A soft knock echoed through Alexander's chambers.
He extinguished the crimson flame in his palm, the energy settling back into that constant, low hum beneath his skin.
The air still smelled faintly of ozone, a scent that was becoming the perfume of his damnation.
"Enter."
The door opened to reveal Master Eldrin, the Royal Physician. The elderly man carried his worn leather satchel, his face etched with a roadmap of wrinkles and genuine concern.
"I heard the news, my boy," Eldrin said, his voice a gentle rasp. He entered, setting his bag on a velvet-upholstered chair with the familiarity of a man who had always treated Alexander like a father would his son. "I came as soon as my rounds permitted."
"A potential ally? Or a spy for the King?" Crimson cautiously whispered.
He's neither, Alexander replied with certainty, maintaining his own mental shield. He's just a good man. A rare breed here.
"There's no need, Master Eldrin. As you can see, I am… unharmed." Alexander kept his voice soft, layering it with a convincing shade of dejection. He gestured to his fine, if now slightly rumpled, clothes. "No physical wounds to report."
"The body can be unharmed while the spirit is shattered," the physician replied, his gaze far too perceptive.
Eldrin began unpacking a few simple instruments: a silver tuning fork, a crystal lens, tools used to diagnose magical ailments and imbalances.
He gestured for Alexander to sit. The prince complied, playing his part of the broken heir.
"The Awakening… it does not define a man," Eldrin said softly, placing the cool base of the tuning fork against Alexander's temple. A faint, soothing hum filled the air.
"It defines a noble," Alexander countered, staring at the intricate patterns on the rug. "A mind without power is a sword without an edge. Useless."
"A sharp mind can be a far deadlier weapon than a strong arm, my prince. Your father's own strategist, Duke Lance, is Awakened at a mere 150. Yet, the King values his counsel above that of generals with four times his strength."
Alexander had to fight to keep a straight face, as be rolled his eyes. Duke Lance? The man whose most brilliant strategic maneuver a years ago was getting his ceremonial armor stuck on a garden gnome during the spring parade? Truly, a mind to be feared. He could feel Crimson's wave of contemptuous agreement.
"He tries to comfort you with the success of a court jester," the demon sneered internally.
"Duke Lance is… different," Alexander said, the diplomacy he'd been bred for coming to the fore.
"Perhaps." Eldrin moved the tuning fork, seeming satisfied with whatever resonance it detected. "But the rule itself is flawed. The obsession with a single number… it blinds them to the larger tapestry of this world."
He paused, looking around as if ensuring the very tapestries on the wall weren't listening. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that was almost inaudible.
"The Round of Five were not always the unchallenged masters of this world, Alexander. There are… older histories. Ones not taught in the royal tutors' curriculum. Histories from the Time of Strife, before the Great Subjugation."
Alexander's interest, both his and Crimson's, was immediately snared. He could feel the ancient presence in his mind go utterly still, a predator catching a scent.
"Press him," Crimson urged, his earlier disdain replaced by a sharp, ravenous curiosity.
"What do you mean?" Alexander asked, letting a flicker of confused curiosity show on his face. "The tutors said the Five brought order from chaos. They ended the wars that were consuming the continent."
"Order, yes. But at what cost?" Eldrin's eyes were grave. "The texts are fragmented. Purged, most scholars believe, after the War of Subjugation was won." He leaned in even closer, his breath a faint whisper. "But they speak of a schism.
"A schism?"
Eldrin placed the crystal lens on Alexander's left palm. "Yes. A great betrayal among the Five themselves. One of them sought power far greater than playing God."
The air in the room grew thick. Alexander could feel a cold, dark pressure building in his skull.
"What happened to him?" Alexander breathed, the question genuine.
"He was cast out," Eldrin said, his voice heavy. "Declared a traitor to the new order. His name was systematically erased from all records." The old man shuddered slightly, removing the crystal lens.
"But the common folk, the ones who remember the old, scared stories… they have a name for him. A name spoken to frighten children."
Eldrin looked at Alexander, his eyes full of the usual mystery. "They called his followers the Crimson Horde. And they called him… the Demon Lord."
The words landed not as a sound, but as a fundamental truth, a stone dropping into the pit of Alexander's soul.
