The echoing clang of chains, the sting of the whip, the taste of my own blood—these were the symphony of my existence as a demon slave. You, Alex, reveled in my misery. Your laughter, a cruel melody, accompanied each strike, each humiliation. Yet, even as you broke my body, you unknowingly forged my spirit into an unyielding weapon.

I remember the day you first laid eyes on me, a scrawny, defiant half-breed. Disgust twisted your features, but a flicker of something else danced in your amber eyes—a challenge. You bought me, not for my strength, but for the spark of defiance you saw in me.

Years of torment followed. You pushed me to my limits, relishing in my pain. Each scar you etched onto my flesh was a testament to your cruelty, a brand of ownership. But beneath the agony, a seed of resentment took root, growing with every passing day.

Now, the tables have turned. I stand before you, no longer a slave, but a general, bathed in the blood of your enemies. The Demon Lord's praise rings in my ears, a stark contrast to your past insults. Belial and Abaddon, once my equals in suffering, now seethe with envy.

"Impressive work, Alastor," Belial sneers, his words dripping with false camaraderie.

"Yes, it's one thing to achieve victory, and another to keep it," Abaddon adds, his smirk a thinly veiled threat.

Their jealousy fuels my dark satisfaction. I turn to you, Alex, my gaze locked with yours. A cruel smile curls my lips as I speak, my voice a silken caress laced with venom.

"It seems my triumphs have ruffled some feathers," I purr, relishing the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. "Don't worry, Alex, I'll leave a few scraps for you next time—if you can handle them."

The words hang in the air, a silent declaration of war. Our past may bind us, but now, I am the hunter, and you are the prey. The game has begun, and I intend to savor every moment of your downfall.