The black tower stood like a spear in the middle of the volcanic wasteland. Its walls rumbled as the demoness returned, dropping speed only at the final second before landing on the balcony. The bundle of wreckage—pieces of wing, the broken dish, and the humming box—hung on her back like trophies.
Two armored demons guarding the hall stepped aside immediately. Nobody stopped her. Nobody would dare.
She walked straight to the throne room.
The Demon King sat on his massive seat of dark stone, one arm resting on the armrest, the Eye of Tiamantara burning above him with its usual restless glow. His presence alone felt like pressure pushing against the air.
The demoness knelt before him.
"My lord," she said.
He did not turn his head. "You have returned quickly. Report."
She straightened and placed the bundle on the floor. "The flying thing you sensed is destroyed. I found its remains in the southern fissure fields."
Now the Demon King shifted slightly.
"Describe it."
