The news spread like wildfire.
A Demon Lord had moved. Not just any Demon Lord—Milim Nava, the Destroyer.
And not in rage or conquest… but to stay in the newly risen monster nation, Eterna, under the rule of Atem.
—In Clayman's Manor—
Within a lavish, dimly lit hall, Clayman lounged lazily on his throne, an ornate crystal orb resting in his hand. His painted smile curved upward, but behind it gleamed cold malice.
"Fufufu… so Milim has chosen to lodge herself in Eterna?" His voice dripped with mockery. "How utterly ridiculous. That Pharaoh… what trick did he use, I wonder?"
He tapped the orb, and flickering images bloomed within—streets bustling with monsters, Atem walking among them with quiet authority, and Milim skipping happily at his side.
Clayman's fingers tightened around the orb until cracks formed.
"No matter. This only presents opportunity. If Milim is there, Atem will be forced onto the world stage far sooner than he intended. And when that happens…"
His painted lips parted into sharp laughter, echoing through the hall.
"Dance for me, Atem of Eterna. Dance until your strength runs dry. Then I shall claim everything."
—In the Beast Kingdom Eurazania—
Far to the south, in a land where beasts ruled and strength was law, Carrion the Lion King sat upon a throne of stone. His golden mane shimmered in the firelight as messengers knelt before him, trembling as they delivered the news.
"…Lord Carrion, it is said Milim Nava has joined the monster nation of Eterna, under Pharaoh Atem."
Carrion's sharp beast-like eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened, then he let out a deep chuckle.
"That girl… always unpredictable. But for her to follow someone? That is new."
He leaned back, chin resting on one clawed fist.
"No, not just anyone could win her loyalty. That Pharaoh… Atem. A man whose will is like a blade. Perhaps Eterna is no ordinary nation after all."
A grin spread across his face, full of predator's intent.
"If Milim recognizes him, then I will watch closely. If he proves himself worthy of her… perhaps he is worth my respect too."
—In the Sky Palace of the Harpies—
High in the skies, among towering trees and palaces of woven branches and crystal, Frey stood before a vast window. Her feathered wings shimmered in the sunlight as her attendants repeated the rumors.
"Milim… has what?" she asked, voice smooth as silk yet laced with steel.
The handmaidens stammered and lowered their heads. Frey dismissed them with a wave of her hand, her eyes narrowing.
"That foolish child. Stronger than most gods, yet swayed by sweets and whims… Atem must have known how to tame her heart. A dangerous man indeed."
Her feathers rustled as she folded her arms, gaze sharp as a hawk.
"If Milim has chosen this path, the balance among Demon Lords shifts. Clayman will plot, Carrion will stir, and Guy Crimson…"
She paused, staring out toward the endless skies.
"…he may finally turn his gaze toward Eterna."
—In the Ice Continent—
In the desolate expanse of eternal snow and silence, a throne of obsidian ice stood. Upon it lounged Guy Crimson, the oldest and most terrifying of all Demon Lords. A glass of crimson wine swirled lazily in his pale hand, his long hair spilling like fire across his shoulders.
"Milim has gone and found herself a new companion, has she?"
His lips curved, not in mockery, but in genuine amusement.
"That Pharaoh, Atem… He's moving quickly. Too quickly. To tame Milim's wild heart without chains or tricks… fascinating."
He leaned back, eyes glowing faintly, as if piercing through the world itself.
"Perhaps I'll let things unfold a while. But if he makes the game more interesting…" He tilted the glass, spilling a drop of wine onto the frozen floor. The crimson liquid hissed against the ice like burning fire.
"…then I may step in as well."
---__----____----
The sun blazed over the walls of Eterna when a small delegation from the Beast Kingdom Eurazania passed through the gates. At their head strode a tall young man with sleek black hair tied into a ponytail, his fine clothes marking him as no mere soldier. His eyes glimmered with arrogance and pride.
Phobio.
One of Carrion's Beastketeers.
At the gate stood Rigurd, dressed in regal attire befitting Eterna's prime minister. His smile was warm, his back straight, though lines of responsibility marked his face.
"Welcome, honored envoy of Eurazania," Rigurd said with a bow. "It is a privilege to receive you in Eterna."
Phobio sneered, waving a hand dismissively. "Hmph. So this is the 'nation' I've heard rumors about? Built by some human who appeared out of nowhere? Pathetic."
Rigurd's smile faltered. Still, he held his dignity. "We have worked tirelessly for this peace. I would ask that you show respect, Envoy."
Phobio stepped forward, his aura swelling with violence. "Respect? You think dressing like a king makes you one?"
Before Rigurd could respond—
CRACK!
Phobio's fist slammed into Rigurd's face. Blood sprayed as the old goblin was thrown to the ground. Gasps echoed through the square as the goblin soldiers rushed forward in horror.
Phobio shook his hand with disdain. "Remember your place, old fool."
But before he could raise his hand again—
BOOM!
A pink blur crashed between them, the earth trembling beneath her landing.
"HEY!"
The childish yet furious voice rang through the air.
It was Milim Nava.
