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Feng Deming, locked up for thousands of years, now appeared twenty years old by human standards. Although the prince was imprisoned deep underground in a dark dungeon, he shone like a beacon. The soft light highlighted his pointed nose and high cheekbones. His defined eyebrows, as sharp as daggers, arched over his closed eyes. Long, dark-brown hair flowed like a river of shadows down to his thighs, adding an aura of mystery to his appearance.

The dungeon reeked of mildew with the faintest metallic note of blood still staining the walls. The faint rustle echoed through the silence, interrupted only by the distant drip of water. Every drop echoed, as if grains of sand were trickling through an hourglass, measuring out the long years of torturous suffering he endured.

Every day, he focused solely on mastering the deciphering of the twenty seals holding those phantasmal chains. Now, with his eyes closed and twitching beneath his lashes, and the pressure of the chains digging into his skin, he concentrated so hard that his forehead lit up, all the while yearning for the liberty to walk free once more.

'How satisfying it would be to see no trace of their world, all by my own hands,' Deming entertained, an evil smirk curling his lips, tasting the thought like honey. 'Their mutilated bodies shall be my masterpiece, and their painful screams, well, the sweetest melody to my ears... And all of that is within my grasp now.'

Deming was pulled from his trance as heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and the sound grew nearer as they hurried toward the dungeon. In the stillness, the low voices of men spoke far away in indistinguishable tones of urgency.

Many self-proclaimed 'gods' got together, preventing Feng Deming from escaping, all of them completely aware of his great power. The faerie general, known as 'the god of war,' yelled all the way through the dungeon, his voice grating as if metal were shredding against stone. "Cease, demon!"

Deming refused to open his eyes, not when he was this close to breaking the seal. 'Now, they shall witness the true meaning of what they call... a monster.' He sneered, the curve of his grin widening as he continued to decode the seals.

The faerie general looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had long, shiny silver hair with a slight wave and a gold chain headpiece that dangled a jewel resting against his forehead, matching the deep blue of his doe eyes.

The voice of the general began to rise in volume and intensity. "I said, stop!" A crackling pulse of energy formed a beam of light in his hand, vibrating with power.

And still, Deming refused to budge, not a moment of his attentions diverted by the alerts.

When he opened those eyes of his—like molten metal, telling stories of untold suffering and a promise of revenge—his long and dark lashes cast shadows across his cheeks with every slow blink. His golden eyes swept over the trembling soldiers. Each little shudder, each hasty flinch, only pleased him, as if he fed on the horror in their eyes.

Frustration and dread tinged the general's voice as he faced his troops. "Attack!"

White, ethereal wings emerged from their backs, glowing and shimmering as they flew up. They mirrored one another, making complex shapes with their hands that began with a circle. In unison, they pressed their palms together, releasing a barrage of beams that flickered against the stone walls and rattled the floors, sending a burning scent into the air.

Deming smirked, the beams reflecting in his eyes. "They're courting their demise." His arms and neck lost their shackles, and he dodged the attack by dipping his shoulder and spinning to face his attackers.

After a moment of dreadful silence, fire started to blaze from his eyes, surprising every faerie with his ominous look. He lifted his arms and pointed them back at the soldiers until they met their end in a flash of light and disturbing noise.

With arms crossed, a brief sense of satisfaction warmed Deming's otherwise detached appearance as he gazed at the blast unfolding. "You tried." He waved a hand, dismissive, and then contorted his face into a mask of evil, staring at the trembling mouths and the wide eyes of the faeries he had not attacked yet, and they made choking sounds in response. A cruel smirk spread across his lips as he taunted, leering in that deep voice, "I wish you could see your faces."

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"Stay alert, everyone!" ordered the faerie general. "Lord Muchen is nearly here! Hold your positions!"

"What? You cannot stop me without him?" Deming ridiculed, though the mere mention of Muchen made his jaw tighten and left a bad taste in his mouth. 'Does Muchen have another trick up his sleeve to trap me?'

Observing the general shaking before him, his gaze turned to the shadows, a brief moment of strain breaking the calm facade on his face.

That low, venomous rasp echoed in the stone chamber. "How amusing... I suppose it is your lucky day. It looks like my plan to obliterate this realm is going to have to wait. But do not worry; I am a man of my word. And when I return, perhaps I will start with your loved ones first. I shall chain them deep in your dungeons and make them yearn to see the light and sky again, knowing they can only dream about it, day after day. They shall scream in agony while you watch helplessly, begging me to stop. And I shall remain quiet, just as you did all these years, watching me suffer."

