A long time past, there stood a kingdom so great and rich that no man nor woman ever had to fear not having enough to buy the next day's meal.

The populace was happy, they had everything they could ask for. A good military based from only volunteers, fertile lands, great dungeons full of treasures, beautiful cities and the best of cuisine.

Although everybody was happy and led fullfilled lives, one man in the kingdom had to bear the greatest of burdens.

This man led a miserable existance, one of constant toiling and regret. This man was the head of the state, the so-called Heavenly King. 

He had to make decisions capable of tearing apart millions of lives every single day, had to secretly eradicate various factions vying for power in the shadows, had to kill his own blood with his own hands. 

He still remembered his wife's hateful eyes as he ordered her execution in secret. He remembered his son's wrath when he learned of it, and he remembered his order by the letter 'Kill him at any cost, and leave no witnesses.'

Every day he clutches a necklace of no value, yet to him it is the greatest treasure. It was gifted to him by his wife, the same wife he executed. 

Every night he cries tears of regret and self-loathing. Every night he leaves no guards around the castle, hoping, praying for an assassin to come and deliver a righteous death. Every night he checks to have left a proper will of succession, making sure his successor is capable and loyal to the people.

And yet, no assassin ever came. No paladin of justice seeks his head, for to the people he is a saint. No necromancer wants his corpse, for he fought for their rights. No elf, dwarf, demon or beastman wants his head on a stick, for he gave them a place they could call home. No noble wants his position, for they have all been given a life worth living by him. 

And so, every day passess like the previous. Wake up after a sleepless night, put makeup on, finish all paperwork, check with his subordinates for problems, eat the bare minimum and then go straight back to refining construction plans, laws or trade agreements. After that, fall into bed and spend the night crying, only to rinse and repeat the next morning.

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When the monster army appeared, he immediately reacted and summoned heroes. They agreed to help him, minus one of them. 

He trained them, aided them, watched them grow. When the fateful day came, they fought like one-man armies. They destroyed the monsters, but not without casualties. Out of the 5 heroes who helped him, 3 died. 

The day after the battle, he called a mourning day and spent the entirety of it crying in his room. He erected statues in their honor and treated the remaining two like his sons, praying they wouldn't make the same mistake his family made.

And yet, his prayers went uncalled. He caught notice of their ever-growing arrogance and lust for more power. When he found of their schemes, he had no choice but to lead them into a trap. 

Their deaths were received poorly by the last hero, who decided to create a group that would take over the kingdom. This time, he did not have the luck to find out of their schemes until it was too late.

The day of the attack, troops of rebels stormed in like tidal waves, aided by the abilities of the hero and his harem. The city burned, the army was shattered, the peace was broken. They were eventually driven out by the army, but the losses were too great.

During the siege, the combined armies of all the neighboring kingdoms came. They slaughtered the hero's army and then took over the capital.

He had to sit down and watch from his safe location in the court that had been moved out of the capital, powerless to save his people. Decades of sweat and blood were gone, just like that. 

The day the capital finally fell, he gave in under the conditions that his people be spared total annihilation. However, that did not stop the conquerors from raping the women, enslaving the men and slaying the non-humans. 

The day before his execution, he cried one last time. Tears of regret, tears of self-loathing, tears of mourning and even tears of happiness. Happiness that it would finally end, the neverending nightmares that forever haunted him would finally end. Maybe he could meet up with his family in death and apologize. 

Not once did he condemn the conquerors. He had done far, far worst then them to get his people to where they were. He never once hated the cell he was locked in, nor did he hate the betraying hero. All he hated was right inside of him, he hated his very existance.

And so, when he was dragged out of his cell and placed under the guillotine, the executioner asked him:

"Do you have any last words?"

"No. My time has finally come to an end, may the gods grant me the punishment I deserve."

And so, the guillotine came down, and a head rolled. Blood spurted from the headless shoulders, and the people cheered and threw insults his way. However, he could not hear them anymore.

If one was to examine his head at his last moments, one could find a smile full of emotions. It is a shame that he could nobody bothered, as his body was burned on a pire the next day and his ashes thrown to the wind. 

That day, a man died and a demon was born.