The Damned Demon

In the vast halls of the Nightshade Kingdom, shadows loomed longer than usual.

The once-proud city of twilight, with its towering blackstone spires and dark pirple lights woven through the trees, was now tense with hunger, unrest, and uncertainty.

It had once been a place of mystique and quiet strength—hidden deep within the dark forested veils and mountains, thriving in secret—but now that very secrecy was becoming its prison.

The grand market squares stood quieter than they had in years. Food stalls were empty. Soldiers patrolled more frequently, not for order, but to stave off unrest. And whispers—resentful whispers—drifted through the alleys like venom.

"It's because of those cursed refugees…They have now cursed us with their fate"

"The blasted draconians wouldn't have bothered with us if it wasn't for them…"

"Their king is starving us, and the bloodburners the reason…"

Citizens who once extended kindness to the refugees of Bloodburn were now starting to shift.

Kindness gave way to weariness. Weariness to resentment. The supplies had run dry. Merchant routes had been cut off by Drakar's forces. What few friends the Nightshade Kingdom had—small tribes, distant merchants, neutral territories—were either bribed or threatened into silence.

To make things worse, dangerous and foreign beasts had begun appearing in the forests beyond the kingdom. Twisted, frenzied things that bore the foul stench of unnatural breeding—Drakar's work, undoubtedly. The kingdom was fending off enemies not just of steel and sorcery, but claws, poison, and madness.

How could they not feel resentment when they were starving, forced to take up dangerous quests to survive…only to die.

It would have been somewhat okay if they were at least able to return alive from the quests they had taken. But so many elderly had lost their young and abled sons and daughters to the quests that had exponentially become dangerous due to the sudden and shocking changes the humans had somehow forced upon them.

Those who managed to survive the supposedly "Child's Play" quests returned as failures, only to tell the rest that the humans they fought were monsters who never grew tired.

They just kept using their most powerful abilities again and again, as if they had endless mana.

How were they supposed to win against such humans? And as if to make things worse, they were getting sent to a different world to fight the humans…a world that was far different from the one they usually fought the humans on.

It was a world filled with powerful Hunters…a world filled with nightmares…a world from which one would need a devil's grace to return alive.

And watching and knowing all this suffering with a clenched jaw was Rowena.

Her hand gently resting on her rounded belly, the swell of her child now way more pronounced, a living symbol of all that she had lost—and all that she still had to protect.

But she would not falter. Not now.

-

In the cold meeting hall, the air was tense with the weight of burdened decisions.

At the long, dark yet ornate table sat the key figures of what remained of two kingdoms—Rowena, King Lakhur, Isola, Esther, and finally Jael Valentine, now Lord of House Valentine, after the treachery of his mother and the death of his father, Vernon.

Maps were spread across the table—territorial lines, blocked routes, beast-sighting zones. All marked with red ink, black arrows, and sigils of danger.

"We're hemmed in from all sides," Lakhur muttered, voice low as his dark gaze scanned the maps. His shoulders were taut with stress, and his long fingers tapped the table in restless rhythm. "Every route we relied on has gone silent. No trade. No diplomacy. We're bleeding slowly."

Rowena remained still, fingers laced over her stomach, her pale face set in a calm, yet resolute mask. "It's because of me. Because of my people."

Lakhur looked up sharply. "Don't say that."

She didn't flinch. "It's the truth. Drakar wouldn't waste this much time or effort unless it was to finish what he started. Your people are suffering… because you chose to shelter us. It won't be long before they won't be able to endure it any longer."

Isola lowered her gaze, saying nothing, though her silence spoke volumes. Esther's expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the flames dancing in the hearth. Jael only exhaled slowly, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.

Rowena continued, "If worse comes to worst… I will not let your kingdom fall with mine. I've already thought of several possible places to go into hiding. We'll leave. Quietly. Without notice. And we'll draw Drakar's attention away."

Lakhur's fist struck the table with a loud thud.

"I will not cast you out," he said, voice sharp with emotion. "Not like this. Not in your condition. I won't abandon your people, Queen Rowena. I—" He hesitated, something flickering in his eyes. "—I owe your ancestors that much. And even if I didn't...I still won't."

Rowena's lips softened, her cold expression melting for a moment as she looked at him. "You've already done more than enough. You saved my life when I had nothing left. You gave shelter to those who had lost their homes. For all that my people and I will forever be indebted to you. But we both know Drakar won't stop. He won't rest until everything tied to Bloodburn is wiped clean from this world."

She turned toward the others. "I will not stand by and watch another kingdom fall."

Esther spoke up, finally breaking her silence. Her voice was cold but laced with weary acceptance. "She's right. The signs are undeniable. The attacks will grow worse. The pressure will increase. And… eventually, he will force our hand."

Jael nodded slowly with a grim look, "If it comes to war… Nightshade won't last. We're already running on borrowed time. Perhaps hiding is the only path left."

Isola softly nodded and said, "Yes. We would rather not be the cause of the death of so many poor souls."

Lakhur's shoulders sank, his pride and heart at war. He opened his mouth, about to argue again—when a loud knock interrupted the moment.

