As Berthold opened the heavy iron doors, a faint creak echoed through the room, revealing a small, dimly lit space. The room was cramped, with shelves lining the walls, crammed with mysterious relics, old scrolls, and bits of metal that gleamed faintly under the sparse lighting. At the center of it all stood an ornate oak coffee table, worn by time yet still exuding a quiet elegance. Three wooden chairs, simple but sturdy, were arranged neatly around the table.
In the middle of the table sat a ceramic teapot, its surface cracked and faded, yet delicately beautiful. A relic from before the apocalypse, it seemed almost out of place here, but the gentle aroma of freshly brewed herbal tea that filled the air gave the room a sense of calm and serenity. The scent was intoxicating, a soothing blend of lavender and mint, conjuring images of sun-drenched meadows, where flowers bloomed and withered in an endless cycle of life and decay. It was as if the room, despite its clutter, offered a fleeting glimpse of peace amidst the chaos of the world outside.
The soft click of the door closing behind them pulled Zeke from his thoughts. He turned, instinctively glancing at the door, but Berthold’s calm voice interrupted him.
“It’s fine, relax,” the old man said, his tone reassuring yet firm, as if he had seen countless others react the same way.
Zeke’s eyes followed Calisto as she moved toward the table. She didn’t walk—she glided, every motion smooth and deliberate, like a dancer moving through a performance only she could see. Her fingers trailed lightly along the edge of the table, her touch delicate, almost reverent, as though she were feeling the weight of history in the very wood itself. She caressed the back of one of the chairs before lowering herself into it.
Zeke couldn’t look away. There was something about the way she moved that was unsettling, yet captivating. Her presence in the room seemed to distort time, as if she existed on a plane just beyond his reach. He took a seat across from her, his eyes locked on hers. He had never really paid attention to the details of her face before, but now it was all he could focus on. Her features shifted before his eyes—her face becoming smoother, younger. Her once silver hair darkened, transforming into a deep, glossy black, cascading down her shoulders like silk. Her lips, usually pale and dry, now appeared full and red, like the petals of a rose touched by morning dew. Her gaze was no longer tired but sharp and clear, shimmering like the reflection of stars on a still lake at midnight. She was beautiful, hauntingly so.
He blinked, trying to shake the sensation, but it only deepened. Before his eyes, a tired, old woman had become something entirely different—something... dangerous.
Calisto’s hand rose slowly to her hair, her fingers finding the ribbon that held it together. She pulled gently, and as her hair fell loose, cascading down to the floor, a strange ripple passed through the room. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Zeke felt it—an invisible force pressing against his skin, making the air thick and heavy. His heart raced as a strange unease settled in his chest.
“Now, we finally have some privacy,” she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper, as she moved a single strand of hair away from her face.
Zeke tried to steady his breathing, but the room felt different now. He could feel it in the air—something had shifted.
“Zeke, do you know what it means to have killed a dragon?” Calisto asked, her tone casual, as though she were asking him about the weather. She poured herself a cup of tea, the sound of the liquid gently splashing into the ceramic breaking the tension for a brief moment.
“No clue,” Zeke replied, his voice betraying the unease he was trying to suppress.
“It means your desire is stronger than the creature’s. A dragon exists solely because of its desire—to consume, to dominate, to destroy. For you to have killed it means your will, your desire, was greater. Many demons have accomplished such a feat, but only one other human has ever done so,” Calisto explained, her hands wrapping around the teacup, warming them.
“The Azure King,” Berthold mumbled from across the room, his eyes distant, as though recalling some long-forgotten memory. “He’s the only reason we know anything about dragons in the first place,” the old man added, his voice filled with reverence.
“It’s not about what we know, Berthold,” Calisto said, her gaze fixed on Zeke, “it’s about what we do with that knowledge. The Azure King was not a simple man. He understood that knowledge without action was meaningless.”
“The Azure King,” Zeke repeated, his mind racing. “I’ve heard stories about him. He was a monster, even among demons. During the Cataclysm, he killed without discrimination—humans, angels, demons. It didn’t matter. He destroyed entire settlements, left nothing behind. It doesn’t surprise me that he killed a dragon.”
Calisto shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You misunderstand him. The Azure King wasn’t a monster. He was a reluctant killer, burdened by the weight of his power. Yes, he was cold, perhaps even cruel at times, but his strength didn’t come from magic or physical power. His true strength lay in his will—an unbreakable, indomitable will. Strong enough to slay demons, yes, but also strong enough to subdue the very demon he was contracted to. One of the three great primordial demons bowed to his will. That is the kind of strength he had.”
Zeke listened, his thoughts swirling. “Do you see me as like him?”
Calisto regarded him carefully. “No, not yet. You’re still a child. You lack his cunning, his skill, his determination. But you have shown potential. Killing a dragon is no small feat. Perhaps one day, you might grow into something... similar.”
Zeke frowned, leaning forward. “Where is he now? What happened to him?”
“He’s dead,” Calisto said simply, her voice devoid of emotion. “He fell victim to his own ambition, destroyed by the very magic he wielded.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Zeke raised an eyebrow. “You talk about him like you knew him.”
Calisto’s eyes sparkled, her smile widening. “I did.”
Zeke’s heart skipped a beat. He tilted his head, the pieces slowly coming together. “I remember reading about a demon named Callisto in one of my demonology books. It said she was a benevolent demon, a pacifist, driven by curiosity. Humans didn’t fear her; they worshipped her. They were captivated by her beauty, her grace.”
Calisto’s smile deepened, her eyes locking onto his. “That sounds like an interesting tale.”
“Are you her? Are you that Callisto?” Zeke asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart pounding in his chest.
