed to act before they became too much of a problem.
I could sense the shift in the air. The tension. The game was no longer about
Seraphim uncovering a few inconvenient truths—it was about pushing him to
uncover something far more dangerous. Let him chase the Saints for a while. Let
him dive deep into their world. If he wanted to expose the corruption, let him
find the revolutionaries.
But he wouldn't find me. Not yet.
I tapped my fingers against the surface of the desk, the sound echoing through
the empty room. There were always cracks in the system, places where the truth
would slip through, and it was my job to guide it in the right direction.
Seraphim would chase after the revolutionaries. The Saints would become his
obsession. But while he focused on them, I would be untouchable.
And when the time came to reveal the true face of the world—of the so-called
heroes—I would be ready.
The pieces were moving. I smiled.
Now, all I had to do was wait.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, a voice echoed in the back of my mind,
dripping with amusement and dark intent.
"I like your plan, little king. For now."
The words of the Demon King sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to let it
show. I'd won this round, and the game was far from over.
For now, the stage was set. But soon, everything would fall into place.
"See you soon, little king."
And with that, I knew the game had only just begun.