The general squinted, a look of utter confusion on his face. 'What is he... talking about? I've never...'

Deming's tone lowered into a sinister growl. "And it shall not stop there. On the lands where you have raised your children, I shall build statues of our people from your ashes. And as for Muchen, he shall be where he always needed to be—under our feet."

The color drained out of the general's face, his mouth opened, and he wheezed for breath that came in shallow, ragged gasps. His eyes widened, and he shook his hands, but that was maniacal in every way.

~*~

A faerie soldier burst into the throne room. "My lord, the Astaran prince is on the verge of breaking free!"

The room was tinged with the scent of incense, blending its sweetness and earthiness.

The rays of the sun were harsh, touching his white armor that now gleamed as he stood before the ruler, and the sunlight scattered its light onto the crystal pillars. It almost matched the shimmers of their wings when the faeries flew above to attack the demon.

The moment Lord Muchen heard the news, he felt anxious in his heart, only to mutter to himself, "That cannot be..."

Lord Muchen was a middle-aged man who wore a long white robe that gave meaning to his authority. His hair, tied back in sections and as black as night, gave way just enough for a few strands to curl around his sharp features. A golden crown rested on his head; its twisted plant stem design symbolized his connection to nature and his role as ruler.

Muchen's hands shook without control. "Seal... that... demon," he urged. His breaths came in gasps, and the strain on his jaw was almost enough to shatter his teeth, his eyes bulging outwards. "Summon all the high gods. IMMEDIATELY!"

"Y-Yes, my lord." The soldier bowed again, only to be cut off as the earth shook with force, revealing just how much he had pissed off the demon. They both gasped in surprise.

"Hurry!" Muchen scowled in disdain. 'If Feng Deming is freed, our demise is inevitable.'

~*~

Deming tilted his head, regarding the faerie general with a cold stare as the general's breath hitched, sweat trickling down his forehead. Overwhelmed by fear, he could only meet the demon prince's sharp, menacing gaze with trembling eyes.

The demon's golden eyes now blazed fiery red, his crimson aura pulsating and radiating eerie energy as he clenched his fists. Time froze, and in an instant, a violent eruption shook the dungeon.

The unfortunate faeries near him vanished in a cloud of smoke, the painful screams of hundreds echoing throughout the dungeon. The air filled with a strong, smoky odor of burnt matches and materials for those who survived the attack.

The general, overwhelmed, succumbed to the ruthless assault. Drops of blood trickled from his trembling lips as he muttered in confusion and fear, "What... what is he?"

"Make sure you prepare well for my return," Deming declared with a cold grin as he ascended into the air. Fierce black flames erupted from his back, forming broad wings that crackled and burned. A swirling black smoke surrounded him as he departed, leaving behind a bone-chilling nightmare for the witnesses.

Muchen and his soldiers stormed into the dungeon, their eyes sweeping over the dusty area with heavy hearts, taking in the remains of their loved ones reduced to ashes. Shock and grief gripped them, their jaws dropping as they struggled to comprehend the loss. Frustration and sorrow tightened their fists, some suppressing tears at the sight of their once-living comrades, now gone.

"L-Lord Muchen," the general clung to life, his voice a weak whisper.

Muchen, paralyzed with fear, snapped back to reality and turned his attention to the fortunate survivors. His eyes fell on the injured man lying on the ground, who had spoken his name and recognized him. "Yize..."

"I... I failed in my duty." Yize's eyes narrowed in pain. Two of Muchen's soldiers knelt beside him, reaching out their arms to help him as he tried to get back on his feet.

Yet, before he could gather himself, Muchen's gaze froze him in place, like ice on a winter's day. He bowed his head in shame, bearing the silent disappointment of his lord.

In the middle of the wrecked dungeon, Muchen stood still for a moment, surveying the chaos. But then, his eyes narrowed, calculating, as an idea popped into his mind. It was a last-minute call, and he could not believe he did not think of this sooner. "Hope is but a fragile illusion... Once he returns to us, Feng Deming will beg for mercy before the end," he murmured, his smirk unfurling like a serpent coiling around its prey, venomous and inevitable.