The black citadel trembled. Its obsidian walls pulsed with mana, as if a monster's heart beat beneath the stone, pumping dark energy through the fortress's veins. At the very pinnacle, in the Throne Room of Advent, sat he—Demon King Zenkhald. Lord of the Abyss, whose very name made the bravest heroes shudder. The Destroyer of Kingdoms, known as the Black Flame of Hell.
His horns cast shadows that looked like grasping claws. His aura was so dense that the air around him cracked with sparks.
Zenkhald smiled.
"Heh... finally. The great heroes, Merlin, Arthur... the Twelve Knights of the Round Table. How many years have I waited for them? Let them witness... my true power."
He rose, the floor cracking beneath his heavy steps. Black fire roared, spiraling into a vortex of sheer power.
And at that moment—
With a deafening crash, the doors of the throne room exploded inward as if struck by heavenly thunder. Standing in the doorway was King Arthur, his sword in hand shining like the dawn. Beside him stood the Great Mage Merlin, his cloak billowing in a conjured wind, backed by the Twelve Knights of the Round Table—each a living legend. Behind them, a massive army of light was already filling the corridors.
Zenkhald suppressed a laugh and spread his arms wide. He raised his hand, and his black aura flared, stretching shadows across the floor. Flames surged toward the ceiling, shadows twisting into spirals as the ground shook.
"Finally... Witness, heroes... my true for—"
Schlick.
Zenkhald's head dropped to the stone floor and rolled away, scattering fiery sparks. His demonic body remained standing, as if unable to comprehend what had just happened. The dense aura vanished, and the black flames died out.
Arthur spoke quietly. "If he hadn't relaxed... we would have had to call in the entire army." He wiped his sword and glanced at the long line of soldiers behind him. "At best, we would have defeated him through sheer numbers."
Merlin nodded seriously. "Yes. He was monstrously strong. If he had attacked first, who knows who would still be standing right now." The mage looked down at the demon's severed head. "But in the end, even the greatest fall to their own carelessness."
One of the knights added, "Good thing he decided to give a monologue. As always, the stupid villain tradition saves us."
The army let out a collective breath. A battle that would be spoken of for centuries had taken... less than a second.
The story, however, did not end there. The moment the demon's blood touched the floor, something began to glow.
Zenkhald felt the world dissolving. The darkness faded away. His immense strength slipped from his grasp. And then, suddenly—warmth. A very... human warmth.
The darkness didn't vanish immediately; it seemed to melt into a warmth the Demon King could not comprehend. It was strange. Not the searing heat of Hell's flames, nor the viscous magma of the underworld, but a soft, living warmth.
He blinked. Then blinked again.
Suddenly, the world flared to life. Through a light so bright it hurt his eyes, he saw a white ceiling and wooden beams. He caught the scent of an herbal brew. Zenkhald—now an infant—lay wrapped in soft blankets.
He tried to leap up, but his body refused to obey. He tried to summon his black fire, but only managed to lift a tiny, clumsy hand.
And in that same moment, he saw it: the world was overflowing with mana. Blue, violet, and golden streams flowed all around him like rivers of light. There was magic in every speck of dust. A secret vibration in every stone. A mana core inside every human.
His demonic sight had remained. And his power... it was still there, too. He could feel it: his mana reserves were just as endless, and the fiery demonic core inside him was still alive.
Hah... so this is what it feels like to be human? he tried to say.
Instead, the only sound that escaped his throat was a bubbly, "Gheee..."
The door to the room swung open. A tall, sturdy man with a kind face appeared in the doorway.
"He's awake!" the man exclaimed, his voice warm and brimming with happiness. "Our son is awake, Lena!"
A woman hurried in right behind him. She looked soft and radiant, her eyes tired but incredibly happy.
"Baby... our precious baby..." she murmured, gently picking him up.
Zenkhald felt her warmth. This wasn't an illusion. It wasn't a spell. It was pure human affection—something he had never known.
Suddenly, a little girl, perhaps four years old, burst into the room. She had black hair, a cheerful face, and a sparkling gaze.
"Mom! Mom! Let me see! Is he really my little brother!?" she chattered excitedly.
She stood on her tiptoes, peering at the baby. Her mana core shone brightly.
