Meliae’s eyes fluttered open, as though emerging from a heavy, dreamless slumber. The first thing she noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling, a dull, grey stone with cracks running through it. “Where…?” she muttered softly.
A voice suddenly pierced the quiet from her left, causing her to turn her head. Sitting in a nearby chair was a young woman, roughly the same age as Meliae, dressed in what seemed like nurse's attire, though it was far from professional. Her short hair was cut in a square bob, dyed in alternating streaks of black and yellow, giving her a punkish, rebellious look. She was smoking—smoking—inside what was presumably a medical room, and her nurse’s uniform was carelessly open, revealing the top of her ample chest, hidden only by a simple white bra.
Meliae blinked in confusion, her gaze drifting downward as her eyes unwittingly focused on the nurse’s cleavage. Her face heated up, blushing lightly at the sight.
The nurse raised an eyebrow, clearly catching Meliae’s curious stare. “Enjoying the view, are we?” she said with a sarcastic grin, blowing a puff of smoke towards the ceiling.
Meliae stammered awkwardly, trying to recover from the embarrassing moment. “I—I didn’t mean to—” she muttered, but the words tumbled out strangely, like she couldn’t quite string together a coherent sentence.
Before she could fully piece together her thoughts, she asked, “Where… where am I?”
The nurse, still leaning back casually in her chair, lazily introduced herself. “Name’s Saki. And, honey, welcome to the Demon Lord’s castle.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, as if the place was a rundown motel rather than the stronghold of one of the most powerful beings in existence.
Meliae blinked, her mind trying to make sense of the words. “The Demon Lord’s castle?” she repeated in disbelief.
Saki rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with Meliae’s shock. “Yeah, the Demon Lord’s castle. Do you need a map or something?”
Meliae decided to let the nurse’s attitude slide, closing her eyes for a moment to recall her recent memories. Everything was still foggy—until the door suddenly swung open, making her jump.
Standing in the doorway was Typhon, but in his human form. Meliae didn’t recognize him at first. His spiky dark hair was disheveled, and his expression held a look of annoyance, as if he had better things to do than visit a sick room. His boyish appearance, complete with a messy hoodie and hands shoved into his pockets, made him look more like a delinquent than the fearsome warrior she’d seen before.
Assuming he was a child, Meliae smiled gently, speaking to him as if he were lost. “Oh, hello there! Are you looking for someone? Do you need help finding your way?” she asked in a soft, motherly tone.
Typhon’s eye twitched in irritation. “What? No! I’m not some lost kid!” he snapped, his voice a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
“Oh,” Meliae blinked in surprise, then tilted her head. “But… you look like—”
“I chose this form, okay?” Typhon interrupted, crossing his arms and glaring up at her. “And I’m not here to get help. I just wanted to see if you were awake.”
“Awake? You came all the way to check on me?” Meliae smiled warmly, clearly misunderstanding his intentions. “That’s so sweet of you!”
Typhon’s face flushed red, and he waved his hands frantically. “No! That’s not what I meant at all! Don’t get the wrong idea!”
Saki, still sitting nearby, let out a sharp laugh, clearly enjoying Typhon’s discomfort. “Wow, you two are like a comedy duo. You trying to kill each other earlier, and now it’s like a reunion special. How cute.”
Typhon shot her a glare. “We’re not cute. And we’re definitely not friends.”
At that exact moment, Meliae and Typhon both spoke in perfect synchronization, “We’re not friends.”
Saki raised an eyebrow, smirking as she blew another puff of smoke. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say. But seriously, how are you two not at each other’s throats after trying to murder one another? Shouldn’t there be some lingering tension?”
Typhon scratched the back of his head, mumbling, “It’s… complicated.”
Meliae gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah… we’re not exactly on the best of terms, but…”
Saki laughed dryly, stubbing her cigarette out on the side of her chair. “You’re a real naif , girl. You’re either brave or incredibly stupid.”
Meliae smiled sheepishly.
Saki stood up from her chair, stretching her arms lazily. Her nurse uniform was barely functional, the buttons strained against her large chest, which was far more noticeable now that she was on her feet. Her curves were undeniable—tall and slender, with legs that seemed to go on forever under the short hem of her uniform, which was barely more than a mini-dress. She moved with a lazy grace, like someone who didn’t care what anyone thought of her appearance or behaviour.
The room itself was small and cramped, with dingy, poorly lit walls that felt more like a storage space than a medical facility. An old, rusting medical cabinet stood in one corner, filled with strange, outdated tools. A single cot sat in the middle of the room, which Meliae was lying on, covered with rough, scratchy sheets. Several hanging lights flickered above, casting an eerie glow over the sparse furnishings. The only sign of luxury was the large ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts on a nearby table—clearly Saki’s favourite accessory.
As Typhon looked around the room, his lips curled in distaste. “This place is a dump.”
Saki scoffed. “Well, sorry, Your Majesty. We don’t all get five-star accommodations.”
Meliae, trying to keep the mood light, smiled at Typhon. “It’s not so bad, right? At least it’s… cozy?”
Typhon sighed, slumping into a chair beside the bed. “Yeah, ‘cozy’ is one word for it.”
Saki glanced between them, clearly enjoying the odd dynamic. “You two really aren’t friends, huh?”
“No,” they both replied in unison again, glaring at each other for the shared response.
Saki grinned, flicking a lock of her multicoloured hair out of her face. “Well, whatever you are, it’s fun to watch.”
With a final roll of her eyes, she left the room, the door creaking loudly behind her. Typhon and Meliae exchanged awkward glances before Meliae let out a soft giggle.
“Maybe we are friends after all?” she teased.
Typhon groaned. “Don’t push your luck.”
Meliae stared at Typhon, her curiosity growing. "Who is that nurse, Saki? She doesn’t exactly seem... ordinary."
Typhon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing the back of his head. “Saki... she’s from a village. Back when the Demon Lord was still called a hero, she lived there. But...” He paused, glancing at the ceiling before continuing, “she was sentenced to death. She experimented on the people in her own village.”
Meliae’s eyes widened. “Experimented? What do you mean?”
Typhon shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know all the details. At the time, the world was divided into four major kingdoms. The northern and southern kingdoms formed an alliance to take her down. They sent holy knights after her, and among them was the Demon Lord—back when he wasn’t the Demon Lord yet. He was still a hero back then.”
“So what happened?” Meliae asked, her interest piqued.
Typhon sighed. “I don’t know. What I do know is that, instead of killing her, the Demon Lord saved her. And now she works here, on the condition that she can continue her... experiments.”
“Experiments?” Meliae repeated, suddenly standing up on the bed, her eyes wide with horror. In her panic, she flung the blanket aside, sending it flying across the room.
Typhon’s eyes bulged, suddenly cartoonishly large as they widened at the sight of Meliae standing on the bed, stark naked. Blood shot from his nose in a dramatic fashion, staining the front of his hoodie. “You... You... What are you? An exhibitionist?” he stammered, though he made no attempt to avert his gaze.
Meliae, completely oblivious at first, was too focused on her growing fear that Saki had done something horrible to her. “What if she did something to me while I was unconscious?!” she cried, her hands running over her body, checking for any signs of tampering. “I need to find her!”
But the realization of her bare state hit her like a ton of bricks. Her face turned scarlet as she froze, looking down at her completely exposed form. “K-Kyaaaaaaaah!” she screamed in utter embarrassment, her voice echoing through the room like a girl who’d been caught in a compromising situation.
With a swift, powerful kick, she sent Typhon flying headfirst into the wall, where he crashed with a dull thud. “You pervert!” she shouted, her face still burning red.
