Thraalvelx stared.
He stared at the barbaric human that was still biting his hand.
The human looked right back at him, dead in the eyes—those dull grey eyes shining with something far too stubborn for someone so weak.
The biting hurt, sure, but not in any real way. It felt more like being poked with a dull stick. Still, it was enough to stoke his annoyance into pure, boiling rage.
First, the crown was stolen. Then, the annoyance of invading this miserable excuse for a human town. And now—the same bastard who stole the crown was chewing on his hand like it was some kind of dog toy!?
Thraalvelx didn't try to shake the pest off this time.
Instead, he raised his other hand, formed a tight fist, and let all his frustration explode in a single, thunderous punch.
WHAM.
The crown-stealing bastard was sent flying like the weakling he was.
A loud crash rang out as the thief smashed into a burning house. The entire structure groaned before crumbling under the sheer force of impact.
The thief didn't move. He just lay there, blood leaking from his now broken nose.
It felt good to let that out. A release. A reminder of who held the power here.
Still, he didn't want to waste too much time. He needed to kill the thief to unbind the relic. He had no proof—but instinct screamed it: the crown had somehow bound itself to the human.
How and why it accepted that thief of all people… Thraalvelx didn't care.
He didn't need to understand. He just needed to erase the fool and reclaim what was rightfully his—and by extension, rightfully Monistar's.
After all, the item was desired by the Monestary.
It was time to hand out the punishment the human deserved.
Thraavelx raised a hand, beginning to cast.
A huge earth spike formed above the thief—towering, deadly, humming with aether.
Just as he was about to bring it down, something slammed into his side.
A hammer.
It didn't hurt much—but a huge hammer was still a huge hammer. And for a Zelk who hadn't braced for it, the impact was enough to send him sliding to the side.
The loss of focus disrupted the spell. The massive earth spike vanished immediately, the dirt falling apart without aether to hold it together.
Thraalvelx skidded to a stop and looked up at his new opponent—or rather, opponents.
A man with a scruffy beard and a deep scar running through it stood at the front, wielding a massive hammer.
Thraalvelx did not miss the brown haired woman that ran to tend to the crown thief but he still will kill him anyway as long as the tracker was on the crown, the thief could not run.
"More stupid monkeys come to die?" Thraalvelx sneered. "Well, it's not your fault you were born human… but I'll punish you for even that sin."
He wasn't even that racist—but humans were easy to provoke, and angry humans made more mistakes. It was a tactic, nothing more.
Unfortunately, it didn't work this time.
Not a single word. Not even a flinch.
Damn. Cold bastards.
Still, even if he was a whole realm higher, what looked around to be fifty versus one wouldn't be an easy fight. But that didn't matter.
He welcomed it.
He needed this.
A chance to prove himself to the Monestary. A chance to earn the robes of the Believers. To ascend.
He stepped forward, extended his hand to the side, and conjured a sleek, earthen longsword—its form flawless, the edge razor-sharp.
The sword felt good in his grip. Familiar. Like it belonged there.
And soon… so would the crown.
He could already feel the grey Believer's robe on his skin.
All he had to do…
Was kill them all.
****
Somewhere beneath rubble and blood, something ancient stirred.
The crown above Amit's head spun slowly, then faster—faster still—until its glow turned a deep, venomous red. The symbols orbiting him twisted, forming glyphs not of magic, but malice.
A presence drifted within him. Alien. Heavy.
The fragment of the Demon King.
It didn't hold a full soul. It didn't even have most of his memories—only fragments, just enough to remember what the Demon King enjoyed most: causing bloodshed.
Once, it had been the Demon King's wrath—pure, unfiltered rage. Now? Just a splinter. A sliver.
But that was enough.
Like a parasite, it clung to the edges of Amit's mind, curling into the cracks, whispering from the corners. And Amit—still human, unconscious—wasn't resisting.
Not enough.
His soul's instinctual defenses—meant to shield identity and sanity—were still there but weakened.
The fusion wasn't complete. It couldn't overwrite him.
So it attached.
It whispered.
It learned from the boy's memories.
Although it couldn't overwrite him, it could influence him. It would twist his mind—make it unstable, rageful, manic. The fragment's influence was minimal for now, a faint whisper in the dark. But because their souls were attached, as the boy grew… so would the fragment. And so would its control.
It cackled within the soul space, already giddy.
Bloodshed was coming.
At first, it intended only to push the boy's emotions—to sharpen the anger, loosen the leash. But then… something caught its attention. A pulse. A whisper. A note of something wrong in the boy's blood.
Different.
The crown had bonded with others before. Hosts who screamed, raged, killed… and then died. All of them short-lived, all of them burning too brightly, too fast.
But this boy was different.
There was a hum in his blood.
Could it be… a bloodline?
The fragment narrowed its focus and peered deeper. Yes. Yes—it was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
A dormant, nearly extinct line. A thread of power so thin it was almost laughable.
Almost.
The fragment of the Demon King trembled with excitement.
It could barely sense it, barely hold onto the thread—but it was real. A genuine bloodline. And if the boy truly carried it… then this time might be different.
This time, the host might last.
Not just a brief rampage. Not another mad puppet who burned himself out after a single slaughter.
No—this one could survive. This one could kill, and kill again.
The fragment shivered with glee.
It would cost most of the power the crown had stored. It would have to go back into slumber soon after. But if it worked… oh, if it worked…
Then it would finally have a permanent vessel.
A boy who could destroy the world one city at a time, and never stop.
With cruel delight, the fragment poured what remained of its strength into the boy's body—into that sleeping, nearly forgotten bloodline.
And the blood… awakened.