The silence stretched like a drawn blade.
Seris' hand drifted toward her spare knife. Vael's eyes followed it with the boredom of a man who'd seen a thousand such motions.
"That won't work," he said calmly. "But I appreciate the persistence."
Lyth's sword hovered at his throat. "Marriage. Explain before I test your regeneration."
"By all means." Vael tilted his head, exposing his neck. "I'll wait."
Lyth didn't move.
"Smart," Vael said. "You're wondering if the twenty-first attempt will finally succeed. Spoiler: it won't. But I appreciate restraint."
Rasha circled, claws clicking against stone. "This is a trap."
"Yes," Vael admitted casually. Her steps froze. "But not the kind you're thinking of."
Iona's monocle cycled red light across his face, scanning, analyzing. "No enchantments. No compulsion magic. No—"
"Because I'm not trying to control you," Vael interrupted. "I'm offering a contract."
"We don't negotiate with demons," Kaiva said, voice steady—but her hands shook.
Vael's gaze settled on her like steel. "The Anointing burned you for three days. Pain was currency of faith."
Kaiva's breath hitched.
"Did they mention that forty-nine of fifty candidates die screaming? That the church knows this?"
"You're lying."
"Check the records. They don't hide the deaths—they just don't announce them."
Lyth's blade remained steady. "What's your point?"
"Everyone here," Vael said, rising slowly as five weapons tracked him, "has already been sacrificed once."
He gestured at Rasha. "Conscripted at twelve. Killed your first human at thirteen to prove loyalty. Didn't eat for four days after."
Rasha's ears flattened. "Shut your—"
"Iona. You predicted the Ashvale Rebellion six months early. Proposed a non-violent solution. He ignored you. Thousands died so he could seize land."
Her monocle flickered.
Vael turned to Seris. "Fourteen soldiers died under your command extracting Godsblood. Sixty percent casualty rate."
Seris' jaw tightened. "They volunteered."
"They trusted you," he said softly. "Did you lie when you told them it was worth it? Or were you lied to?"
Silence.
Vael raised his right hand. Black smoke coalesced into five rings—simple dark metal bands, each engraved with a name.
"Ten-year marriage contract. Binding under Old Law."
"And if we refuse?" Lyth asked.
"You leave. No pursuit. No retribution. Go home to kingdoms that sent you to die. Report that the Demon Lord is unkillable. They'll send the next group. And the next. And eventually—someone kills me permanently."
His voice dropped. "And the world ends."
Kaiva's hands shook around her scripture. "Why?"
"Because I am not the threat. I am the lock."
Rasha bared her teeth. "Riddles."
"No. There is something sealed beneath this castle. Kill me permanently, the seal breaks. The False God awakens."
"The False God is a myth," Iona said.
"So was I," Vael said, voice hollow. "Until you killed me twenty minutes ago."
"And the contract?" Seris demanded.
"Keeps you here. Keeps you close. Keeps you trying."
Lyth's eyes widened. "You want us to keep trying to kill you."
"I need you to."
The throne room seemed to contract around them.
"Every attempt strengthens the seal. Every strike. Every spell. Every poisoned needle. Your hatred keeps the world alive."
The rings hovered at eye level.
"The terms are simple. Ten years. You keep your weapons, magic, autonomy. In exchange—you try to kill me. As often as you like."
Rasha laughed. "You're insane."
"Probably. But I'm also your only chance."
Seris stared at her ring. "Why us?"
"Because the seal requires five vectors. Faith. Justice. Vengeance. Mercy. Pride. Geometrically necessary."
Iona's fingers twitched. "And if we succeed before ten years?"
"You die too. Instantly. The backlash erases you before the False God awakens." Vael met her gaze. "You won't suffer."
Kaiva whispered, "How kind."
"Not kindness. Efficiency. I won't let you endure what I've seen."
---
Seris reached out.
The ring was cold. Perfect fit. Fire lanced through her veins—not pain, but presence. Something vast and ancient acknowledging her.
"One down," Vael said.
Lyth snatched hers, teeth gritted. Fire pulsed through her veins. Rage incarnate.
Kaiva's ring slid on next. Her eyes filled with tears as the seal's weight pressed against her soul.
Rasha didn't hesitate. Amber eyes blazing. Claws flexed. "I'm going to kill you slowly."
"I know," Vael said.
Iona lingered, studying her ring, then Vael. "This is attempt number eight."
"Yes. Seven failed before you."
"What makes you think we'll succeed?"
"Because you're the first to ask questions."
She slipped it on. Her monocle flared white. Vectors. Probabilities. The architecture of the seal revealed itself.
"Equation," Vael said. "And you are the variables I've been missing."
---
The throne room shuddered. Something ancient pulsed below, patient, hungry.
Vael exhaled slowly. For the first time in seventy years, he felt something dangerous: hope.
"Welcome," he whispered, "to your new hell."
Before they could process, Lyth drove her sword through his neck. Vael's head hit the floor.
Seconds later, his body stitched itself back together with wet, horrifying precision.
Kaiva hurled holy fire. Thirty seconds of agony. Vael regenerated.
Rasha tore into him, claws shredding chest and ribs. Arterial spray painted the stone.
Iona dissected, precise, analytical. Vael bled, healed, taught, endured.
Seris watched it all—her team dismantling the Demon Lord while he offered corrections and guidance.
"What have we agreed to?" she whispered.
"Something necessary," Vael said, standing, blood running but regenerating faster than their attacks.
Below, the seal pulsed. Stronger. Fed by desperation, violence, and five souls bound to an impossible task.
The rings gleamed—wedding bands, shackles, weapons, and burdens all in one.
"Dawn comes in four hours," Vael said. "Rest. You'll need strength."
"For what?" Lyth demanded.
"For when you realize," Vael said quietly, "that killing me was the easy part. The hard part is surviving what comes after."
He vanished into shadow.
Five heroes. Five rings. One demon lord. Ten years of impossible trials.
Seris exhaled. "Ten years."
"Ten years," they echoed.
And far below, something ancient smiled.
---