A cold sweat instantly beaded on the back of his neck. He hoped the physician would mistake his shudder for a chill from his 'condition'.
Demon Lord.
"Why are you telling me this?" Alexander asked, his own heart hammering against his ribs.
"Because a man who believes he is only one thing—a failed prince, a power level of seventy—is easily broken," Eldrin said, packing his tools away with finality, his message delivered.
He stood up, facing the large doors. "But a man who knows the world is larger, that the rules were written by the victors and can be rewritten… he is resilient. Remember that, my boy. Your worth is not a number in a crystal."
With a final, kind smile that didn't reach his worried eyes, the old physician left as quietly as he had come.
The moment the door clicked shut, the silence in Alexander's mind shattered and he jumped up.
"No," he whispered to the empty room, stumbling back a step. "It can't be." The obsidian sphere. The voice. The Crimson Horde. Crimson.
"Can't it?" The voice in his head was no longer weary. It was a lash of pure, unadulterated contempt. "The 'cage' you live in was built by the hands that cast me out. The system that branded you 'hollow' is their masterpiece. You asked for a weapon, boy. You were given the forge that will melt their thrones."
The full, terrifying reality crashed down upon him, more devastating than the verdict in the Hall of Awakening.
He had been so desperate for power, for revenge against his father and the Goddess, that he hadn't stopped to consider the true source.
He'd bargained with the primordial enemy of his entire world.
A hysterical, breathless laugh escaped him, his palm running through his hair and his mind racing. "I can't believe it. I made a pact with the Demon Lord! The actual, historical Demon Lord. My ancestors probably fought in wars against your… your legions!"
"And now their descendant will lead my new one," Crimson replied, the satisfaction in his tone unmistakable. "The terms are simple. You seek vengeance on a petty king and the one who called you hollow. I seek the annihilation of the pantheon that betrayed me. Our paths are aligned. You will use my power to secure your throne. I will use your ambition to reclaim mine."
The casual, almost bored tone was the final straw. Alexander shot to his feet.
"What does that mean? What are you really?"
"I am your only path to power."
"The cost!" Alexander demanded, his voice rising. "What is the real cost? Tell me!"
"I have told you. Your will is the fuel—"
"LIES!" Alexander shouted, his control snapping. He sent a heavy stool flying across the room. "I want the truth! What is the price?!"
A sharp knock came at the door. "Prince Alexander? Is everything alright?" a guard called.
He took a sharp breath, forcing calm into his voice. "Yes. Everything is fine."
He waited for the guard's footsteps to retreat.
"The price," he whispered, venom in his tone.
Crimson sighed, a sound of immense, weary finality. "Very well. You wish to see the ledger? Look."
Alexander's vision turned inward. He saw it. A brilliant crystal pillar, his soul. And at its base, ghostly numbers flickered.
[Soul Integrity: 99%]
[Resonance Affinity: 1%]
"Your soul is the capital," Crimson's voice was cold, serious, and terrifyingly clear. "My power is the service. Every use is a withdrawal."
"And if it reaches zero?" Alexander asked, dread coiling in his gut.
"Then our contract is void. I will be free to find a new vessel. You will be… an empty shell."
The demon's tone left no room for doubt. This was not a partnership. It was a transaction with his life as the currency.
"Your vengeance against your family is a petty concern. Use it as a whetstone. Hone your power. But remember the true goal."
"And what is that?" Alexander whispered.
"The Goddess called you hollow. She cast the final verdict. She is the architect of the cage."
A fresh, burning hatred ignited in his chest, hotter than his anger at his father or brother. TheGoddess. She was the source of it all.
"We will break her system. We will topple all of them.That is the price of my power. You will help me kill these gods."
The command was absolute. A death sentence for divinities.
Alexander walked to the window. He saw Nikolai training below, bathed in golden light. The favored son of the goddess who had discarded him.
He was a tool for a demon lord and a disappointment to his people. There was only one path forward.
He would play their game. He would be the perfect, hollow prince.
And he would burn it all to the ground.
Well, Alexander mused, a dark smile touching his lips. "At least I have a clear career path now."
Professional god-slayer. The benefits are hellish, but the retirement plan is to die. He laughed.