CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 94. DEMON KINGDOM

Kingdom of Erevalis, Demon Kingdom

"Your time ended the moment you fell in love with that princess," Velmora said. Her voice carried through the chamber like a curse, echoing off stone and fire. "Why crawl back now, Ashkareth?"

Across the arena stood Velmora Moravine of House Moravine—one of the seven great houses of Erevalis, the one that ruled the demon race. Her armor shimmered like liquid shadow, forged from scaled obsidian and demon silk, every thread alive with faint, red veins of power. Her wings, vast and flawless, half-unfurled in quiet threat.

She was the kind of beauty that cut. Sharp, regal, and dangerous. Her eyes glowed the color of fresh blood, framed by the faint trace of a smirk that held no warmth. In her right hand, she held Abyssal Cry, a blade older than memory, its edge leaking black mist that curled like smoke from a dying star.

Ashkareth’s growl rolled through the hall, low and thunderous. "I’m not the one sponsoring forbidden magic for the Black Covenant, Velmora."

Her expression hardened. "You have no proof of that!" she roared, wings snapping wide in fury.

He tilted his head, lips curling into a cruel smile. "You talk too much for a reigning queen. Fight me or step aside. I have proof of everything." A murmur rippled through the chamber.

Ashkareth stood tall at the center of the arena, his presence filling the room like a storm. His armor was dark silver, carved with infernal runes that pulsed faintly with every beat of his heart.

Long, black horns swept backward, polished by battle and flame, catching the red light that danced across the walls. His eyes burned brighter than the firepits surrounding them, eyes that had seen war, loss, and betrayal and carried all of it without fear.

Around them, the six remaining noble houses of Erevalis watched from their raised seats, their sigils glowing faintly in the smoke-choked air. No one spoke. Every gaze was fixed on the two alphas standing within the blood circle, one who ruled and one who had returned to reclaim.

Years ago, Ashkareth had walked away from his throne. He had surrendered the throne willingly, turning his back on conquest to live in peace with the woman he loved and raise their daughter to keep Roxanne safe, because she was born with mixed blood.

The council stirred. The Lord of House Valcryn leaned forward, his grin sharp as a blade. "Enough talk," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "The circle is drawn. Let power decide the truth."

The circle flared to life beneath them, glowing a deep crimson that stained the obsidian floor. Every rune pulsed in rhythm with their heartbeats, binding the challenge under ancient law. The flames along the chamber walls roared higher, feeding on the tension between them.

Velmora’s wings spread wide, each feather shimmering with shadowfire. She raised Abyssal Cry, her voice cutting through the roar of flames. "By blood and flame, I claim my right to the throne. You will fall again, Ashkareth."

Ashkareth didn’t answer. His gaze was calm, almost pitying, as he rested his hand on the hilt of his greatsword—Infernael, a weapon forged from the bones of a fallen god. Its blade pulsed faintly with molten light, whispering in a voice only its master could hear.

The circle exploded with heat.

Velmora moved first, fast enough to split the air. Shadows coiled around her body as she vanished, reappearing above Ashkareth with her blade already descending. The impact cracked the ground, flames scattering like sparks in a storm. But Ashkareth was already gone, his form dissolving into a blur of smoke and silver.

A single heartbeat later, he stood behind her.

Velmora spun, wings whipping the air, but his hand was already around her throat. He lifted her effortlessly, his eyes glowing like coals. "You’ve forgotten," he said, voice low. "You only sit on that throne because I allowed it."

She snarled and swung her sword upward, black fire erupting from the edge. The flames licked his armor, but he didn’t even flinch. With a flick of his wrist, he slammed her into the floor so hard the sigils cracked beneath her body.

Velmora screamed and released a burst of magic, pure shadow exploding outward. The blast threw him back several paces, his boots scraping the ground as the arena shook. For a moment, she rose again, her form wreathed in darkness, her blood dripping into the runes, fueling them.

But Ashkareth’s laughter broke through the smoke, deep and cold. "You think you can match me in shadow?" The flames dimmed, and for the first time, the room seemed to tilt toward him, as if the very air bent in fear.

His aura spread, thick and suffocating. Black fire crawled across his armor, devouring light. The ancient runes on the arena floor flared bright red, then cracked, unable to contain his power. When he spoke again, his voice carried through every mind in the chamber.

"I’m the storm that birthed Erevalis. I’m what you crawled from." He raised his hand, and the air trembled.

A wave of infernal energy surged from his palm, slamming into Velmora with such force that her armor shattered. The sound was deafening. She hit the wall hard enough to leave a crater, her wings snapping as she fell to one knee.

Still she fought to rise, clutching Abyssal Cry, panting, eyes burning with hatred.

Ashkareth stepped forward slowly, each footfall cracking the ground. "Do you see it now? What separates us is not power, Velmora. Its purpose."

She screamed and launched herself at him, her body a blur of claws, teeth, and black flame. The two collided in an explosion of light and shadow, blades clashing in a shower of sparks. Each strike sent ripples through the air, shaking the pillars and cracking the marble seats of the council.