All heads turned as the heavy double doors creaked open. A royal messenger stepped in, his armor dusty, his face grim. In his gloved hands, he carried a stone—smooth, dark, and glowing faintly with dark-red runes pulsing across its surface.

The room seemed to darken, as if the very presence of the object swallowed the firelight.

"My lords… my ladies…" the messenger said cautiously. "A group of Draconian soldiers intercepted our forward scouts. They didn't attack. Instead… they handed this over. They said it was meant for the Bloodburn Queen."

Silence fell over the chamber like a death shroud.

Rowena's expression changed at once. The cold mask of royalty fell away, and something far heavier replaced it—a tension deep in her bones, a weight of dread long familiar.

Her eyes fixated on the Sight Stone, its pulse like a heartbeat.

Lakhur straightened, jaw tight. "Did they say what was inside?"

The messenger shook his head slowly. "Only that she would understand… once she looked."

Jael stood, hand already drifting to the hilt of his sword.

Rowena reached out, her slender fingers wrapping around the Sight Stone.

Its cold, smooth surface seemed to pulse darkly in her grasp, resonating with a menacing energy.

Esther immediately took notice, a shadow of worry crossing her usually composed face as she gently reached out, her voice soft yet cautious.

"Your Majesty, perhaps I should take a look at it first. Drakar wouldn't send this unless it's to trouble you."

Rowena's eyes narrowed slightly, crimson irises flickering dangerously, as though locked in an internal battle. She was fully aware that Esther was right—Drakar's actions were calculated, and deliberate cruelty was wrapped in provocation. Yet the need to see, to witness whatever it was he wanted her to see, overwhelmed her reason.

She shook her head slowly, voice barely above a whisper yet resolute, "Even if that might be, I have to know what he wants me to see."

With that, she activated the Sight Stone, its dark-red runes flashing brightly for a moment before projecting vivid, lifelike images into the air above the table. A scene unfolded before them, as brutal as it was horrifying.

The once-beautiful Bloodburn Kingdom lay ravaged, reduced to little more than rubble, fire, and despair. Draconian soldiers marched ruthlessly through the burning streets, laughing and roaring as they mercilessly stortured the elderly who couldn't flee.

Rowena's jaw clenched painfully as she saw a few familiar faces—trusted elders from various noble houses and then there were the grandmothers, grandfathers of common people—crying out, collapsing to the blood-stained ground beneath heavy steel boots.

Young men and mere children were thrown violently to the ground, beaten with clubs and swords, shackle,d and dragged screaming into slavery. Rowena could see the innocence shattered in their eyes, replaced with pain, confusion, and unending horror.

But what truly wrenched her soul was the sight of her kingdom's women. The once-proud daughters of Bloodburn, her people, reduced to mere objects. Their agonized screams filled the projections, echoing through the quiet meeting hall, every cry cutting deeper into Rowena's heart. Her trembling gaze fell on some faces she knew, loyal and brave ones who had served her.

Even Lakhur's usually unshakeable composure cracked, forcing him to briefly avert his gaze, his jaw tightening with suppressed fury.

Jael clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles whitened, rage and sorrow burning in his narrowed eyes.

The lands and people his father and his forefathers had protected and nurtured ended up like this.

Esther swallowed hard, a glimmer of anguish flickering behind her composed expression. She never imagined she would feel a pain like this…not again after seeing her kingdom perish.

Isola's delicate features contorted with pain, tears filling her gentle eyes as the unbearable images seared into her soul.

But none felt it as deeply as Rowena. Her cold crimson eyes trembled violently, her lips parting slightly, unable to fully contain the agony tearing through her chest.

She couldn't find her voice or the will to look away.

Her heart beat rapidly, each beat like a dagger twisting deep into her being. The horror was relentless, her breathing growing uneven as her vision blurred with tears she refused to shed.

Yet she could not tear herself away, compelled to witness every injustice, every nightmare inflicted upon her people. After all, she failed to protect them.

Isola could sense the intense pain radiating from Rowena's usually reserved aura. Unable to watch her sister suffer another moment, she swiftly stood and gently pried the Sight Stone from Rowena's shaking fingers, deactivating it immediately.

"I'm sorry," Isola whispered softly, her voice quivering with compassion. "I couldn't let you keep watching it."

Esther nodded in solemn agreement, concern etched deeply in her gaze. "She's right, Your Majesty. Drakar sent you this to provoke you, hoping to draw you out into a rash confrontation. You mustn't let him succeed."

Jael stepped forward, his voice firm yet respectful. "Lady Esther speaks the truth, my queen. Our time will come. But it isn't now. For now, we must protect what little remains of us."

Rowena closed her eyes slowly, her trembling hands gripping the table edge, her chest rising and falling calmly yet with a hidden tremble. The images remained branded into her soul, the screams and cries echoing endlessly in her ears.

But when her eyes reopened, a chilling resolve burned within them—a reletnless fury born from sorrow and hatred.

"When that time comes," Rowena spoke, her voice soft yet dangerously sharp, every word a solemn vow, "I swear by the devils—I will rip out his heart myself."

Her words echoed through the hall, filling every heart with equal measures of dread and hope.

There would be no mercy, no forgiveness—only vengeance pure and fierce, driven by the unbearable pain and loss Rowena now carried forever in her heart.