A few minutes later, after gathering herself, Meliae wrapped the nurse’s blanket tightly around her body, regaining a bit of her composure. Typhon groaned from his crumpled position on the floor, rubbing the back of his head as he tried to pull out, still dazed from the impact.
Meliae muttered under her breath, cursing Saki without any real malice, her words more like badmouthing than anything truly hateful. “That damn nurse... what kind of person even is she?”
Typhon, still woozy, simply muttered, “Welcome to the Demon Lord’s castle...”
Saki walked down the castle corridor, her cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. The walls, which one might expect to be draped in ominous darkness befitting the Demon Lord's lair, were instead cluttered with posters of idol girls, karaoke bands, and anime heroes from popular shounen series. It was an odd, almost comical juxtaposition against the otherwise gothic grandeur of the place.
She stopped for a moment, staring at the picture of a grinning idol girl with bright eyes and an overly joyful expression. That saccharine smile irritated Saki to no end. With an irritated huff, she flicked the ash of her cigarette onto the picture, burning a small hole in the poster before she continued down the hall, muttering to herself.
Her thoughts wandered back to Meliae. "What is that girl made of?" she whispered.
Her mind reeled back to a few hours earlier. The Demon Lord had brought Meliae into her care, carrying her limp body effortlessly in his arms. He had gently laid her in the nurse’s bed and turned to Saki with a simple instruction. "You may experiment on her, but make sure she doesn’t die."
Saki had smiled at first, her mind racing with the possibilities. Meliae seemed so delicate, so fragile. Yet as Saki began her tests—poisons, corrosive substances, and even slicing through her limbs—Meliae regenerated every single time. No pain, no reaction. It was as if she could unconsciously turn off her pain receptors, leaving Saki frustrated and... intrigued.
Returning to the present, Saki found herself standing before the massive doors to the Demon Lord’s chambers. These doors were unlike anything in the universe, forged from a metal harder than anything known to man, their size alone rivaling the mass of Venus. Space rifts supported their immense weight, ensuring they wouldn’t collapse under their own gravity.
Without hesitation, Saki opened one of the colossal doors with her left hand, As she entered, her eyes landed on the Demon Lord, seated in a luxurious chair, reading something with intense focus. He was wearing reading glasses, the kind one might use to study ancient texts or magical grimoires. For a moment, Saki thought he was poring over some dark, arcane tome filled with forbidden knowledge.
But as she drew closer, she realized with a mix of surprise and disdain that he was reading a manga.
She let out an audible scoff of annoyance. Before she could voice her irritation, the Demon Lord's calm voice cut through the air.
“Saki?” he said, without looking up from his manga.
Caught off guard, Saki immediately bowed, her body moving before her mind could catch up, her soul and instincts screaming at her to show respect. “Yami-sama,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.
The Demon Lord finally set the manga aside, closing it with a soft thud. His gaze shifted to her, piercing but not unkind.
“That girl...” Saki began, her voice still edged with irritation. “Who is she?”
The Demon Lord looked at her with a faint smile, his amusement barely hidden behind his usual calm demeanor. “Did she surpass your expectations?”
“Yes,” Saki replied, her voice sharpening. “I’m pretty sure she’s not human.”
“What makes you think that?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.
Saki’s frustration boiled over for a brief moment. She had to bite back her snarky retort, almost letting her temper show. But with a deep breath, she regained her composure, her gaze firm. “Yami-sama... what is her origin?”
The Demon Lord paused, his silence filling the room. Saki stood there, waiting, her mind racing with questions. But after a long, tense moment, he simply returned to his manga, flipping the page as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
Saki felt a surge of shock and indignation, her face twisting in disbelief. Did he just... ignore me? she thought, her fists clenching by her side. She stood there, unsure whether to press the question further or retreat in frustration, all while the Demon Lord casually resumed his reading, completely unfazed by her presence.
Saki’s eyes widened as the Demon Lord’s words sank in. “The Sacred Tree Will?” she repeated, disbelief echoing in her voice.
The Demon Lord continued, “She was born moments ago from one of the tree’s root extensions.”
The revelation struck Saki like a lightning bolt. She understood now why the Demon Lord had allowed the giant to rampage so wildly. The forest of lamentations, once thought to be sacred and protective, had been manipulated into creating a reason for the ydragna will manifestation. The forest’s protective magic was no match against the Demon Lord’s void, and he knew that the giant’s crude, reflexive attacks would upset the balance and provoke the forest into action.
“Typhon was aware of this?” Saki asked, her voice tinged with incredulity.
The Demon Lord’s smile grew. “No.”
Saki choked. “What?”
“But Typhon isn’t originally from the Anakim tribe. He’s just a human boy saved by Thalassa. He’s a smart boy; he knew the plan and followed it. Given his desire for revenge, isn't that right?” The Demon Lord’s tone was loud, almost mockingly triumphant.
Just then, the door swung open, revealing Typhon and Meliae. Meliae was dressed in borrowed clothes, her nurse’s sheets discarded. The clothes she wore gave her a distinctly tomboy appearance: a loose-fitting white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing her slim but toned arms, paired with rugged cargo pants that accentuated her strong legs. She wore sturdy boots, their scuffed and worn appearance hinting at her recent battles. The overall look gave her a pragmatic, no-nonsense aura, far from her previous, more delicate appearance.
Meliae’s eyes widened in shock at the Demon Lord’s revelation. Her gaze then shifted to Typhon, who looked visibly perturbed but maintained a stoic façade.
Typhon’s reaction was a mixture of resignation and resolve. “I followed the plan to keep my promise to my big sister,” he retorted.
Saki could hardly believe it. “Followed along?” she echoed incredulously. Typhon had nearly sacrificed the entire Anakim race to honor his promise? “They weren’t my friends,” Typhon said, almost sagely. “And what more fitting for a warrior than to die in battle?”
Meliae caught the dark glint in Typhon’s eyes and instantly knew she needed to stay on high alert. His mind was unreadable, a dangerous ambiguity that set her nerves on edge.
Saki’s reaction was a burst of laughter. She stood up, giving Typhon a playful slap on the back. “I knew you were weird,” she said, her voice full of newfound amusement. “I’m starting to like you.” With that, she turned and headed toward the door.
As she walked back through the corridor toward her nurse’s room, a palpable joy bubbled within her. The notion of a human born from a tree only added to her fascination with Meliae’s inhuman abilities. She eagerly anticipated her next round of experiments.
Saki reached the nurse’s door, and with a light push, she opened it. Her eyes went wide in cartoonish surprise as she took in the scene before her: a pile of rocks from the upper wall had tumbled into the room, creating a chaotic mess. The unexpected disaster greeted her with a mix of annoyance and amusement as she took in the sight of her disrupted space.
In the grand expanse of the Demon King’s chamber, the atmosphere was a curious blend of eerie and mundane, with a distinct touch of Otaku culture. The walls, typically expected to exude an aura of dread, were instead adorned with large posters of idol bands, karaoke stars, and anime heroes. The idols’ bright, smiling faces clashed starkly with the chamber’s otherwise ominous decor, creating an unsettling juxtaposition that was both fascinating and disconcerting.
The Demon King, sitting in a high-backed chair, flipped through the pages of a manga, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. The reading table in front of him was unremarkable—an ordinary wooden piece with no distinguishing features. The room's focus was clearly on the wall decorations, which seemed almost to mock the gravity of the Demon King’s status with their vibrant colors and cheerful expressions.
Without the presence of Saki, the atmosphere in the chamber grew heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The Demon King turned his gaze toward Typhon, his expression inscrutable yet tinged with a hint of amusement. “Do you resent me, Typhon?” he inquired, his tone carrying an undercurrent of curiosity.