But where Velmora fought with rage, Ashkareth fought with purpose. Every motion is measured, every strike deliberate, his strength restrained only by his precision. His blade, Infernael, cut through the air in smooth arcs that sang with power, each swing timed perfectly, as if he already knew where her attacks would fall before she made them.

Velmora’s blows came fast and desperate, wild with fury. Sparks burst from every clash, steel shrieking against steel, black flames spilling from her sword in waves. Yet none of it mattered. Her strikes either glanced harmlessly off his armor or were turned aside with effortless grace.

Ashkareth stepped through her attacks as though walking through rain, untouched, calm, and utterly certain. The infernal runes along his gauntlets glowed brighter with every movement, absorbing her shadow magic and twisting it into smoke that curled around his form like living flame.

A cruel smile spread across his lips as he met her blade one final time, locking her weapon against his. Their eyes met, hers burning with hatred, his with amusement, almost in disbelief.

"You’re far weaker than my daughter," he said, his voice low and steady.

The words hit harder than any blade. Velmora’s snarl faltered for a moment, disbelief flashing across her face before rage consumed it again. She screamed, pulling her sword free and channeling everything she had left into one brutal strike.

But Ashkareth was already moving. He sidestepped easily, almost lazily, the edge of her sword missing him by mere inches. Then, with a twist of his wrist, Infernael swept across her side, leaving a deep, searing wound that hissed with molten heat.

Blood sprayed when he finally countered with one clean cut across her abdomen. The sound that followed was part roar, part gurgle. Velmora stumbled back, clutching the wound, her wings twitching weakly, and her blood hitting the floor and burning against the cracked stone.

Ashkareth didn’t even bother to follow up. He simply stood there, the light of the arena fire reflecting against his dark armor, the faintest trace of disappointment in his eyes.

Blood sprayed when he finally countered with one clean cut across her abdomen. The sound that followed was part roar, part gurgle. Velmora stumbled back, clutching the wound, her wings twitching weakly.

Ashkareth didn’t stop. He raised his sword and drove it into the ground, summoning a ring of hellfire that roared up around them, trapping her inside. The circle burned hotter and hotter until even demons in the gallery had to shield their eyes.

"Pathetic," he muttered. "The throne was never meant for the untempered."

Velmora tried to draw upon the abyss one last time, summoning the remnants of her black magic. Her voice cracked as she chanted, the ancient words tasting like ash. Dark chains of energy burst from the ground, reaching for Ashkareth’s limbs.

He looked down at them, unimpressed. Then the chains shattered with a single step.

The fire dimmed, drawn inward toward him. When he spoke again, his tone was almost gentle. "You were a worthy queen once. But you’ve forgotten what it means to carry our blood. You bring the forbidden magic, you tainted our demon pride."

Suddenly, he vanished.

In the next instant, he appeared in front of her, his hand spearing through her chest before she could even react. The chamber fell silent, the sound of the impact echoing like thunder. Her eyes widened, disbelief and agony mixing as her sword fell from her grip.

Ashkareth held her there for a moment, the flames behind him painting his face in gold and scarlet. Then he withdrew his hand, and she crumpled to the floor, her blood spreading across the broken runes. For a long moment, no one spoke. The air was heavy with power and smoke.

He turned his gaze toward the high seats of the council, his eyes glowing like twin furnaces in the dim light. The air still crackled with the aftermath of the fight, blood on the stone, smoke curling from the fissures his magic had left behind, and the faint echo of Velmora’s last scream still hanging in the silence.

"Is there anyone else," he said slowly, his voice deep and resonant, carrying to every corner of the chamber, "who doubts the blood of House Kareth?"

No one spoke. Not a whisper, not a breath. Even the flame pillars around the arena dimmed, as if afraid to burn too brightly under his gaze.

The high lords of the Six Houses sat frozen in their thrones, House Moravine’s smirk gone, House Vaelith’s sigil trembling faintly from the force of his aura. The scent of iron and ash filled the hall, and the weight of his presence pressed down on everyone like a physical force.

Ashkareth lifted his sword, Infernael, the runes still glowing faintly from battle. Then he raised his head high and roared, his voice shaking the walls of the council chamber. "I claim the throne from Velmora Moravine!"

His alpha dominance surged outward in a crushing wave, rolling through the arena like a storm. With the sheer force of his will, all the demons in the chamber fell to one knee, their spines bent. Even the strongest among them, the lords of the Six Houses, could barely keep their heads raised.

The obsidian floor split beneath his feet, glowing with infernal light as the ancient seals of the Demon Crown responded to his blood. The throne itself, carved from molten stone and shadow, trembled before him, acknowledging its true master.

Ashkareth stepped forward, every movement heavy with dominance and certainty. His armor still bled light from the battle’s runes, and his wings unfurled behind him, vast and commanding, filling the air with the rustle of power.

When he spoke again, it was softer, but the silence made it thunder. "The age of false rulers ends tonight." And with that, Ashkareth of House Kareth, the rightful king of Erevalis, took back his throne.

He wiped the blood from his gauntlet and sheathed his sword. The flames around the arena died down, leaving only the faint glow of the circle and the sound of Velmora’s labored breathing.

Ashkareth’s eyes softened for a moment as he looked at her fallen form. "You ruled with pride. But pride without purpose is hollow." Then he turned away.