!!..Demon King..!!

Prologue – The end before the beginning.

Wisps of light and wisps of dark. One carried the light of hope and the other left pure destruction in its wake. Both contradictions and opposing forces. Yet they bore a sin… a sin of conspiring.

Each held out a hand, hoping to reach the other. They both needed and depended on each other to survive, and this formed a connection, a bridge, a hole from which one influenced the other.

This breach broke the balance of nothingness and formed a new balance called reality. While some individuals use such gaps to rewrite history, change the future, or summon nothingness... others simply step through the void and into a new reality.

Swoosh! Flick, and tap.

Down goes a dragon.

‘De’mo Either Ric,’ the son of destruction, conqueror of worlds, slayer of dreams, or well known throughout the demon world as Ric the Dragon feaster, sat on top of a dragonkin, cackling with thunderous laughter, which shook his world.

One who hears or even dares travel to the capital of the ‘Netherlands,’ now turned waste pit, would never realize that Ric was in pain or a single step away from death.

With a missing right arm, his dominant arm, two broken horns that sprouted blood onto his face, and a gaping hole in the place of his heart, one should predict his death. Yet none would, for their eyes were glued to his devilishly devious smile, still mocking, still welcoming a challenge, still claiming victory as his birthright.

“My, my, my... hahaha...” Ric’s laughter shook the planet. “How about we you take five?” His glare sends shivers down the spines of two armies, the entire world, which rose to face him, eliminates a single individual. The former demon king.

“You guys look worn out.”

We know the demon king for many things. The rise of the demonic race, the slayer of the eternal dragon, the dragon feaster who only feasts on dragon meat, and a glutton who feasts every hour.

These are but a few titles he earned by simply being himself. Other titles praise his devilish looks, a smile that kills, and a mind that can’t be apprised, but Ric hates a monologue.

Many have tried, the world has witnessed, yet no one could outwit the demon king, until...

He got bored and played a match of wits with himself and lost.

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Saint Cathel wasn’t a grand kingdom like Saint Domo or even Saint Luez. To be fair, no kingdom is as great!

Formed during the inter-species war ‘Apocalypse,’ the rulers of Saint Domo and Luez, ‘King Author,' and ‘Queen Elizabeth’ rule over the world. Or the continent of ‘Saint,’ as no ship has ever returned from a voyage beyond the horizon.

No, Saint Cathel has no great founder who fought and preserved humanity during the apocalypse. Not all of their roads are paved, nor do they have a self-recycling drainage system.

No, nothing of that sort.

The newer generation is even oblivious to the existence of magic.

For them, magic is a foreign concept, a miracle only a chosen few can perform.

While the world strode forward because of their heritage, fame, power, and magic, the Nobel men of Cathel remained behind by choosing to be a mere support piece in the grand scheme.

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The greater kingdoms require an evergreen leaf to create a health potion.

We shall collapse our houses and build a farm for you.

Plumbing issue?

Our people were born in the sewers just to be adapted enough to clean yours.

Saint Cathel lived by one motto; We serve.

Seven kingdoms rose after the apocalypse and Saint Cathel isn’t one among them.

True, it is a kingdom but a support kingdom built to take the blame or make servers suitable enough to serve the other kingdoms.

The poor souls in Cathel aren’t even near the ‘great ocean’ surrounding the continent, for them to swim away into nothingness, beyond the horizon.

It wasn’t like this always. Cathel was near the ocean four years ago and a brave soul swam to freedom, never to return. Since that incident, the kings and queens of all seven kingdoms voted as one for the very first time since their establishment and moved the kingdom of Saint Cathel.

“They want us to move again? Have they fucking lost their minds?” Sir Thomas Toe bellowed at his minister, repeating his concerns for the umpteenth time that day.

Credits to Toe has he never once lost the confusion or sharp tone in his voice.

His minister, one among the many of Saint Cathel, also praised him so.

“My dear sir, what a grand voice you command and at such an hour.” Minister Anzel gestures toward the clock’s hands, which have slumped down, notifying the day’s end.

“I’m afraid Lady Maclaren might not find it so soothing at this hour.” He stresses on the last word as Toe slumps back in his chair, clearing his throat.

Sir Toe is a burly man to put it lightly. Fat won every struggle to consume muscle, overtaking his once muscular form and spitting out a behemoth of a human. He outgrew every pant, shirt, bed, furniture, and door that could let him through.

The castle had special carpenters assigned to Toe, who stayed closer to him than his ministers. They daily worked on expanding the furniture, and doors to better fit their employer.

Thanks to Sir Toe’s enchanted clothes, his dress robe was spared, for now.

Minister Anzel or Minister A, as Toe calls him, could see Toe’s bare chest as two buttons struggled to keep the enchanted shirt closed.

“Shall we pick this up in the morning, sir?”

Anzel adjusts his monocle, gripping it tighter with his eye and a sharp nose that creates a bridge, separating his left vision from his right.

The glasses couldn’t fit all of Toe’s enormous body, but it didn’t have to.

With an incantation placed over them, they served not to see what was spoken, but what wasn’t.

“You may go, Minister A.” said Toe.

Anzel watches Sir Toe’s lips move through his left eye, while the monocle on the right shows Toe, shooing him away.

Adjusting his monocle, now Anzel peers through the true intention of the ruler, his employer, Sir Thomas Toe.

“I shall eat you and spit you out.” A dark smoke similar to Sir Toe’s form lingers behind Toe, spilling every deep, dark secret as Sir Toe thinks of it.

“How dare he remind me of my wife? I shall have your head.” The ghostly appearance leaps forward, startling Anzel.

“What is it?” Sir Toe gets suspicious.

Anzel quickly steadies himself and replies with a calm, tired voice. “Nothing sir... I am just under the weather a bit.” He clears his throat and peeks through the spectacles again.

Toe’s darker apparition leaned against the far wall, unbothered by his surroundings. “If Minister A wasn’t so useful, I would’ve personally killed and ripped him to shreds.”

These words forced Anzel’s lips to perk up. ‘Yes you oaf, you need me.’ He reminded himself, bowed, and walked away.

Like any other great nation, they are people who act as the face of the nation, be it king, queen, or prince. But the true rulers are always hidden behind a veil of deceit.

In truth, the ministers were the veil itself and no one ever suspects the veil.

From collecting taxes to implementing rules, the minister handles every detail of the kingdom. Kings come and go and the kingdom never falls, but if the minister falls, the kingdom crumbles to nothingness, and that damn fool isn’t even a king.

Sir Thomas Toe was just Thomas Toe. A bottom-tier soldier was assigned as a temporary ruler for this dump.

Anzel glances outside from an open balcony, which is balanced over an arc.

The streets closer to the palace shone gold, stood tall, and always had cheers filling its street. Of course, this facade only worked from this particular balcony.

You see these waterfalls falling beneath the balcony did a perfect job, muffling any desperate sounds strong enough to cross a hundred acres of farmland between the balcony and the castle wall.

Anzel pulls out a dirty brown coin from his pouch, tucked under his robes, and installs it inside a small apparatus over the balcony.

The machine flings the coin toward the crowd.

The sounds die down and all of a sudden explode louder than before.

Citizens of Cathel fought over the position of the coin while Anzel waved his arms and basked under their misery.

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