Typhon, standing tall and resolute, met the Demon King’s gaze without flinching. “Resentment would only serve to nourish your power,” he replied evenly.
The Demon King chuckled softly, a sound that reverberated through the room with an almost musical quality. “Thalassa has indeed found an incredible one,” he said, his tone imbued with a mix of respect and satisfaction. At the mention of Thalassa, Typhon’s eyes softened. The memory of Thalassa’s death was a painful one, a wound that had not fully healed.
Typhon then inquired about Morigan, but the Demon King’s response was nonchalant. “She is on a mission and will not return soon.”
“Mission?” Typhon echoed in disbelief. He had always considered Morigan a formidable individual, not one to take orders from anyone. The Demon King’s next words were startling: “She is tasked with annihilating the magic gods from the Fifteen Floors.”
Typhon’s eyes widened in shock. “Magic gods?” he repeated, the gravity of the statement sinking in. For the first time, he displayed a hint of vulnerability, his composure cracking. “They are no mere adversaries. Each of them is equal, if not superior, to the personal guards of the gods,” he said, his voice laced with a mixture of fear and admiration.
The Demon King remained unperturbed. Rising from his chair, his long, dark robe seemed to float around him as if carried by an invisible breeze, though the room was still and silent. The robe’s ethereal movement added an otherworldly quality to his presence.
“What do you know about the Witches of Corazon?” the Demon King asked, his voice now carrying a note of challenge.
Typhon furrowed his brow, repeating the words as he tried to recall any relevant information. Yet, his mind drew a blank. “The Witches of Corazon?” he said, his tone betraying his ignorance.
The Demon King’s gaze sharpened. “You don’t recall them?” he pressed, his tone now tinged with a hint of impatience.
Meliae, who had been a silent observer, was trying to piece together the fragments of their conversation. Her confusion was evident as she struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. The mention of the Witches of Corazon seemed to hold significant weight, but without context, she could only watch and listen.
The Demon Lord's voice softened, taking on a more distant, almost contemplative tone as he explained the meaning behind the Witches of Corazon. He began simply, "A Witch of Corazon… you could say the name itself carries the weight of fear, and that fear is what gives them their power."
Meliae’s brow furrowed, trying to grasp what he was saying, while Typhon leaned in slightly, listening intently. The Demon Lord’s posture shifted, and he began to speak in the manner of someone recounting an old, almost forgotten myth.
“In the beginning,” the Demon Lord continued, “before existence itself, there was only the Void and the Primordial Light. This part you’ve no doubt heard, even from the angels who once descended to the worlds, claiming to know the origins of all things.” He nodded slightly, acknowledging Typhon’s earlier interjection.
Typhon, still composed but curious, replied, “It’s a well-known story. The angels said it when they spoke of creation.”
The Demon Lord acquiesced, but his expression soon darkened. "But what they fail to understand is that the Witches' power grows the more they are feared. Long ago, before everything was formed, the Void and the Primordial Light roamed free, locked in an eternal clash for dominance. Their conflict was a primordial war of chaos and light, and during their endless outclash, their power grew unchecked, their energy output so vast that it created something unexpected."
His voice lowered, taking on an almost reverent tone as he continued, “The first true conception… the one who would rule over them all, far transcending both the Void and the Light. She was the personification of something neither force could have predicted—emotions.”
Meliae blinked in confusion, completely out of her depth, while Typhon’s expression hardened in thought. The Demon Lord’s eyes took on a distant gleam as he recalled the tale. “When the Void and the Primordial Light had expended so much of their essence, she emerged. The Embodiment of Contradiction. She tried to create roots where no roots could live—she was the first spark of self-awareness in a realm where none had existed.”
Typhon’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did she succeed?”
The Demon Lord turned to look at Typhon, his eyes unreadable. For a moment, he remained silent, as if the weight of the question was too much even for him to answer. Then, with a faint, almost cryptic smile, he said, “I wonder…” His gaze shifted to the ceiling as though searching for answers in the unseen spaces beyond.
Meliae, meanwhile, was completely lost, like a fish caught in the wrong sea. The weight of their conversation felt incomprehensible to her, but there was a subtle, lingering sense that something important had been said.
Then, as if brushing aside the heaviness of the moment, the Demon Lord’s tone shifted back to something much lighter, almost goofy. He placed a hand on Typhon’s shoulder, his grip unexpected.
Typhon’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden touch, caught off guard by the Demon Lord's change in demeanor. “Mind giving her a look around the place?” Yami Saito asked with an exaggerated smile, his voice full of playful joy.
At first, Typhon instinctively resisted. “No. Absolutely not.”
But the Demon King’s insistence had a way of wearing people down, even someone like Typhon. “Come on,” Yami prodded, “you were practically attached to her just a few hours ago.”
Typhon couldn’t help but chuckle at that, the playfulness of the statement breaking through his stoic exterior. “You’re gone mad,” he retorted, half-jokingly.
But the Demon Lord didn’t relent, tightening his grip slightly as if to press the matter. “Why were you so desperate to show her the might of the Demon Lord?” he teased.
Typhon’s amusement faded, and though he didn’t answer right away, his silence said more than words could. He sighed in resignation, knowing that once the Demon Lord made up his mind, there was no arguing against it. “Fine,” he muttered under his breath.
Satisfied, the Demon Lord clapped his hands together as if in prayer, his face lighting up in mock delight. “Perfect! Have a good visit.”
Meliae, who had been standing quietly, could only murmur a shy, embarrassed “Yeah…” under her breath, still overwhelmed by the strange situation she found herself in. She turned to the Demon Lord and, hesitating for a moment, asked, “What’s your name?”
Typhon remained silent, knowing that such a question was not his to answer. Names held power, and the Demon Lord was not one to be easily defined by such trivial concepts.
For a moment, the room was filled with a deep, heavy silence. Then, finally, the Demon Lord spoke, his voice carrying an air of ancient knowledge. “The body I possess is called Yami Saito,” he said calmly. “But as for me… I have no name.”
Typhon glanced at the floor, knowing full well the truth behind that statement. The Demon King was far too powerful for any being to name him. Names carried significance, anchoring one’s existence in reality, and to name the Demon Lord would be akin to binding a force that transcended such concepts.
Meliae’s eyes widened at the revelation, but before she could ask any more questions, Typhon spoke up. “What you said about the Witches of Corazon,” he began cautiously. “Do you believe Morigan could be…?”
Yami’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Morigan is not just one of my strongest warriors. She is the embodiment of that abstraction. She is Emotion incarnate—an echo of that first creation. It’s why her power surpasses even mine in certain ways. And that is why she accepted this mission to destroy the Magic Gods.”
Typhon was stunned. For all his strength and knowledge, he had never considered the possibility that Morigan was more than just a powerful servant. To think that she was tied to such an ancient and profound force—it was almost too much to comprehend.
Meliae, standing between them, felt utterly outmatched by the weight of their words. Yet, despite her confusion, there was a growing sense of understanding—a realization that she was part of something far greater than she could have ever imagined.
As Typhon and Meliae exited the Demon Lord’s chamber, the heavy dual doors swung open with a quiet groan. Before they could even take a step outside, a figure suddenly slipped past them. It was Lilith, her presence commanding and immediate, like she had been waiting just beyond the threshold. Meliae’s eyes widened as she instantly recognized her — not by her face, but by the almost lethal size of her breasts. They were impossible to miss, an absurdity that seemed to defy logic.