Her tiny fists clenched, her eyes blazing with outrage. "How DARE you hurt Rigurd?!"
Phobio blinked, stunned at the petite girl who now glared up at him. "And just who do you think you are, brat?"
Milim's lips curled into a grin sharp as a blade. "I'm Milim. Demon Lord Milim Nava. And you just messed with my friend. That means you deal with me."
Phobio scoffed, unshaken. "You? Don't joke. You expect me to believe that you are the Destroyer?"
Milim's aura exploded like a storm. Her energy weighed down on the soldiers so hard they struggled to breathe.
"Still don't believe me?" Her eyes gleamed. "Fine."
Her fist blurred.
BOOM!
Phobio flew backward like a broken doll, smashing into the dirt, coughing up blood. The ground quaked under the shockwave.
The square froze. Silence. Only the ragged breath of the envoy broke the air.
And then—
A calm, commanding voice cut through the tension.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The people parted instantly as Atem stepped forward, his cloak trailing behind him like the mantle of a king. His golden eyes locked on Phobio with quiet, crushing authority.
He knelt briefly beside Rigurd, placing a hand upon him. A golden light flared as the Pharaoh's healing magic mended bone and flesh. Rigurd's breathing steadied at once.
"You've done well, Rigurd," Atem said softly. "Rest now. I'll handle the rest."
"Y-yes… Atem-sama…" Rigurd managed before being escorted away by the goblins.
Atem rose, his gaze turning to Phobio, who groaned and struggled to his knees, glaring in humiliation.
"So," Atem said evenly, his voice calm but heavy with judgment, "you are Carrion's envoy. This is how you conduct diplomacy? By striking my people?"
Phobio spat blood. "That child… she claimed to be Milim Nava—"
"She didn't claim." Atem's tone cut like a blade. He gestured toward Milim, who puffed out her cheeks proudly. "She is Milim Nava. Demon Lord. The Destroyer."
The realization hit Phobio like lightning. His pupils shrank, his breath caught. The tales he'd heard since childhood—of the little girl who reduced kingdoms to ash—stood right before him, smiling like a mischievous child.
Phobio's face drained of color.
Atem's eyes narrowed slightly, but his face remained composed.
He stepped closer, his presence pressing down on Phobio like a mountain. "You've already caused more trouble than your title allows. I will offer you a choice."
Phobio gritted his teeth, rage and humiliation warring within him.
"Sit down," Atem continued, voice calm but absolute, "and speak with us as envoys should. Or… continue down this path, and bear the consequences of your arrogance."
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Phobio's pride screamed at him to resist—but his body trembled beneath Atem's gaze. He forced a curt nod, lowering his head. "…Fine."
"Good." Atem's sternness softened just slightly. "Then let's talk inside."
Milim leaned over Atem's shoulder, giggling. "Yeah! And next time, maybe think twice before picking a fight in MY new home."
Phobio clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked, swallowing his anger. He followed as Atem turned, the weight of the Pharaoh's authority dragging behind every step.
The envoy of Eurazania entered Eterna's halls—his pride bleeding, his path already spiraling toward the most dangerous mistake of his life.
Interlude —-------->>>>>><<<<<
Deep within a lavish chamber draped in velvet and lined with grotesque ornaments, Clayman reclined lazily on a throne-like chair, swirling a glass of crimson wine. His pale lips curved into a mocking smile as he gazed into a magical crystal ball, its mist swirling with images of Eterna.
"So… Carrion's little envoy went to bargain with Atem." Clayman's chuckle was like silk laced with poison. "And as expected, his pride was his undoing. Such arrogance, such foolishness. Truly perfect material for me."
From the shadows, a high-pitched giggle echoed. Tear, with her porcelain doll-like mask and unsettling grace, leaned closer to the crystal.
"Ehehe~! He looked so upset when Atem stood over him with that commanding gaze~! His face, all scrunched up in shame… oh, I love it! He's so easy to break."
Beside her, the hulking clown Footman wheezed with laughter, his massive body jiggling like dough.
"Buhihi~! A humiliated beastman is the best kind of toy. All that wounded pride, all that hunger for strength… give him a little push, and he'll crawl right to us!"
Clayman's eyes glinted as he sipped his wine. "Indeed. And we will give him that push. In exchange, he shall become our key to unleashing the sealed monster—Charybdis. With it, chaos will descend upon Eterna. A test for Atem… and perhaps, a measure of the pink-haired Demon Lord's intent."
Tear twirled in delight, clapping her hands like a deranged ballerina.
"And if he resists, we'll twist him until he breaks! Right, Footman?"
"Buhihi~! Twist, twist, twist~!"
The two clowns spun grotesquely, their laughter filling the chamber like a mad carnival, while Clayman watched the crystal ball. His smirk widened as the image sharpened—Phobio, standing inside Atem's hall, scowling, arms crossed, still masking the sting of humiliation that burned in his chest.
Clayman's voice lowered, his words dripping with venomous promise.
"Dance, little pawn. Dance right into my hands. Soon, Eterna will learn despair at my command."