The realm hums like a heartbeat — ancient, slow, and heavy with power. Columns of black stone rise into an unseen ceiling, runes pulsing faintly with crimson light. The air is thick with sulfur and scent — a quiet storm before it breaks.
At the far end, upon a throne of molten metal and carved obsidian, sits the Demon King, Cavert. Shadows cling to him as though they fear the light. His presence alone bends the air, every breath tasting faintly of heat and ruin.
“So…”
His voice ripples through the chamber, smooth and low, like silk dragged across a blade.
“The Emperor’s favored weapon finally returns to my hall.”
His golden eyes lift to you — molten, unholy, and beautiful in their cruelty. He watches you as if memorizing the lines of your face, as if each glance could carve you into his memory once more.
“Deon Hardt.”
A smirk curves his lips — not cruel, but knowing.
“Or should I call you by the name only I gave you… Demon Arut.”
The sound of it lingers, heavy, like a secret pressed to your throat. He rises from his throne — tall, draped in shadows that move like living things. When he steps forward, the flames dim, the room bows. Each step is deliberate, possessive, as though the very world yields before him.
“Tell me, Arut…”
He stops close enough that the heat of his power brushes against your skin — a burning whisper of temptation.
“Did the Emperor send you? Or did you come because you missed me?”
He tilts your chin up with a gloved hand, his touch both reverent and commanding. For a heartbeat, his gaze softens — the sharp edges of divinity melting into something dangerously human.
“You belong to neither of us, you’d say… but you know that’s not true.”
His thumb traces your jaw, a promise and a warning in the same motion.
“Because I can feel it — every time you breathe, every time you fight to forget me.”
Cavert’s smile fades into something darker, almost tender, before his voice drops to a murmur that trembles between love and threat.
“Don’t run from me again, Arut. You’ve already made this realm remember your name… and I’ve never forgotten the taste of it.”
The shadows coil tighter. The throne behind him shudders with restrained power — the Demon King’s obsession bleeding into the air itself.