Lilith caught Meliae’s stare, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement. With a sly smile, she gave her chest a subtle, almost boastful bounce. “What a naughty girl,” Lilith said, her voice dripping with seductive enchantment. The words were laced with a sultry tone that made Meliae’s face burn bright red, her embarrassment palpable. It felt like her cheeks were overheating.
Before Meliae could say anything, Lilith’s eyes shifted to Typhon. Her emerald green gaze was sharp, like it could pierce through stone. But this time, she merely crossed paths with him, paying him no real attention. There was urgency in her demeanor, and whatever she had to discuss with the Demon Lord was clearly more important than anything else.
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Without a word, Typhon placed a hand on Meliae’s back and gently nudged her forward. They slipped out of the room, leaving Lilith behind.
As they walked through the corridor, the silence between them stretched for a few moments before Meliae finally spoke up, still flustered from her encounter with Lilith. “Who… was that?”
Typhon’s expression turned slightly sour, though he kept his tone neutral. “That was Lilith. Demon of Lust, if you hadn’t guessed. Dangerous woman.”
Meliae’s curiosity only grew. “Dangerous how?”
Typhon’s response was elusive, almost dismissive, as if he didn’t want to dwell on it. “Let’s just say she enjoys toying with people… especially women like you.”
Meliae frowned, feeling uneasy but not entirely surprised by Typhon’s words. “I see,” she muttered, her mind replaying Lilith’s cold, teasing expression.
As they continued walking, they turned a corner and found themselves face-to-face with another woman. Unlike Lilith or Saki, this one radiated an entirely different aura. She wore a pristine white priestess outfit, adorned with golden strands that shimmered faintly under the dim castle light. Her presence was calming, almost serene, though her body was just as distracting as Lilith’s. Her chest, which Meliae couldn’t help but compare to her own, was practically equal in size to Lilith’s, though more elegantly concealed beneath her robes.
The woman greeted them with a warm smile, her voice sweet and melodic. “May the Demon Lord’s blessings be upon you,” she said, her words soft yet reverent, as though she was offering a holy prayer.
Typhon’s expression immediately shifted to one of annoyance. He already knew what was coming next. Before he could react, the priestess—who was shockingly fast—moved in a blur, closing the distance between them so quickly that Meliae barely had time to blink.
“Lyria, stop!” Typhon managed to say, but it was too late. Lyria, the priestess, had already wrapped her arms around Typhon, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her chest—those infamous dual lethal weapons—pressed against him, leaving Typhon visibly struggling to breathe.
Meliae stood frozen, her face turning red again as she watched the scene unfold. Lyria held Typhon in a vice-like grip, her playfulness almost childish as she giggled softly. “You’re always so tense, Typhon! Relax for once,” she teased, oblivious to his discomfort.
Typhon, his voice muffled by Lyria’s ample chest, growled in frustration. “Let me go!”
Meliae, trying to hide her laughter, finally spoke up, her voice shy but firm. “Um… excuse me, Priestess Lyria, could you… let him go?”
Lyria blinked in surprise, as though she had forgotten anyone else was there. With a sheepish grin, she released Typhon, who immediately gasped for air, finally free from her suffocating embrace.
After a few awkward exchanges of words, filled with light pleasantries and Lyria’s constant giggling, the priestess waved them off and went about her way, leaving them to continue their journey.
As they walked further down the corridor, far enough from Lyria’s ears and eyes, Meliae asked cautiously, “Who was she?”
Typhon, still catching his breath, muttered, “Lyria… She’s a priestess who lost her faith in the gods. Now she’s sided with the Demon Lord.”
Meliae’s eyes widened in surprise. “She was a priestess? I didn’t expect that…”
Typhon shrugged, his irritation slowly fading. “Don’t let the innocent smile fool you. She’s just as dangerous as anyone else around here.”
Meliae nodded thoughtfully, though she didn’t push for more details. They continued their walk in relative silence, the tension from their earlier encounters slowly melting away.
Eventually, the quietness between them gave way to idle chatter. Meliae asked Typhon about life in the castle, about his past, and about what it was like being in the Demon Lord’s service. Typhon, though somewhat guarded, answered her questions with a mixture of dry humour and teasing remarks, occasionally slipping in sarcastic comments about the various inhabitants of the castle.
At one point, Meliae even tried to prank him by pretending to trip, only to catch herself and laugh at Typhon’s startled expression. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small chuckle, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood.
As they shared a laugh, something shifted between them—a subtle sense of camaraderie. Despite the bizarre nature of their surroundings and the strange, sometimes terrifying people they had encountered, they found a small moment of normalcy in each other’s company. For the first time since arriving, Meliae felt like she wasn’t entirely alone in this strange world.
Typhon led Meliae through the grand hall of the castle, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings, lit by dim magical orbs hovering above. The grand hall itself was bustling with activity—groups of women clad in different outfits were hard at work, moving from one task to another with a sense of purpose. Some wore elegant maid uniforms, their movements graceful and efficient, while others sported more practical armour, their hands resting on weapons strapped to their backs or hips.
“These are part of the Demon Lord's army,” Typhon said casually as he gestured toward the various women. “They all serve under his command.”
Meliae’s eyes wandered, taking in the diverse faces and outfits. Each woman looked powerful in her own right, exuding confidence and skill. There was something almost awe-inspiring in seeing such a wide range of warriors and servants in one place, all moving in perfect sync, despite their vastly different roles.
Typhon showed her the castle's many chambers: the kitchen, where a group of women in aprons were preparing meals with speed and precision; the armoury, where racks of weapons gleamed under the faint light, and blacksmiths worked on forging new armaments; the library, where scholars were poring over ancient tomes, their eyes keen and absorbed. Every stop along the way, Typhon exchanged a few idle words with those they encountered—each woman had her own distinct personality, from the stoic and quiet librarian to the cheerful blacksmith who winked at Typhon as they passed.
Eventually, they found themselves at the castle's courtyard, where the training grounds spread out before them. It was an open space, surrounded by walls adorned with banners of the Demon Lord's crest. In the center of the courtyard, a lone figure was practicing his swordsmanship with terrifying precision.
Meliae stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide with awe as she watched the man’s movements. His strikes were swift, almost invisible to the naked eye, each swing of his blade cutting through the air with deadly grace. The power behind each motion was undeniable.
“That’s Zoyd,” Typhon said from beside her, his voice steady but tinged with respect. “The Demon Lord’s knight and one of the twelve Apostles.”
“Apostles?” Meliae echoed, her curiosity piqued.
Typhon nodded. “The Apostles are the most powerful beings in the castle, second only to the Demon Lord himself. They’ve received names from the Demon Lord, which means their existence is recognized by him. That gives them unrivaled strength.”
Meliae glanced back at Zoyd, her admiration growing. “He’s incredible…” she muttered under her breath, though Typhon heard her.
Before Typhon could respond, a large magical circle appeared in the sky above them, glowing faintly. From it, a woman’s voice echoed down, carrying throughout the castle. It was an announcement, summoning everyone to gather in the hall.
“The Demon Lord is calling for a meeting,” Typhon said. “We’d better go. Follow me.”
They made their way back to the hall, the walk short and filled with a growing sense of anticipation. When they entered, the vast space was already filling up with people—mostly women, with a few men scattered here and there. Among the crowd, Meliae spotted Zoyd, still dressed in his dark armour, standing tall and imposing. Typhon remained by her side, but as she looked around, her awe grew.
The women varied in appearance and dress—some still wore maid uniforms, while others were clad in heavy armour or casual clothing. Many of them were armed, their weapons held confidently, whether it be swords, hammers, or daggers. Despite the seemingly casual atmosphere, there was an unmistakable aura of strength that permeated the room. These were no ordinary servants.
