The sky cracked first.
Not with thunder.
With silence.
Every cloud above the Holy Capital froze in place, as if the world itself had forgotten how to move. Birds dropped mid-air. The wind died. Even prayers stopped halfway through trembling lips.
Then the sky split open.
A vertical wound tore through the heavens, bleeding black light. From it poured an overwhelming pressure—heavy, ancient, merciless. Knees hit the ground across the capital. Knights collapsed. Priests choked on their own hymns.
Something had returned.
On the highest tower of the capital's cathedral, twelve heroes stood frozen. These were not ordinary warriors. They were legends—people whose names were carved into history books and sung by bards.
The Sword Saint.
The Archmage.
The Saintess.
The Dragon Slayer.
And at the center of them all, the Hero King himself tightened his grip on his sword.
"No…" he whispered.
The black light twisted, condensed, and then—
a figure stepped out.
He was tall. Too tall. His presence bent the air around him. Long black hair flowed like spilled ink, untouched by wind. His crimson eyes were calm. Not angry. Not excited.
Just… bored.
He wore no crown.
He didn't need one.
The moment his boots touched the cathedral tower, the stone beneath him turned to ash.
"The Demon King…" the Saintess gasped, her holy aura flickering violently. "But he was sealed. For five hundred years!"
The figure looked at them.
And sighed.
"Five hundred and twelve," he corrected. "You people are bad at counting."
The Archmage swallowed. "Demon King… we order you in the name of the gods—return to your seal."
The Demon King blinked.
Then he smiled.
A very small smile.
"No."
That single word hit harder than any spell.
The air exploded.
Without moving, the Demon King raised one finger.
The Archmage's head vanished.
Not exploded.
Not crushed.
Erased.
Blood didn't even have time to fall.
Screams followed.
The Sword Saint charged, sword glowing with divine light, moving faster than sound. His blade struck the Demon King's neck—
—and shattered.
The Sword Saint stared at the broken hilt in disbelief.
The Demon King grabbed his face.
"Too loud," he said.
The Sword Saint disappeared in a flash of red.
One by one, legends fell. Spells were ignored. Holy barriers shattered like glass. Divine blessings meant nothing. The Demon King didn't rush. He didn't roar.
He simply walked forward.
By the time the Hero King dropped to his knees, coughing blood, the cathedral tower was gone. The capital burned below them.
"Why… return?" the Hero King asked, eyes shaking. "What do you want?"
The Demon King looked down at him.
"I was told not to."
The Hero King frowned. "Not to… what?"
"Return," the Demon King replied. "So I did."
The Hero King laughed weakly. "You destroyed the world… just to be stubborn?"
The Demon King tilted his head, genuinely considering it.
"Yes."
The Hero King died smiling in despair.
---
Far away, deep beneath a forgotten mountain, ancient mechanisms roared to life.
Chains shattered.
Seals broke.
A colossal black tower rose from the earth, stone screaming as it tore through layers of rock. Floor by floor, it climbed into the sky, covered in glowing runes and monstrous gates.
The Demon King's Tower had awakened.
Within its halls, mythical creatures bowed.
Dragons curled their wings.
Demons knelt.
Beasts howled in reverence.
At the top floor, a shadow detached itself from the darkness.
"My King," a calm, respectful voice said. "You have returned."
The Demon King appeared beside him in a ripple of space.
His loyal assistant—tall, silver-haired, eyes sharp with fear and devotion—knelt immediately.
"Rise," the Demon King said.
The assistant stood. "The world is in chaos. The churches are mobilizing. The gods—"
"Let them," the Demon King interrupted.
"As always," the assistant replied calmly. "What are your orders?"
The Demon King looked out from the tower's balcony.
The world burned beautifully.
"Prepare the lower floors," he said. "Unlock everything."
The assistant hesitated. "Everything… including the forbidden beasts?"
"Yes."
"And the weapon vaults?"
"All of them."
The assistant nodded without another question.
Then, suddenly, the Demon King turned his gaze toward the eastern kingdom.
"…Ah."
The assistant stiffened. "My King?"
"There's something interesting there."
---
The Eastern Kingdom's palace was in chaos.
Servants ran. Knights shouted. Magic barriers activated one after another.
At the center of it all sat a young woman on a golden bed, swinging her legs nervously.
"Um… is this really necessary?" she asked cheerfully. "I mean, maybe he's just misunderstood?"
Princess Elowen of the Eastern Kingdom smiled brightly, completely ignoring the panic around her.
She had soft golden hair, innocent eyes, and an aura so warm it made holy artifacts hum.
She was also, unfortunately—
—exactly where the Demon King appeared next.
Space folded.
Darkness bloomed.
And he stood there.
Princess Elowen stared at him.
"…Oh!" she said. "You're taller than I imagined."
Knights attacked instantly.
They didn't reach him.
The Demon King looked down at the princess.
"You're coming with me."
She blinked. "Kidnapping? Wow. I've never been kidnapped before."
He turned to leave.
She followed him without resistance.
"Do you have flowers where you live?" she asked. "Dark places really need flowers. Oh! And light! I can make glowing vines, you know—"
The Demon King didn't answer.
He didn't stop her either.
The assistant appeared beside them, visibly confused.
"My King… the princess?"
"She helps," the Demon King said simply.
Princess Elowen beamed. "I do! I really do!"
As the world watched in horror, the Demon King vanished—
with the happiest kidnapped princess in history.
And somewhere deep inside the tower, the first floor began to bloom.