Interesting, Zenkhald noted. This girl is quite talented for her age.
The woman gently stroked the girl's head. "Yes, Mira. You begged for a little brother so much. Now you're a big sister."
The girl puffed out her chest proudly. "Just let anyone try to touch him!"
Zenkhald mentally grimaced. Protect... me? A demon who wiped entire armies and cities off the face of the earth, who destroyed entire kingdoms?
But his infant body betrayed him once again. He wanted to smirk, but instead, he let out a wet, "Blrrr—"
"Look, Mom! He's smiling! He already loves me!" Mira said, beaming with joy.
Zenkhald wanted to protest. He wanted to stand up, declare his true power and nature, and announce that he was the Lord of Hell. But the warmth of his mother, the smell of the house... and the glow of magic in this world, which felt purer, brighter, and freer here...
It was all too unexpected. And for the first time in centuries, he felt something he had never known before: peace.
He was human, yet he possessed the endless power of a demon and eyes that could see the magic of the world. He had a family he hadn't chosen, but one that had accepted him instantly.
It was the beginning of a new life. A life where Demon King Zenkhald was no longer a terrifying monster striking fear into the hearts of his enemies, but rather... a beloved little brother and son.
The house was warm and bright, filled with the scent of wood and fresh bread. For the first time, Zenkhald was delving into human life not as an enemy... but as a human, as part of a family.
He lifted his gaze—as much as his infant muscles would allow—and examined the people who now called themselves his parents.
His father was a tall, sturdy man with black hair tied back in a short ponytail. His dark, almost black eyes held a sense of calm and reliability, as if he could weather any storm.
"Welcome to the world, son," his father said in a soft yet confident voice.
His name was Baron Rhain Helvard. Though not wealthy, he was a respected lord of a small parcel of land. He was a hereditary knight—according to the stories, every man in their bloodline became a knight. He wasn't a great mage, just a man who worked honestly and protected his people.
His mother, Elena Helvard, had the same black eyes and dark hair tucked behind her shoulders. Her smile was warm, almost blinding to someone accustomed to the fire and shadows of the underworld. She was kind and caring, yet possessed the tempered, strong character of a baroness. She held him so carefully, as if he were her most precious treasure.
Then there was his sister, Mira, a little girl of two or three. She had black hair like both their parents and the same deep eyes. She was kind and cheerful, but her gaze seemed to shine from within—the magic inside her was born as naturally as breathing.
"I'll be the best sister in the world!" she proudly proclaimed. "Just let anyone try to hurt him!"
Watching her, Zenkhald thought, Amazing... Do humans manifest magic this early? Or is this little girl... special? Strange, I don't see such flows in her parents... Hmm, our parents.
His musings were interrupted by another infant sound slipping from his own lips.
"Agoo..."
He tried to sigh, but his tiny chest only let out a funny little squeak.
When his parents finally left to let him sleep, he was left alone... and began to think.
What should I do? he wondered. He tried to move his arm, but it twitched so weakly that he almost laughed. Instead, what came out was a bubbly, "Ghee..."
So this is how it is, he thought. I—the Demon King feared by armies, who turned nations to ash, who wielded an ocean of mana... And now I can't even hold my own head straight. > He sighed, or rather, exhaled all the air in his tiny lungs, making a sound like a breathy shhh.
Demons live differently. We have one goal: power. We are born for war, raised in battles, and grow stronger by destroying our enemies. We exist to prove... that we are the pinnacle of everything. > He fell silent—if an infant's quiet could be called silence.
And what do humans want? Food? Warmth? Family? Care... affection... peace... It's strange. Incomprehensible. But... not unpleasant.
His gaze fell upon the wooden chandelier, where golden streams of mana trembled softly in the air.
Hmm... maybe... in this life, I'll try not to destroy the world... but learn about it? Understand what drives humans. What makes them live... differently. > He closed his eyes.
First... I need to grow up. Master this body. Understand this world, this house, this family. And decide which path to choose: the path of a demon... or the path of a human.
His soft breathing, infant weakness, and the warmth of the blanket lulled even his ancient heart. And for the first time in hundreds of years, Zenkhald slept peacefully.