As Meliae tried to take in everything, she suddenly realized Typhon had disappeared. Panic flared briefly inside her before she felt a hand rest on her shoulder, causing her to shiver. She turned, recognizing the short black hair with yellow strands immediately.
“Saki…” she muttered, surprised but relieved.
Saki greeted her with a lazy smile, a puff of smoke escaping her lips. “Hello there,” she said nonchalantly, exhaling more smoke.
Meliae frowned. “I was looking for Typhon—”
“Don’t bother,” Saki cut her off, her voice bored. “I guess he didn’t tell you.”
Before Meliae could ask what she meant, the Demon Lord appeared at the far end of the hall. His presence was unmistakable, his aura dominating the space. Surrounding him were several shadowy figures, their forms only partially visible. There were twelve of them in total, each standing tall, radiating immense power.
Meliae’s eyes widened as she scanned the figures. Among them, she recognized Typhon, standing with a solemn expression. Lilith was also there, her piercing gaze unwavering. Zoyd, the knight she had just seen, stood at attention, while Lyria, the priestess, was not far from him. There were others—strange, powerful beings she didn’t recognize.
One had long, flowing hair and green eyes that seemed to glow with intensity. Her body was covered in tribal symbols, and her presence was wild, untamed. Another was a maid, her short, square-cut blue hair gleaming like jewels. A humanoid wolf with crimson fur stood beside them, his form exuding raw strength. There was even a lich, draped in dark robes and holding a mysterious book.
“Typhon… is one of them?” Meliae whispered, shocked.
Saki nodded, taking another drag from her cigarette. “He’s an Apostle too,” she said, her tone flat, but the revelation hit Meliae hard.
As Meliae looked at the group of Apostles, she realized there were only nine of them present. Typhon had said there were twelve. Where were the others?
Before she could dwell on it, a voice echoed through the hall, sharp and commanding. Zoyd, his voice like a razor’s edge, was addressing Saki. “Step into your place, Apostle,” he said sternly, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.
Saki rolled her eyes, clearly bored by his demands. “Yeah, yeah…” she muttered under her breath, but she made no move to comply.
Zoyd, undeterred, raised his voice again, this time more forcefully. “Now, Saki!”
The woman with the tribal markings, Circe, the witch of illusions, interrupted him with a lazy smile. “You’re too loud, Zoyd.”
Zoyd’s eyes flickered with irritation as he shot back, “Quiet, Circe.”
Before the argument could escalate, Lyria stepped forward, her voice calm as she began preaching about the wisdom of the Demon Lord, trying to diffuse the tension. But it was clear that the Apostles were close to bickering, the tension in the room mounting.
Meliae watched anxiously, her heart pounding. She feared that a fight might break out at any moment.
But before things could spiral out of control, the Demon Lord finally stepped forward from a portal, his presence alone enough to silence the room. Every argument stopped, and the Apostles immediately fell into line. The air shifted as everyone in the hall, including Meliae, instinctively bowed. Without knowing why, her body moved on its own, bending in reverence to the sheer power that emanated from the Demon Lord.
She glanced around and saw that everyone else had done the same. Even Typhon, Lilith, Zoyd, and the other Apostles knelt before the Demon Lord, their heads bowed low, showing their absolute loyalty.
For a brief moment, Meliae felt the overwhelming weight of this world—the power, the hierarchy, the unspoken rules. And for the first time, she understood why Typhon and the others held such unwavering respect for the Demon Lord.
This was a ruler who commanded without words, whose presence alone bent the will of even the most powerful beings in existence.
The Demon Lord sat upon his dark throne, a subtle warmth emanating from him despite his imposing presence. His crimson eyes flickered as he opened the meeting with a calm greeting, his deep voice resonating throughout the hall.
“Greetings, my Apostles,” he said, his voice carrying both power and a strange, almost soothing charm. “Today, we have much to discuss. Let us begin.”
He turned his gaze to a woman standing towards the front, her posture rigid yet graceful. Her long, silvery hair flowed down her back, and she wore a sharp black suit, her eyes hidden behind thin-rimmed glasses. She carried a stack of ledgers and reports in her hands. At his call, the woman stepped forward.
“Yuriko Saotome, financial director of the castle, report.”
Yuriko’s expression didn’t shift as she bowed deeply before speaking. “Yes, my Lord. The current financial status of our army remains stable, but the growth of our funds has exceeded expectations. Revenues from external operations in the shattered realms continue to flow in, particularly from our mining and resource extraction projects.”
Her tone was cold and professional as she spoke, and each word was meticulously chosen. She continued, “However, I would advise caution regarding the allocations towards the armament production facilities. We are at risk of overspending in that sector.”
The Demon Lord smiled faintly, nodding in approval. “Good work, Yuriko. Continue to monitor the situation. We will need all the resources we can muster once the primordial light is extinguished, and the realms reshaped.”
Meliae stood nearby, listening intently. She couldn’t understand why they were concerned about financials when the world was so close to ruin. Money seemed irrelevant to her. She turned to ask Saki, but noticed she had vanished, leaving her alone to puzzle over the matter.
Sensing her confusion, the Demon Lord, as though reading her thoughts, elaborated. “You may wonder why we concern ourselves with finances in a world teetering on the edge of destruction. But I assure you, after the primordial light is slain and the creator no longer governs reality, we will rebuild. I will reshape the Ophanim to my design, and such a task requires planning—resources, logistics, power.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping the hall. “As ruler of the new world, I shall require these funds. They are the foundation of my kingdom.”
Lilith, standing off to the side, chuckled softly. “He’s doing it out of pure selfishness, really.”
The Demon Lord shot her a playful glance but continued, undeterred. “Let us move on.”
He called another name, and this time, a woman dressed in a dark robe stepped forward. Her eyes were a deep violet, and she carried a thick tome under her arm. She looked scholarly, her face marked with the wisdom of someone who had spent centuries with her nose buried in ancient texts.
“Haruka Fujimoto, head of the magical archives.”
Haruka bowed low, her voice soft and measured as she spoke. “My Lord, the progress on deciphering the ancient texts, particularly the Necronomicon and other forgotten grimoires, is nearly complete. The spells of the Old World are being revealed piece by piece. Soon, we will unlock their full potential.”
The Demon Lord nodded, acknowledging her with a rare display of satisfaction. “Excellent. Continue your work. We will need every forgotten art and spell to fight the forces of Heaven and beyond.”
The hall grew quiet as the seriousness of the situation settled over the room. Everyone knew that the Demon Lord already possessed vast knowledge—yet he still sought more. His desire for omnipotence was endless.
His tone shifted, becoming more grave. “Now, let us address the situation with the heavens.”
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Thalassa has fallen. Slain by the archangel Gabriel, Heaven’s second strongest.”
A murmur passed through the hall. Thalassa was one of their most formidable warriors, and to hear that she had been killed by Gabriel sent a wave of unease among the Apostles.
“The whereabouts of the other archangels—Uriel, Raphael, and Jibril—are unknown,” the Demon Lord continued. “Gabriel’s presence has been confirmed, but the others are hiding, no doubt biding their time.”
He let the words hang in the air for a moment before shifting topics again. “We must also speak of the magical gods—those born from the primordial contradictions. They have begun to move, and I have tasked Morigan to deal with them.”
The hall was silent, everyone taking in the gravity of his words. Morigan, one of the twelve Apostles, was powerful, but facing the magical gods would be no small feat. These were beings who once threatened the gods themselves, nearly bringing divine rule to its knees.
“Morigan…” Meliae whispered to herself. She had heard stories about the Apostles, but now seeing them, hearing about their missions, made everything seem so much more real.
