CHAPTER 158: PAST OF BEELZEBUB

The moment Raze grabbed his hand, it felt like his entire consciousness was yanked out of his body. A force pulled him in, irresistible and overwhelming. He could not fight it. He could not even move. Everything warped around him until suddenly he opened his eyes again.

He was not in his body. He was not in the library. He was not anywhere he recognized.

He was floating, as if his awareness had been trapped inside a hollow space. He had no physical form, just perception, just thought. And through that perception, he saw through the eyes of another.

A child.

A demon child.

Since he was within the mind of the child, he could tell what the child looked like. It was surely Beelzebub as a child.

The young Beelzebub sat on a massive throne of black stone, towering and ancient, carved with symbols that hummed with a dim red glow. The throne sat in the center of a grand hall made entirely of dark marble. The floor was engraved with murals of ancient demons and the deeds they had carved into history, scenes of battles, rituals, and coronations stretching across the polished stone.

Yet, despite all the majesty and power around him, the boy did not look happy. He did not look proud or excited. No joy rested on his face. Instead, the weight of the world, or perhaps several worlds, pressed down on him. His small hands gripped the throne tightly, his expression empty, hollow.

He hated this chair. He hated this room. He hated whatever responsibility had been placed on him.

Footsteps echoed inside the vast hall.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Beelzebub turned his head. Raze felt the motion as if it were his own.

A woman approached.

She was breathtaking, yet terrifying. Her long blood-red hair cascaded down her back like liquid fire. A single horn rose from the center of her forehead, elegant yet sharp. Her skin was pale as paper, smooth and cold like carved marble. Her gown draped around her in flowing layers of black and crimson silk. Even her smile, gentle as it appeared, revealed the tips of sharp demonic teeth.

She walked gracefully to the throne and stood at the boy’s side.

"How are you, son?" she asked softly.

Her voice was gentle, warm, filled with an affection that was pure and sincere. A true mother’s voice.

Her smile widened slightly as she leaned closer. She looked like someone who adored her child with every part of her heart.

But the boy did not smile back.

His small fingers tightened around the armrest of the throne, and Raze felt a painful heaviness in his chest. A child who did not want to be here. A child carrying something no child should carry.

She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking slowly as if comforting him. Her voice softened.

"In a few days, you will finally take the mantle of your father and lead our race to defeat those humans. Your father will be so proud when you rise to take after him."

Her words were smooth and calm, but the effect on the boy was the opposite. Raze felt Beelzebub’s small body tense, felt the dread coil inside his stomach like a heavy stone.

The child turned his head toward her, mustering every drop of courage inside himself. His voice trembled.

"Mom... I do not want... I do not want to live a life of war. I do not want to fight humans anymore. I do not want to do what Dad did."

The words barely escaped his mouth.

She froze.

Her hand paused mid-stroke, fingers still tangled in his hair. Her expression shifted slowly, painfully. The loving smile dissolved, replaced by something cold, something dark, something furious.

With sudden violence, she yanked his hair with all her strength. The boy screamed as he was ripped off the throne and thrown to the ground. Before he could even lift his head, her claws struck across his face.

The sound echoed.

A sharp slap, claws dragging across his cheek, drawing lines of blood. He collapsed to the floor, crying hard as the wounds regenerated, the skin stitching itself back together. But the pain remained. The betrayal remained. The fear remained.

"You will do what you are told," she said, her voice seething. "You will take the mantle after your father. He sacrificed himself and was killed by those vermin humans. You will stand for what he stood for and lead our race to victory. That is your destiny."

She turned and walked away, her footsteps cold and steady against the marble floor.

Beelzebub lay there, sobbing quietly, the child who never wanted war forced into the path of a king.

Inside the memory, Raze felt everything as if it were happening to him. The sting of the claws. The terror of being pulled by the hair. The overwhelming helplessness. Tears slipped from his real eyes even though he had no body in this vision. The pain seeped into him, burrowing into his chest.

This was what Beelzebub meant by living his life and pain. This was only the beginning.

Before Raze could fully process the agony, the scene began to distort. The throne room dissolved like sand in a storm. The ground beneath him reshaped itself, colors swirling, air shifting.

Moments later, he found himself looking through Beelzebub’s eyes again, but the boy was older now, standing in a small field behind the castle. A quiet place. A garden of pale flowers that swayed gently in the breeze.

A place that looked peaceful. A place that did not belong anywhere near the life he had just seen.

Yet the heaviness inside the boy remained. Despite officially becoming the Demon King, Beelzebub had never changed. He remained the same, loving beautiful things and wishing for peace, despite the fact that he was forced to hide all this from his mother’s eyes.

Luckily, for the last few years, she had been away, leading the armies of demons against humans. He had been forced to get stronger, and he was extremely talented in demonic arts and more, but he still despised the forced training.