Morbelith entered the Demon King's throne room with unshaken confidence, the stolen Divine Sword resting across her shoulder as though it already belonged there. The vast chamber swallowed the sound of her footsteps, each one echoing against the black stone walls. Behind her, Sylvara, Nyxthar, and Ferrak followed in silence, their presence heavy with anticipation.
The massive doors closed with a deep, resounding thud.
At the far end of the hall, the throne stood in its usual place - silent, imposing, and empty.
For a brief moment, Morbelith said nothing. Then a low chuckle escaped her lips, quickly growing into open laughter that echoed through the chamber.
"So this is how it ends?" she said, her voice filled with mockery. "The great Demon King vanishes the moment he is challenged?"
Nyxthar smirked, folding his arms. Ferrak shook his head with a dismissive grin.
"All that power and reputation," Ferrak muttered. "I expected more."
Morbelith began walking toward the throne, her pace slow and deliberate, her gaze fixed ahead.
"I thought he would fight," she continued, her tone almost disappointed. "At the very least, resist." Her lips curved into a sharp smile. "But this? This is nothing more than a coward abandoning his throne."
She took another step forward, closing the distance.
"The mighty Valthar," she said softly, "reduced to a ruler who cannot even face his own kind."
The moment her foot touched the next slab of stone, the shadows beneath them shifted.
It was subtle at first - like a ripple passing through darkness - but it lasted only an instant.
Then the entire floor seemed to erupt.
Black tendrils of shadow burst upward without warning. Nyxthar had no time to react. His body was torn apart in a single motion, limbs severed before he could even register the attack. Blood splattered across the polished floor, staining the stone in dark streaks.
Ferrak turned sharply, instinct finally catching up to him, but he was already too late. A clean arc of darkness flashed past him, and his head separated from his body with unnatural precision. It struck the ground near Morbelith's feet and rolled to a stop, his expression still frozen in confusion.
The room fell silent once more.
Morbelith's eyes lowered slowly, fixing on the severed head at her feet. The arrogance on her face wavered for the first time.
Behind her, Sylvara leapt backward, narrowly escaping the initial strike. She landed several paces away - but as she shifted her weight, something felt wrong. Her body faltered. She looked down.
Her leg had been severed.
It lay behind her on the floor, lifeless and still.
For a moment, she simply stared at it, waiting for the familiar surge of demonic regeneration to take hold.
It never came.
A flicker of unease passed through Morbelith's expression, quickly replaced by anger.
"So this is your answer?" she called out, her voice echoing sharply through the hall. "Hiding in the shadows and striking like a coward?"
She took a step forward, her grip tightening around the Divine Sword.
"Come out, Valthar. If you still call yourself a king, then face me directly."
Her voice carried confidence - but beneath it, something had begun to crack.
Behind her, the remains of Nyxthar and Ferrak began to change. Their bodies shriveled unnaturally fast, flesh collapsing inward as if drained of something essential. Within seconds, they crumbled into blackened fragments, dissolving into smoke that faded into nothing.
Morbelith froze.
Sylvara's breathing grew uneven. She looked again at her severed leg.
Still nothing.
"No…" Morbelith whispered, her voice no longer steady.
She recognized this power.
Every demon did.
Only one being in the underworld possessed the authority to erase another demon completely, body and soul.
Her thoughts sharpened, connecting the pieces with growing dread.
"Deathwing…" she muttered.
Sylvara's eyes widened as the same realization dawned on her. "That means-"
She never finished.
A sudden movement passed through the air behind her - too fast to follow.
Her body stiffened, then collapsed forward. Her head was gone before she even felt it.
Morbelith did not turn immediately.
She already knew.
When she finally looked up, Valthar stood before her.
He held Sylvara's severed head in one hand, black energy coiling faintly around his fingers. The air around him felt heavier, distorted by his presence. His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing calm about him.
His eyes burned with something unstable, something far removed from the composed ruler he had once been.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Valthar let out a low laugh.
It started quietly, almost restrained, but it did not stay that way. The sound grew, echoing through the throne room, filling every corner of the chamber with something raw and unhinged.
It was not the laughter of a king.
It was something far worse.
And for the first time since she had entered the room, Morbelith felt it clearly -
fear.
Far above, in the Ironclad Kingdom, the night was breaking apart.
Kufa and Elara had just reached the central streets when the first wave of chaos struck. Soldiers rushed past them in every direction, their movements hurried and disorganized. Torches flickered wildly as orders were shouted over the rising noise.
The bells began to ring.
Loud. Urgent. Unrelenting.
Kufa reached out and stopped one of the passing soldiers. "What's happening?"
The man barely slowed, his breathing uneven. "The Hero - Raymond - he escaped!"
Both Kufa and Elara froze.
"That's impossible," Elara said, her voice tight with disbelief. "He was locked inside the royal prison."
More soldiers pushed past them.
"Seal the gates!"
"Search every district!"
"Find him!"
Then came the order that made everything worse.
"Dead or alive!"
Elara's expression faltered.
The bells continued to ring, louder now, almost suffocating.
Then a deep horn sounded across the city, its low resonance cutting through the chaos. It was the royal emergency signal used only in the most critical situations.
Elara lowered her voice. "Something isn't right."
Kufa's gaze hardened as he watched the panic unfold around them.
"If Raymond truly escaped," he said slowly, "then why does it feel like they're hunting something dangerous… instead of their own hero?"
The city did not answer.
It only grew louder.
And somewhere beneath the noise, the story itself had begun to shift.
Raymond flew desperately far away from the Ironclad Kingdom, pushing his body beyond its limits. He didn't know where he was heading - only that he needed to get away. His face was pale and strained, his expression locked in grim determination, like a man who had no choice but to finish what the system demanded of him.
He flew until the mission was finally completed.
Only then did the system notification appear before him:
[Mission Completed]
[Reward Unlocked]
[Aetherion - "Blade of the First Light"]
At that exact moment, a massive pillar of blinding lightning and thunder erupted from a distant hill, visible across the entire Ironclad Kingdom. The sky flashed violently as if the heavens themselves were tearing apart. Citizens froze in the streets, soldiers halted mid-step, and nobles rushed to their balconies, all eyes turned toward the terrifying spectacle lighting up the night.
In the royal palace, Miraleth stood by the grand window, her usual calm completely shattered. Her hands trembled slightly as she watched the lightning tear through the dark sky.
For the first time in this world, her prophecies were failing.
She couldn't understand why.
"No…" she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief and rising fury. "This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen."
On the other side of the world, deep in the underworld, Morbelith had barely escaped with her life.
She clutched the bloody stump where her left arm used to be, her face twisted in agony and pure hatred. The Legendary Divine Sword, her greatest weapon had shattered into useless pieces during her brutal clash with Valthar.
"Damn you, Valthar!" she screamed into the darkness, her voice hoarse and venomous. "And damn that cursed sword! I'll make you both pay for this humiliation! I'll tear your soul apart!"
She staggered through the shadows, breathing heavily, cursing both Valthar and the broken Divine Sword with every painful step she took.
The balance of power in the underworld had shifted violently in a single night.
And none of them, not Raymond, not Miraleth, not Morbelith, truly understood just how much the game had changed.
To be continued.