With a clap of his hands, the Demon Lord’s tone shifted again, commanding attention. “The warriors of my army will remain on high alert. I want all evidence of the other archangels found. Search the remnants of the shattered worlds—Uriel, Raphael, and Jibril must be hiding somewhere.”
The Archangels and Their Roles
As the meeting continued, the Demon Lord briefly described the archangels they were dealing with, referencing their biblical origins.
Gabriel, the second strongest of the archangels, was known as the messenger of God. He had the power to communicate divine will and was tasked with delivering important messages. He was also a fierce warrior, capable of summoning devastating holy power.
Uriel, the archangel of wisdom, was the embodiment of knowledge and repentance. His role in the celestial hierarchy was to bring illumination to both Heaven and Earth. He was feared for his ability to manipulate divine energy and was known for his insight into the future.
Raphael, the healer, was known for his ability to cure any ailment and provide protection. His presence was calming, but his power was not to be underestimated—he was capable of erasing entire realms of existence if necessary.
Jibril, also known as Gabriel in some texts, was often considered a twin or variant of Gabriel in other traditions. In this world, Jibril was seen as a separate entity, known for overseeing the souls of the dead and guiding them to their final resting place.
The meeting stretched on, but every word carried weight. As the debriefs concluded, the Demon Lord finally stood, his imposing form casting a long shadow over the room.
“We are entering a new age,” he declared, his voice filled with dark determination. “Prepare yourselves. The heavens will fall, and a new world will rise under my reign.”
As the Demon Lord moved to conclude the meeting, Lilith, ever bold and direct, stepped forward with a confident smile. Her golden eyes gleamed as she addressed the hall.
“Before we finish, my Lord, I have a final matter to declare.” She glanced briefly at Typhon, who remained silent but attentive. “Typhon and I will be sent to the Northern Castle to confront the hero sent by the gods.”
The hall erupted in murmurs of surprise and discontent. The Northern Castle, Tartesso of Albion, was known as Lady Circe’s stronghold, and the idea of sending another Apostle into her territory seemed almost blasphemous to some.
One of the Apostles, a woman wearing light, revealing clothes and surrounded by other women who dressed similarly—Circe’s warriors—stepped forward. Her long black hair fell messily around her face, her expression twisted in frustration. “The Northern Castle belongs to Lady Circe,” she said, her voice sharp with defiance. “Why send Apostles into her territory? That is her domain!”
The tension in the air thickened as more voices joined the growing debate, but Lilith’s smile remained unfazed, her tone steady as she responded, “With Dagon’s unexpected demise, we are fewer in number. Circe is too valuable an asset to risk losing. Her ability to see the farthest reaches of the future is unequaled by any but the Demon Lord himself. She is a key piece in our grand design.”
Lilith’s words were cutting, with an undercurrent of arrogance that didn’t go unnoticed. Circe’s underlings, a group of women who had sworn their loyalty to her, stood together, their black hair varying in length and style—some long and straight, others messy or spiked. They all wore expressions of barely contained anger, particularly their leader. Her hands trembled, her fingers curling into tight fists as she fought to control her fury.
One of the women gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with frustration as she muttered under her breath, “Lilith thinks she’s above everyone, just because she stands beside the Demon Lord.”
The leader of the group, a woman with sharp, angular features and piercing dark eyes, took a step forward, her patience wearing thin. Her jaw clenched as she glared at Lilith, whose status as an Apostle and personal attendant to the Demon Lord often made her seem untouchable. Lilith’s condescending tone was unbearable to the warrior women, who valued their loyalty to Circe above all else.
Sensing the growing tension, Lilith raised an eyebrow and addressed them with a dismissive wave. “If you are truly loyal to Lady Circe, then prove it with actions, not words. Destroy the heroes and the angels sent by the heavens, and Circe will once again reign supreme in Tartesso.”
The leader of the group, her name Alecto, couldn’t contain her anger any longer. Her teeth ground together as she glared at Lilith. Her eyes blazed with indignation. “We don’t need your commands to prove our loyalty! We follow Lady Circe’s will, not yours.”
The hall fell silent as her words echoed. Lilith’s smirk faltered for just a moment, her golden eyes narrowing, but before she could respond, the Demon Lord raised his hand.
“There is no need to send you to your deaths,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. His black magatama-shaped pupils glinted as they scanned the women. “You may be loyal, but do not mistake that loyalty for invincibility.”
Alecto, however, wasn’t done. She stepped forward again, her gaze challenging the Demon Lord himself. “Do not underestimate us. We are not weak.”
The Demon Lord’s eyes flicked towards her, but what he saw in his dark pupils was the future of their deaths, clear and unavoidable. His lips thinned, thoughts racing as he recalled the bond of names. In this world, to receive a name from an Apostle meant receiving an existence tied by fate itself. Names were more than identity; they were curses, linking life and death. To contradict that name was to court total annihilation.
The Demon Lord, deep in thought, summoned a magical item before Alecto. A dagger, simple in shape yet radiating with tremendous power, appeared before her. The moment it materialized, a cold silence spread through the hall.
The Lich Apostle, standing at the edge of the room, let out a soft gasp of disbelief. His skeletal hands trembled as he adjusted the dark robes draping his withered form. His hollow eyes, glowing faintly in the shadows, were wide with shock. “The Vajra...,” he whispered. “The sacred treasure.”
The Lich, Orpheus von Umbra, was known for his profound knowledge of ancient artifacts, and even he could scarcely believe his eyes. His face—an eerie blend of bone and shadow—contorted in awe as he recognized the power before him. The Vajra, a relic once held by the first to awaken to true illumination, was a symbol of divine convergence with life itself. For it to appear now, in the Demon Lord’s hands, was a sign of unimaginable power.
Typhon, standing in the back, had remained quiet throughout the exchange, but when he heard Lilith’s declaration that he would be sent to the Northern Castle, his expression shifted. He crossed his arms, his silver eyes narrowing as he processed the information. The Northern Castle? The hero sent by the gods? He hadn’t expected to be pulled into such a direct confrontation so soon, but there was no hesitation in his stance—only a cool acceptance.
Typhon, calm and composed, cast a sidelong glance at Lilith, who seemed to enjoy stirring conflict with Circe’s warriors. He could sense the underlying tension in the room and knew that Lilith’s sharp tongue had only fanned the flames. Still, he didn’t speak, not yet. He would do as the Demon Lord commanded, but he couldn’t help but wonder about the hero they would face. A hero sent by the gods was no small matter.
As the Lich Apostle finally calmed his curiosity, he spoke in a low, reverent tone. “The Vajra... a proof that one has merged with life and illumination itself. It is no surprise that our Lord possesses such an artifact.”
The Demon Lord’s expression didn’t change as he placed the dagger before Alecto, his voice as firm as steel. “You say you are strong, but strength is proven in the crucible of combat, not in idle boasts. Take this sacred treasure, and let it be a testament to your loyalty and your fate.”
Alecto’s anger dissipated for a moment, replaced by awe as she stared at the Vajra. The other women around her fell silent, their eyes fixed on the sacred treasure. The Demon Lord had given them a choice—a chance to prove their loyalty, but also a reminder of the price of failure.
The hall was still, the weight of the moment sinking into everyone present. Lilith crossed her arms and smirked, clearly pleased with the outcome, while Typhon simply watched, his mind already preparing for the battle ahead.
The Demon Lord’s gaze lingered on the warriors before he finally turned to the rest of the Apostles. “Prepare yourselves. The war against the heavens is far from over.”
