The moon hung still above the Demon Realm, casting a pale glow over the black stone spires. A deathly calm filled the castle, broken only by the wind whispering through broken windows. Inside the throne chamber, the Demon King slept—for the first time in years.
Not because he found peace.
But because his brother, trembling with guilt, had offered him a drink.
"You seem tired… older than usual."
The Demon King had stared at him without emotion.
"I don't sleep."
"Just one sip. For once, rest."
And he drank.
What he didn't know: the wine was laced with Celestine Nightroot, an ancient elixir infused with magic and alcohol powerful enough to sedate gods. It was said to put mortals to sleep for months—but for someone of his power?
It would only last hours.
His brother hadn't wanted to do it. Not after their last journey, after seeing who he was beneath the crown of bones. A quiet man who never knew love. A man who ruled because that was all the world taught him.
But the king and queen, still rotting in the prison he made for them, had forced his hand.
"Do this. Or we die. And so does the kingdom."
The Awakening
The Demon King awoke just as dawn touched the horizon. His vision was blurred, limbs heavy, senses dulled like metal dipped in oil. The poison hadn't fully left him.
His body didn't obey him like it used to.
He staggered from his bed, blinking slowly. A strange sound reached his ears—chanting.
Outside.
In the silence.
He stepped through the broken halls, passing servants and guards who avoided his gaze, faces pale. He stepped onto the high balcony—and the world exploded into light.
The Betrayal
The courtyard below was filled with magic.
Five hundred elite mages stood in formation, cloaks swirling as their hands moved in perfect synchronization. Around them were ten swordmasters, each cloaked in glowing armor—swords drawn, eyes locked on him.
His dulled senses sharpened.
"What… is this?"
A thousand eyes watched from every corner of the capital. Nobles, knights, commoners—everyone. For the first time in fifteen years, the Demon King was cornered.
And the people… cheered.
"It's working!""The monster's trapped!""He's going down!"
The swordmasters moved first.
The mages cast chains of ethereal light, trying to bind him while the swordmasters dashed forward in blinding arcs. The Demon King stumbled at first—the poison still in his veins—but fought back.
Even weakened, his power was terrifying.
His aura cracked the ground.
His voice shook the air like thunder.
He tore through spell after spell, blood dripping from wounds, fire and lightning dancing around him. But the swordmasters pressed harder. Mages shouted, spell circles expanding, a massive sealing dome forming above.
"CAST THE FINAL RITUAL!"
The Demon King dropped to one knee. Magic spears pierced his shoulders. Chains bound his arms. He was still fighting. Still rising.
But for the first time—
He was losing.
And the world… celebrated.
"He's finally going down!"
The Moment of Truth
The Sealing Dome activated, glowing with runes across every edge. The ten swordmasters, all wounded and bleeding, backed away to their positions, falling in a circle. The five hundred mages began the final chant, all voices joined in unison.
The Demon King looked up.
His robes were torn, body bloodied. His back—once hidden beneath heavy cloaks—was exposed.
And just as the dome activated—
A divine lightning bolt struck.
The light filled the sky, blinding.
In that flash, everyone saw it.
Etched into his back, in glowing gold, was the symbol of the Savior.
The same mark the old Seer had described long ago. The mark they all thought he never had.
"T-That symbol…""No… it can't be…""That's… the mark of the Savior!""We were wrong?""Wait—he was the one?"
Silence.
One voice broke it:
"We sealed the wrong person."
But it was too late.
The ritual completed.
The sealing magic erupted, shaking the ground, unleashing a pillar of divine light that swallowed the Demon King.
His figure disintegrated into golden fragments—sealed outside time, far beyond reach.
The five hundred elite mages all screamed in pain, coughing blood, collapsing one after another from the sheer power it took to imprison someone like him.
The ten swordmasters, barely alive, fell unconscious.
The ground cracked.
The light faded.
He was gone.
And the people… stood in silent horror.
The Silence After Victory
No cheers.
No triumph.
Only regret.
The boy they had cursed, caged, tortured, and tried to kill as a baby.
The boy who rose through fire, who ruled with an iron heart not because he was evil—but because it was all he ever knew.
He was the one meant to save them.
But they only realized it when it was too late.