The Bound Demon

Zephriel stood before the massive, ancient map of the multiverse, its countless realms represented by swirling orbs of light. His eyes, cold and unyielding, focused on the remaining worlds. The once grand hall, filled with advisors and soldiers, was now empty save for a single trembling demon.

"How many worlds remain?" Zephriel's voice was as sharp as the edge of a blade, cutting through the silence.

The demon, a frail creature with ash-gray skin and hollow eyes, dared not meet his gaze. "Seven worlds, my lord. No—six, since the Earth is filled with... lesser beings."

Zephriel's lips pressed into a thin line. "Useless. If you cannot find him, I will."

The demon fell to his knees, shadows curling around him as Zephriel's aura flared. "Forgive me, my king—"

"Leave."

The air grew thick, the very walls seeming to pull away from the wrath of their king. The demon scurried away, shadows swallowing his form as Zephriel turned his attention to the orb representing Earth.

"Lesser beings." The words echoed in his mind. Countless times, he had been told that no one of worth remained on that blue planet. But something deep within him, a whisper of an old promise, urged him to see for himself.

With a sweep of his hand, a portal opened before him, the swirling veil showing glimpses of a world far different from his own. Buildings of glass and steel, skies too blue, and souls too gray. He stepped through, and the shadows of his world retreated, leaving the throne room desolate.

On Earth

A bustling classroom filled with the hum of idle chatter and the scratch of pencils on paper. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting soft stripes of light and shadow over the room. Students sat in neat rows, their uniforms wrinkled with the day's wear.

Near the window, a boy sat with his head lowered, a soft curtain of dark brown hair falling over his face. His green eyes, wide and clear like polished jade, stared intently at the notebook before him. Small bandages adorned his cheeks and knuckles, a testament to a world that had not been kind to him.

He absentmindedly doodled on the edge of his notebook—a flower, petals unfurling in delicate spirals. His fingers, despite the bruises, moved with grace, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

"Elyon," the teacher's voice broke through the quiet, and the boy jolted, his pencil skittering off the page. His classmates snickered softly, but Elyon only offered a shy nod.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Can you answer the question?"

Elyon blinked, the green of his eyes catching the light. He glanced at the board, where an equation sprawled in white chalk. His lips moved as he calculated, and after a moment, he spoke. "Is it... 42?"

The teacher offered a tight smile, more out of pity than approval. "That's correct. Please, try to pay attention."

Elyon nodded again, his head bowing lower. The whispers from his classmates faded into a soft hum, and he returned to his drawing, the flower blooming beneath his touch.

Outside the window, the sky darkened unnaturally. Clouds rolled in, ink-black and heavy, pressing down on the world. The air shimmered, the colors bending as if reality itself had drawn a sharp breath.

Elyon paused, his pencil hovering above the page. His heart thrummed painfully, a sense of something—someone—drawing near. His eyes turned to the window, his breath misting the glass as he stared into the storm.

And there, standing on the edge of the school grounds, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall and imposing, with long silver hair that moved like smoke in the wind, and crimson eyes that seemed to pierce through time itself.

Zephriel had arrived.