As Alecto stood before the sacred Vajra, its ethereal glow casting long shadows across the hall, her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. The tension between her loyalty to Circe and the bitter sting of Lilith's arrogance gnawed at her. She had sworn her life to Lady Circe, the great Enchantress of Tartesso, whose foresight rivaled even that of the Demon Lord. But now, with this sacred dagger in her hands, she found herself at a crossroads.
Circe had given her and her fellow warriors a purpose—more than just the blood-soaked work of battle, more than simple servitude to the Demon Lord’s ambitions. For Alecto, serving Circe had always been an honor, a bond deeper than words could express. Circe’s foresight was legendary, and the loyalty of her warriors was unwavering because they had witnessed firsthand the incredible power of their mistress. Alecto owed everything to Circe—her strength, her purpose, even her very name. She knew that, in the grand scheme of things, Lilith’s mocking words were nothing. But still, they lingered in her heart, a festering wound that refused to heal.
“Alecto of the Furies,” she muttered to herself, gripping the Vajra tighter. Circe had named her after the mythological figure known for her unrelenting vengeance. That name defined her, tied her to her mistress as tightly as any curse. Her loyalty to Circe was absolute. Lilith’s arrogance wouldn’t sway her, but neither could she dismiss the dangerous games the other Apostles were playing. The internal politics within the Demon Lord’s army were becoming more treacherous by the day, especially after Dagon’s unexpected demise.
Alecto’s sharp eyes scanned the room as she heard hushed whispers from the shadows. The other Apostles, demons, and various underlings were gossiping amongst themselves, exchanging nervous glances. Many of them were speculating about the fate of Circe’s warriors, and, more importantly, about Dagon’s death.
“Did you hear?” one voice murmured. “They say the heavens sent one of their strongest archangels after him.”
“Gabriel, wasn’t it?” another whispered. “Dagon didn’t stand a chance.”
Alecto’s jaw clenched. Dagon, the mighty Apostle of the Deep, had been an ally, if not a friend. His death had shocked them all. To fall so swiftly, even at the hands of an archangel, was a sobering reminder that no one—no matter how powerful—was invincible.
“But what about Circe’s warriors?” a voice behind her asked. “Are they really as strong as they say? I’ve heard they’re nothing more than glorified playthings. Pretty faces, but not much else.”
Alecto’s teeth ground together. She resisted the urge to whirl around and silence the speaker. Those kinds of rumors had followed Circe’s warriors for as long as she could remember. Their revealing outfits, their allure, and their unwavering loyalty to a single woman had sparked all manner of gossip. To outsiders, they might seem like mere ornaments, women who relied on seduction more than strength. But Alecto knew the truth. Circe had trained them personally, taught them the art of war, and imbued them with magic beyond comprehension. They were the Furies—named after the ancient mythological beings that carried out the wrath of the gods.
Still, the whispers continued, the doubts festering like a slow poison.
“I’ve heard Circe is only keeping them around because she sees the future. She probably knows they’ll be useful somehow.”
“Useful? Against heroes and angels? We’ll see.”
Alecto tightened her grip on the Vajra, feeling its raw power course through her fingers. Her loyalty was unwavering, but the doubts of others, their constant questioning of Circe’s strength and by extension, her own, stoked a fire deep within her. Her heart beat louder in her chest as her thoughts turned to her mistress. Circe was no ordinary Apostle. Her foresight was unmatched. She had seen paths that others couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and Alecto knew—she knew—that Circe had already foreseen the events to come.
Yet, even as her loyalty burned brighter, Alecto couldn’t help but feel the weight of Lilith’s words. “Prove it with actions, not words.” It was true. The time for words was over. They had to show the Demon Lord, Lilith, and the rest of the Apostles that the Furies were not to be taken lightly. She would carve their worth into the world with this sacred dagger, and not a soul would dare question their strength again.
As her mind churned, a sudden, sharp voice pulled her from her thoughts. Typhon, who had remained quiet for most of the meeting, finally spoke. His tone was cold, his expression unreadable.
“So, I’m to head to the Northern Castle, am I?”
Lilith glanced at him, her expression smug. “Yes, Typhon. I trust you can handle the hero? Or are you feeling… hesitant?”
Typhon’s silver eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. His emotions were well concealed, as always, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air around him. “I have no reservations,” he said, his voice calm but laced with underlying irritation. “But sending me into Circe’s territory without consulting her first could cause complications.”
Lilith’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m sure Circe will understand. After all, the hero must be dealt with, and who better than you to do it?”
Alecto watched the exchange closely, her earlier doubts slowly giving way to a new resolve. Typhon was a force to be reckoned with, but even he had his limits. She and the other Furies had to be ready. The hero would not fall easily, and neither would the angels that surely awaited them.
Her loyalty to Circe demanded action, and with the Vajra in her hands, Alecto knew what she had to do. This was more than a mission—it was a chance to prove the strength of the Furies, to show the Demon Lord and Lilith that Circe’s warriors were not mere ornaments to be dismissed. They were the vengeful hands of fate, and they would not fail.
In the silence that followed, the hall seemed to hold its breath, as if even the walls themselves waited in anticipation of what was to come.
From her place near the shadows of the grand hall, Meliae observed the Furies—five women standing tall, their postures unflinching despite the tense air. The hall was still echoing with whispers of Circe's strength, and Dagon’s recent death had sent shockwaves through the ranks. But it wasn’t the gossip that intrigued Meliae—it was the Furies themselves.
The first woman, Alecto, held the Vajra, her face a mask of calm intensity. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back, contrasting with her sharp, fierce eyes. Alecto was the leader, that much was clear. Her aura screamed loyalty and vengeance, much like the mythological figure she was named after. Every move she made was deliberate, a silent testament to her power. The other four women stood in quiet reverence behind her, each unique in their appearance but bound by an unmistakable sisterhood.
Meliae’s eyes moved to Megaera, a woman with wild, spiked hair, her muscular build concealed only by the thin, revealing armor of the Furies. Her expression was one of barely-contained rage, eyes flicking back and forth between Lilith and the Demon Lord. The tension in her body was palpable, as though she were a coiled spring ready to strike at any moment.
Tisiphone, with her sleek, short hair and dagger-like eyes, was much more composed but carried the same deadly aura as the others. Her stance was fluid, like a predator lying in wait. Even when she was still, there was a simmering energy beneath the surface, a readiness to act at a moment’s notice.
Alectra and Nyx, the last two Furies, were the most silent of the group, their expressions unreadable. Alectra’s long hair hung messily over her face, hiding her features, while Nyx’s lean frame exuded a quiet confidence that only added to the air of mystery surrounding the group. These women, despite their outward beauty, were weapons in their own right—sharp, lethal, and bound by an unbreakable loyalty to Circe.
Meliae couldn’t help but feel a chill run down her spine as she looked at them. They were so different from her—seasoned warriors forged in blood and magic. She felt out of place, as if she were nothing more than a spectator to a grand play unfolding before her. Could she ever become like them? Her heart raced with uncertainty. But then, she caught the eyes of Alecto—cold, calculating, yet with a glimmer of something else. Was it… pity? No, not pity. Perhaps… recognition?
Before she could dwell on it further, a voice cut through her thoughts—Saki, with her usual sarcasm, was back.
"Well, is this meeting finally over, or are we going to keep listening to more of Lilith’s ego stroking?" she asked, rolling her eyes dramatically as she leaned casually against the marble pillar beside Meliae.
Meliae shot her a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. Despite the gravity of the situation, Saki’s irreverence always managed to break the tension. Her friend’s casual attitude towards the Demon Lord’s meetings had gotten her into trouble more than once, and Meliae had no doubt that today would be no different.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The Demon Lord, who had been listening in silence, turned his gaze to Saki. His voice, calm yet commanding, cut through the air like a blade.