Calisto’s expression remained unreadable. “Who’s to say? There are many Callistos, and many are not. But you, Zeke... you are one of a kind. Even I am curious to see how your story unfolds.”
Zeke’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing with questions, but before he could speak, Calisto continued. “The Contractor King despises losing control. And now, he sees you as something unique. A toy, perhaps, but one with potential. He won’t let you go easily. You’re clever, Zeke, but he has experience—more than you can imagine. He’s strong, ruthless, and most dangerously of all, he is mad. His madness is his greatest weapon. It makes him unpredictable, and it gives him the strength to win when victory seems impossible. To defeat him, you’ll have to out think him. You’ll have to lose, and then change the rules of the game just as he’s about to declare victory.”
Zeke swallowed hard. “And if I can’t do that?”
Calisto’s eyes darkened, her smile fading. “Then, my dear, he will kill you.”
The weight of her words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
“Lady Calisto,” Berthold interjected nervously, “have you told him why he’s here?”
“I have not,” Calisto replied, her tone casual once more.
Berthold cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Young Guardian, we brought you here because we—Lady Calisto, myself, and others—are part of a secret society called the Underguard. We operate within the Undercity with the sole purpose of making it a better place. Our dream is to rid this city of crime, to create a world where humans and contractors can coexist in peace.”
“What about the Contractor King? Does he know about this?” Zeke asked.
“No,” Calisto said, her gaze turning cold. “The Contractor King founded the Undercity with selfish intent. He doesn’t care what happens here, not as long as his goals are met.”
“But we care,” Berthold added, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “We want the Undercity to thrive. One day, we hope it can merge with Lower Babel and become something greater.”
Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “Who else is involved?”
“Nolan, Simmonds, and Leif,” Berthold said quietly. “They are with us.”
“And Fredric?” Zeke asked, leaning forward, his curiosity piqued.
Berthold hesitated, glancing at Calisto for a brief moment before responding. “He’s with us, but... I cannot guarantee his loyalty.”
“What do you mean?” Zeke pressed, his brow furrowing.
Berthold sighed deeply, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them together. “Fredric has his own goals, his own agenda. While our interests align for now, I’m not sure what will happen when the time comes for us to make our final move. His loyalty is... uncertain.”
Zeke’s mind raced. Fredric had always seemed distant, calculating, but he never thought of him as untrustworthy. “That slippery, good-for-nothing fox,” Berthold growled under his breath, clenching his fist tightly enough that the knuckles turned white.
“Now, now,” Calisto’s voice was a soft hum, like the gentle breeze before a storm. She reached out, her fingers brushing Berthold’s hand, and instantly, the tension in the old smith’s body seemed to dissipate. “There’s no need to get riled up over something like this,” she said in a soothing tone, her smile warm yet tinged with something more dangerous.
She turned her attention back to Zeke, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were measuring him, weighing his soul. “Now, young Guardian,” she began, her voice low and almost hypnotic, “the question stands: are you with us, or are you against us?”
Zeke’s body stiffened as he felt the pressure in the room intensify. It was subtle at first, like the weight of an unseen presence pressing down on him, but soon it grew heavier, suffocating. Calisto’s magical aura enveloped the room, her power palpable and overwhelming. Even though Zeke had fought demons and slain a dragon, he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t face her—not now, not with this raw, suffocating force bearing down on him.
His hands trembled, and he clenched them into fists, his nails digging into his palms. A thin line of blood trickled from his clenched fists, dripping onto the cold concrete floor beneath him.
“I’m with you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, trembling under the weight of the decision. He didn’t have a choice. Not yet.
“Splendid,” Calisto smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. There was something unsettling about her smile, something that made Zeke’s stomach churn. She radiated control, power, and an eerie calm that was as captivating as it was terrifying.
But Zeke didn’t share her sentiment. Inside, a storm brewed. “The humiliation,” he thought to himself, his anger rising. “To be pressured like cattle. Forced into submission. Never again! Never again will I allow myself to be in such a predicament.” His fists clenched tighter, the pain from his palms grounding him in his fury. “One day,” he swore to himself, “I will make them see that I’m not a pawn to be used. I’ll rise above this. I’ll never be under someone’s thumb again.”
His blood dripped onto the floor, each drop echoing in the silence that followed.
Calisto watched him carefully, her smile never faltering. “So, what now?” Zeke asked, his voice steadier, though his rage simmered beneath the surface.
“Now?” Calisto leaned back in her chair, her gaze becoming distant for a moment. “Now, you must do as the King commands. Continue your training. Continue to grow stronger. There will come a time when your strength will be tested, but that time is not now.”
Zeke pushed himself to his feet, his body rigid with unspoken frustration. “Alright,” he muttered, his voice tight.
As he turned to leave, Calisto’s voice called after him, deceptively sweet. “Oh, Zeke, one more thing,” she said, her tone so casual it sent a chill down his spine. He paused but didn’t turn around.
“Next time you choose to bleed on this floor, learn to fight like a demon,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Don’t lower your head like a pathetic human.”
Zeke’s muscles tensed at her words. He could feel her gaze boring into the back of his skull, her smile as sharp as a blade. But he didn’t turn around. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he clenched his fists tighter, steeling himself for the battles to come. He walked out of the room, each step feeling heavier than the last, the weight of the future looming over him.
The hallway outside felt colder, darker, as if the very walls of the building were closing in on him. The once-faint scent of herbal tea seemed distant now, replaced by the metallic taste of blood lingering on his tongue. He could still feel the pressure of Calisto’s magic, a lingering presence in the back of his mind, reminding him of his place—reminding him that, for now, he was still under their control.
But not forever.
image [https://i.postimg.cc/6QxcTctq/Name-Alias-X-Species-Demon-Age-80-Height-182cm-Affiliation-Knights-Rank-Special-grade-investigator.png]