Over to the Demon Empire
The Demon King lounged on his obsidian throne, his chin resting against a clenched fist, eyes sharp with fury. Before him, a grand projector flickered, trying—and failing—to track a single demon's movements.
"Tsk… Why is this one demon so difficult to monitor?" Lucifer growled, veins bulging. "I've never had trouble tracking the others. So why him?!"
With a roar, he smashed the armrest beside him, sending fragments of dark marble scattering.
"LINDA!"
[Flap-Flop]
A pair of grand doors creaked open with arcane groans as a tiny winged demon fluttered into the throne room. Her wings buzzed clumsily. She tried to land—then stumbled face-first, her clipboard skidding across the gleaming floor.
She whimpered, lifting her head in embarrassment.
"Pitiful," Lucifer muttered, disgusted. "Well? What are the statistics on this demon I keep losing track of?"
He leaned forward, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Linda scrambled up, grabbing her clipboard with trembling hands. "M-my lord. There is… um…"
"Speak up."
She flinched. "There's no—no results, sir."
Lucifer's expression froze in shock—then twisted into rage. He rose, spreading his massive wings with a violent snap that made the flames in the room flicker.
"WHAT. IS. THE. MEANING OF THIS?!"
He stomped forward, grabbed Linda by the throat, and lifted her off the ground. Her feet dangled as tears welled in her eyes.
"Sir… I-I c-can't… brea—!"
He released her. She crashed to the cold marble with a sickening thud. Bruises bloomed immediately as her knees and palms turned blood-red. Blood smeared across the floor.
She bit back a scream, too afraid to cry out. Still shaking, she stood and bowed.
"My lord… all we could determine is that the subject possesses a noble-tier demonic aura. No other data was recoverable. The only remaining trace was his unusual legs at birth and the village he was raised in. But after the Holy Church razed it… all records were lost."
Lucifer sneered, red eyes glowing with contempt.
"Leave. And get someone to clean the mess you made."
He spat on the floor beside her.
Without another word, Linda flew out, her blood trailing behind in slow droplets.
Lucifer sat again, resting his chin on his hand, sighing like a thundercloud about to break.
…
Meanwhile…
"Ahhh… Ahhh… Choo!" Sirus wiped his face, blinking. His already-glowing red eyes pulsed brighter.
"...Someone's talking about me."
He chuckled faintly, but his dizziness faded quickly.
"This bone knife's looking good," he muttered, inspecting the weapon in his hand. "But… I can't just use it like this. My grip would slip if—"
He paused, blinked, then scoffed at himself.
"Right. I'm not human anymore. No sweat, literally. Their weak, smooth hands were useless. Demons… we don't sweat. And our palms have gripping bumps—perfect for combat."
He continued walking along the river, nearing what used to be his home. The dense woods began to thin.
His steps slowed. His expression darkened as he stared ahead—where his village once stood.
Ash. Everything was coated in it.
He stood still, the wind whispering around him. On his right, the fields where his father once toiled. Ahead… the Great Tree. Untouched. Swaying in the wind, as if unaware of the world's cruelty.
A soft smile touched Sirus's face.
Then the wind pushed against him—firmly, almost guiding.
He tried to resist, but the pressure only grew stronger.
"…Alright," he muttered. "I'll follow."
It led him through a line of trees—and then he saw them.
Charred bodies, scorched into the trunks, frozen in final agony.
His eyes widened.
"No… don't tell me…" He stepped forward, trembling.
Two figures. One reaching for the other.
He placed a hand on the first figure's scorched face.
"...Mother?"
Tears spilled before he could stop them. He embraced the remains, pressing his forehead to what little was left.
Minutes passed in silence.
"I'm sorry… I couldn't protect you. You gave me love, food, a home—even in poverty. That mattered more than riches ever could. I'll never forget. I'll always love you both."
He bowed his head. The breeze returned, brushing away his tears.
Turning, he gazed at the ruins. Blackened homes. Smoldering echoes. Poison in the air.
But not for him. Not anymore.
He gently lifted their bodies and placed them beside the Great Tree.
"I'll find the others," he said. "They deserve rest too. I don't want a simple graveyard. I want something… beautiful."
He touched the Great Tree, right beside the mark where he had once carved his name.
"I'll plant its seeds beside each grave. Trees… born from this pain. Guardians of memory. I'll visit whenever I can."
He turned, the ash crunching beneath his feet. A final, wistful smile curled his lips.
"…Time to get to work."