"Saki," he said, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. "You will accompany Typhon to the Northern Castle."
Saki’s eyes widened in shock, her usual cocky demeanor faltering for just a moment. “What?” she blurted out, unable to hide her disbelief. “Accompany Typhon? Me?”
The entire hall went silent as everyone turned to look at her, Saki’s sarcastic attitude having vanished in the blink of an eye. Typhon’s cold silver eyes flickered in her direction, though he said nothing.
“You heard me,” the Demon Lord said, his voice firm but unbothered by her reaction. “You will go with him. Consider it… an opportunity to prove yourself.”
Meliae could almost feel Saki’s internal struggle as her friend clenched her fists, lips twitching as though she were biting back a retort. Saki, who always prided herself on being a free spirit, was now forced to follow Typhon, one of the most stoic and feared Apostles under the Demon Lord's command.
“Fine,” Saki finally muttered, a slight edge to her voice. “But don’t expect me to carry his bags.”
The Demon Lord’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles before his eyes turned towards Meliae. The sudden attention made her heart skip a beat.
“And now,” he said, “our new recruit. Meliae, step forward.”
Meliae’s pulse quickened as all eyes in the hall turned to her. The weight of their stares was almost unbearable, but she swallowed her fear and stepped forward as commanded, her legs feeling heavier than they ever had before.
“This is Meliae,” the Demon Lord continued, his voice echoing through the hall. “A new addition to our ranks. She has much to learn, but I expect great things from her.”
Meliae bowed her head slightly, trying to keep her nerves in check. The Furies watched her with unreadable expressions, while Saki, from her place beside Typhon, raised an eyebrow, her usual sarcastic smile back in place.
“Well,” Saki muttered just loud enough for Meliae to hear, “good luck, new girl.”
The grand hall felt heavier as the meeting came to its conclusion. The Demon Lord, with his usual authoritative calmness, stood in front of his gathered Apostles and soldiers. His eyes, dark and unreadable, glanced over each face, as though calculating every action and word spoken throughout the meeting. The tension that hung over the room lingered like an ominous cloud, but he didn’t seem concerned. Instead, he delivered the debrief with precise clarity.
"The Furies," his voice echoed, "will be dispatched to the frontlines. Their mission: eliminate the heroes sent by the heavens. Typhon and Saki, you will proceed to the Northern Castle to oversee operations there." His eyes narrowed slightly. "With Dagon’s unfortunate demise, it’s necessary for us to take precautionary measures and reinforce key strongholds."
A soft, almost joyful clap of his hands followed, a strange contrast to the grave words he had just spoken. "That concludes today’s meeting. You are dismissed."
As the Demon Lord turned towards the large balcony door at the far end of the room, his movements were graceful, his posture relaxed yet still commanding. He seemed almost untouchable, a figure of absolute authority and power.
However, his exit was interrupted by none other than Saki. She moved swiftly, her lips curved in a sarcastic smile as she caught up with him. "Wait," she said, her voice dripping with her usual irreverence. "About this sudden task you just dumped on me… What’s the deal?"
The Demon Lord paused, not turning around immediately, but the room went silent, everyone watching the interaction with keen interest. Saki’s eyes gleamed with a playful challenge. "I thought I was only here to perform experiments. You know," she added with mock cheerfulness, "ones that don’t require me to take responsibility if the subject dies."
Her voice was laced with sarcasm, and it was clear she was testing the limits, pushing her boundaries. The hall froze as everyone sensed the brewing conflict. Lilith, ever protective of the Demon Lord and fiercely loyal, stepped in with chilling precision. Without hesitation, she released her aura, a suffocating, dark force that washed over the hallway. Her intent was clear—crush Saki to her knees for her insolence. The pressure was immense, the air thickening under Lilith's formidable power.
But Saki stood her ground, her smirk only growing more defiant. Unlike the others in the hall, she didn’t falter under Lilith’s oppression. Apostles were equals in magical power, and Saki’s ability to manipulate aether was just as potent as Lilith’s. The two women locked eyes, their auras swirling around them in a volatile clash of energy, neither one backing down.
Saki raised her chin defiantly, her voice cutting through the air, "Is this really how we’re going to settle things, Lilith? You think a little magical pressure will make me bow?"
Lilith’s dark eyes flared with annoyance, her aura intensifying as the air around them crackled with energy. But before their battle of wills could escalate further, the Demon Lord intervened. His presence alone was enough to break the tension, and both their auras dissipated instantly.
His expression, however, had shifted. No longer calm or detached, his face was now serious, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. His voice, colder than before, cut through the room. "Saki," he said, his tone sharp, "what exactly is bothering you about playing your role as an Apostle?"
Saki’s cocky grin wavered slightly. She knew she had pushed too far, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to back down so easily. "It’s not about the task itself," she began, her voice a bit more restrained. "It’s about the binding rule between Apostles and their domains. If another Apostle enters the territory, it could disrupt or even rewrite the set laws governing that area."
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was only silence. The Demon Lord’s piercing gaze remained fixed on her, and the intensity of his stare felt like a blade pressing against her throat. Unlike Lilith’s intimidation, his presence now carried something far more dangerous—an intent to kill. Saki felt it immediately, the shift in the air. Her body reacted on instinct, and before she knew it, she had fallen to her knees.
Fear gripped her, something far beyond the normal discomfort she felt in these moments of confrontation. It wasn’t just physical intimidation—it was existential. The Demon Lord’s words carried a weight that pressed down on her very soul.
"Who," the Demon Lord asked, his voice like a death sentence, "gave you your name when you were a nameless, wandering warlord?"
Saki didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The answer was already clear, painfully so.
"I did," the Demon Lord continued, his voice low and lethal. "I gave you a name. I blessed you with power, made you more than you ever were. You think you can defy me now?"
His words cut deeper than any blade. The reality of the situation sank in for Saki as his gaze bore into her. She had never felt fear like this, not in all the centuries she had lived. It wasn’t just the fear of death. It was the fear of losing everything—her life, her memories, even her very existence. The power that bound her to this world, the essence of her being, was tied to the name he had given her. If he took it away…
Her mind raced as she felt the space around them twist. For a brief, horrifying moment, the very fabric of reality bent to the Demon Lord’s will. The world seemed to collapse inward, like she was being sucked into a void where her existence would be erased. She stopped breathing, her body frozen in terror.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure vanished. The pocket world twisted back into shape, and Saki gasped, realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time. Her chest heaved as she tried to regain her composure, her heart pounding violently in her chest.
The Demon Lord’s voice, now calm once again, broke through her frantic thoughts. "I expect results, Saki."
She couldn’t respond. Her teeth clenched in a mixture of embarrassment and anger, her fists trembling. He had humiliated her, reduced her to nothing with just a gaze and a few words.
Lilith, who had remained a step behind, finally spoke. Her voice was softer, almost devoid of her usual arrogance. "Saki," she said, "he sent you and Typhon because he trusts you both. Don’t forget that."
For a brief moment, Lilith’s words seemed sincere, carrying none of the usual mockery or sarcasm. But Saki, her pride too wounded to accept such sentiment, dismissed her with a scornful tone. "Save it," she snapped, her voice bitter as she pushed herself to her feet.
Lilith’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pity, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. But Saki wasn’t interested in that. She turned away from both of them, refusing to acknowledge the deeper meaning behind the encounter.
The Demon Lord, now disinterested in further confrontation, excused himself, leaving the room with his final words echoing in the air. Saki stood there, her back rigid, her emotions simmering beneath the surface as she tried to regain control.