The War of Ashes had raged for a year.
Outside the capital walls, the sky was choked by smoke and divine fire. The earth trembled with the rhythm of distant explosions, and the dying screams of the demon army echoed faintly through the obsidian stone.
But inside the throne room, there was only silence.
The Demon King, Azreal, sat upon his throne, his crimson gaze fixed on the boy standing before him.
Lucian. His son. His contingency.
Azreal did not see a child. He saw the result of seventeen years of brutal, calculated design.
From the moment Lucian drew breath, he had not been born to live—he was born to inherit. He was never meant to laugh, to play, or to dream. His existence served a singular purpose: to become the flawless instrument through which the demon kingdom could rise again.
Since the age of five, Lucian's life had been a ritual of discipline and pain. Every dawn began with combat drills that stripped his body of weakness; every dusk ended with lessons that carved wisdom into his mind.
There were no festivals. No friends. No warmth. The walls of the training hall were his cradle, and the silence between commands was the only lullaby he ever knew.
Azreal had taught him that raw power meant nothing without control. He had molded Lucian's aura to precision, ensuring his strikes were surgical, merciless, and inevitable. But he had shaped more than a warrior.
Lucian had learned to read men as easily as he read ledgers. He mastered politics, economics, and the art of manipulation—learning how to bend others without ever seeming to move.
In every lesson, emotion was stripped away. Connection was a distraction; affection, a liability.
Now, as the castle walls shook from the enemy siege, Lucian stood straight, shoulders squared. He was a construct of cold intellect, incapable of faltering because failure had never been allowed in the blueprint of his existence.
"Lucian," Azreal's voice rumbled, deep and resonant as the earth itself. "It seems the Demon Kingdom will fall."
The prince didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. He simply looked at the strongest being in existence and spoke cold facts.
"Then you have failed."
A flicker of amusement crossed the King's face. "Perhaps."
Azreal leaned forward, chin resting on his fist. "Tell me. What is the role of a king?"
"To rule," Lucian answered, his voice devoid of hesitation. "To be absolute. To ensure the survival of his nation."
"Good." Azreal's smirk vanished, replaced by a solemn weight. "And the role of a prince?"
"To prepare for the day he must replace the king."
The Demon King rose. His full height cast a vast, suffocating shadow over the hall.
"Then consider this your throne now."
With a wave of his hand, runes ignited across the walls, casting an eerie glow. A powerful seal took form—one that would trap Lucian in a timeless dimension, shielding him from the destruction that loomed.
Lucian realized what was happening immediately.
"So, this is your final command?"
"Yes," Azreal said, his voice turning to iron. "You were never meant to fight this war, Lucian. You were meant to win the next one."
Dark tendrils of magic rose from the floor, wrapping around Lucian's limbs.
"We are demons," Azreal continued, his form beginning to ignite with the flames of a suicidal final charge. "We do not beg. We do not regret. We endure."
As the abyss began to swallow him, Lucian remained calm. His father's teachings held firm; there was no panic, only calculation.
"And if you are victorious?"
Azreal's gaze softened by the smallest degree. "Then I will break the seal myself."
Lucian nodded once. There was no fear. No sentimentality. Only duty. He was his father's son—built to obey, and built to conquer.
The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was the Demon King turning toward the battlefield, his figure igniting with divine flame.
Then—nothing.
***
AWAKENING
Time held no meaning in the abyss.
A moment and a century felt the same. There was no hunger, no fatigue. No sensation at all. Lucian did not age. He did not dream.
He simply was.
Until—
Crack.
The sound was deafening.
The seal shattered.
Lucian's feet touched earth again, and for the first time in a hundred years, the world pressed down upon him. The air was different—thinner, emptier. No demonic aura, no presence of his people. Just silence, stretching endlessly over a land that had long since forgotten its rulers.
The kingdom of his birth was gone.
He slowly opened his crimson eyes, taking in the desolation around him. The wind carried faint echoes of the living—distant cries, the clash of blades, the whimper of despair.
"So… Father lost?" His voice was soft, steady, unshaken. "I thought it wasn't possible."
There was no sorrow in him. No tears for the father who had died, or the people who had been slaughtered. Empathy was a flaw, and he had been cured of it long ago.
Then, slowly, his lips curved into a faint smirk. "How disappointing… and how convenient."
For the first time in his existence, Lucian was free.
A low, rasping chuckle echoed.
*Easy for you to say,* came a voice within Lucian's mind, ancient and dry as dust. *That damn Azreal knew the timeless dimension wouldn't affect me.*
Lucian turned slightly, eyes settling on the figure that is materializing on his shoulder—Malphas, his eternal companion. A being of black mist taking a humanoid form. Embellished with a faint, golden crown, and a cloak of deep yellow tatters drifting around him like living smoke. His presence carries both regality and dread, as if the darkness itself had learned to wear a crown.
Malphas' golden eyes gleamed with quiet irritation.
Lucian regarded him with mild amusement. "A century with nothing to occupy you? How dreadful. You have my deepest sympathies, Malphas."
The spirit narrowed his gaze. "Are you mocking me?"
Lucian's smirk deepened. He felt it then—a surge of something ancient awakening within him, resonating with his soul.
"What's this…?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "A power inherited by every Demon King… and a Divine Offering from the Demon God." He closed his hand into a fist, energy spiraling around him like a storm restrained. "Demon King's Covenant. And… Cognitive Shield."
Malphas tilted his head, golden eyes glinting. "It's time for you to rebuild the Demon Kingdom. What's your first move?" His voice held a trace of excitement, like a predator catching the scent of prey.
Lucian's expression smoothed into calm determination. Then, his gaze sharpened, crimson light flickering in his pupils.
"I sense several auras nearby." He turned toward the horizon, where smoke rose faintly above the dead plains. "How curious."
He stepped forward, the wind coiling around him like a cloak. "Let's pay them a visit."
And so, the prince took his first steps into a world that had forgotten demons—a world about to remember why it should have feared them.