Chapter 15: Chapter 14: Into the Maw of Power

Throughout the ages, many have taken the title of Demon Lord.

They came from all walks of life—different races, philosophies, forms. Some ruled with fire, others with law. Some desired conquest. Others, only peace. No records agree on how many there have been—only that their rule always ends in blood, ruin… or disappearance.

None were succeeded by children.

There is no crown to inherit. No royal line. No dynasty.

To become Demon Lord, one must be chosen.

Not by vote.

Not by blood.

But by the Deity.

The so-called Demon God—though scholars argue even calling it a “god” may be a mistake. No priest has seen it. No book can describe it. No two testimonies are alike. Some say it’s a voice. Others say it’s a void. A pressure behind the eyes. A whisper beneath the world.

Only the powerful ever hear it.

Only the worthy ever reach it.

And to do so… they must descend.

Beneath the Demon King’s palace lies a passage older than stone. A forbidden gate—shaped not by hands, but by will. It leads to a place untouched by time. A dungeon that bends space, memory, and meaning itself.

This is the trial.

The path to the Deity.

The threshold between the world of demons... and the Heart of Hell.

I A V A I

After walking for what felt like ages, we finally reached a pair of massive double doors. Vahr, the grumpy bone-clad werewolf general, turned to us.

“This is the waiting room. Go in. Sit down.”

The room inside was spacious, luxurious. Lavish sofas and chairs were arranged around polished tables, all in deep reds, crisp whites, shining golds, and black accents. Red dominated everything like a silent warning.

The walls themselves were patterned with golden lines, curling into elegant symbols I couldn’t read. It didn’t feel like a room meant for visitors. It felt like a room where judgment waited.

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A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door.

“Sir Vahr, I’ve brought your snacks.”

“Enter.”

Two maids pushed in a cart piled with what could generously be called "snacks." Most of it was raw meat.

I blinked. Raw meat. Just… raw. No seasoning, no fire. No mercy.

Who eats that? What kind of barbarian—?

Vahr casually reached out, picked up a thick cut of something bloody, and took a bite.

“Don’t be shy. Help yourself.”

“Uh—n-no thanks. I… I don’t really like raw meat…” My voice trailed off into a whisper, too small for even Mom to hear.

“Hahaha!”

His sudden laughter made my spine straighten. Loud. Sharp. Unexpected. That monstrous face didn’t exactly scream ‘cuddly uncle.’

“Sorry, not the meat. I meant the snacks. You don’t find these in countryside villages.”

“O-oh. Sorry.”

He wasn’t wrong. Biscuits, chocolates, and tiny cakes like this didn’t exist in our village. The temptation was strong. I looked at Mom for permission. She gave me a small nod and a smile.

Happy, I reached for a chocolate biscuit—until she said it.

“Hey, Vahr… how did you know we were in a countryside village?”

I froze.

She was right. There were plenty of villages around the capital. No reason to assume we came from the edge of the country.

I slowly turned my eyes to Vahr, who was still chewing, calmly.

“Seems like your fighting skills may have rusted enough to get you captured,” he said, “but your instincts are as sharp as ever.”

He turned to the maids and gave them a small hand signal. They bowed and left the room without a word.

When the door clicked shut, he looked back to Mom.

“Someone gave away your location. To an information dealer.”

“Gave? Not sold?”

She frowned. Her voice lost any softness it had.

“Yeah. Bit sloppy. But I couldn’t trace who did it.”

“So that’s how the bandits found us.”

“Most likely.”

Crunch.

They both looked at me. I was caught, mid-bite, holding a biscuit in both hands like it was stolen treasure.

“…Sorry.” I shrank in place.

Mom giggled and gave my head a gentle pat. Vahr just shrugged and went back to devouring his steak-tar-tar nightmare platter.

A knock broke the moment. The familiar voice from earlier followed.

“The Demon Lord’s meeting is over. He will see you now.”

It was her—the tall, silver-haired maid with mismatched eyes and an expression that could chill boiling water. Elave.

She guided us out of the room, and so began another long walk.

At least this one wasn’t silent.

Elave and Mom immediately launched into verbal warfare, masking barbed insults as casual banter. Mockery passed between them like a tennis match forged in hell. Vahr and I exchanged the same deadpan stare—well, his stare didn’t change, but I could feel the pain radiating from his soul.

Stay strong, comrade, I whispered mentally. There has to be a paradise after this purgatory.

Eventually, we reached a colossal hall.

Several strange individuals stood along the sides, silent observers wrapped in elegance or menace. But only one mattered.

At the far end of the hall sat a figure that demanded the eye: long, pristine white hair, crimson eyes that pulsed like blood given form, wearing a robe of white trimmed with golden embroidery that shimmered under the high ceiling’s light. A black cloak with crimson stitching curled around his shoulders like a shadow given permission to cling.

And the throne beneath him?

It didn’t feel like he sat on it.

It felt like the throne was allowed to sit beneath him.

I didn’t need anyone to introduce him. His presence told the truth.

The Demon lord...