CHAPTER 159: BEELZEBUB AND MARCELINE

Belzebub stood quietly in the small garden behind the castle, surrounded by pale flowers that danced gently in the breeze. For once, there was peace in his expression. His shoulders relaxed, his breath steady. Here, he could pretend he was not a prince. He could pretend he was just a child.

Then a voice shattered the calm.

"Belzebub!"

He looked up sharply. A demon girl sprinted toward him, her boots pounding against the stone path. She wore a maid’s uniform that hugged her frame a little too closely, sinful by design, with two curved horns rising from her head. Her skin held a soft violet hue, her hair dark as night, and her eyes carried the kind of warmth a demon rarely showed.

Mercilene. She was around his age, maybe a little younger, and when he saw her, the child’s calm expression brightened instantly. It was the purest smile he had shown in the memory so far.

"Mercilene," he called out.

But she was not smiling. Panic twisted her features.

"Your mother is back, Belzebub!" she shouted before even reaching him, her voice cracking with urgency.

The moment the words reached him, Belzebub’s eyes widened. He spun around, staring at the flowers in terror. If his mother saw this... if she found him wasting time again... she would not hold back. She never held back.

He attempted to mutter a spell, maybe hide the garden or erase the evidence, but it was too late.

A presence froze him.

His mother stood at the edge of the garden, watching. Their eyes met, and his heart sank. There was no escape.

She walked toward them with cold, deliberate steps. Mercilene immediately stepped aside and bowed low.

Belzebub’s mother stopped before the flowers, her expression carved in stone. Her gaze cut through the garden like a blade.

"You have outgrown the age where I would tolerate this," she said calmly, but her voice dripped with venom. "Your soldiers are at the front lines, pushing against the humans and claiming land, and you are here... playing with flowers."

She spat the last words as if they were filth.

"Disgusting. You waste your talents. The greatest prodigy ever born to the demon realm, and you spend your time growing plants."

Belzebub clenched his fists, trembling.

"But Mother... I have already told you. I do not want to be part of this war. I do not want to be involved with—"

Her hand struck him before he could finish.

A sharp slap echoed across the garden. His head snapped to the side, and claw marks carved lines of blood across his cheek. He refused to fall. He stood silent as the wounds knitted together again, though nothing in him truly healed.

She spoke with a chilling calm.

"Sorry for hitting you, my son, but you pushed me to it." She scoffed. "I suppose even I cannot restrain myself when you act so foolishly."

Belzebub forced a small, shaky laugh, trying to hide the hurt. "I guess I am not any bigger than a simple slap," he said, pretending it meant nothing.

Her face hardened.

"Tomorrow we return to the war front. You will stand beside me as one of our commanders. Your first true battle begins then. You will help lead the charge against the humans."

He froze. The words crashed over him like icy water. He wanted to protest, to scream, to tell her that this life was not his. But her tone told him there was no room for arguments. This was not a request. It was a command.

So he bowed his head, defeated.

Inside the memory, Raze felt the ache burn through him. The helplessness. The hatred. The heavy weight pressing against the heart of the child.

But in that sea of darkness, he noticed something else.

A single light.

The way Belzebub had looked at Mercilene. The way his face lit up at the sight of her. The small hope she represented.

Raze understood immediately.

No matter how broken Belzebub’s world was, no matter how cruel his mother became, Mercilene was the one thing keeping a piece of him alive.

The scene shifted without warning.

Raze was suddenly standing in the middle of a war front through Beelzebub’s eyes, surrounded by chaos so violent it felt alive. Flames raged across the battlefield. Smoke curled through the air in choking waves. The screams of humans and demons twisted together until they became one single cry of agony that refused to end.

Heat scorched his skin. Blood soaked the dirt beneath him.

Beelzebub knelt in the middle of it all.

His small body trembled as he clutched someone in his arms. The body was half burnt, her skin charred, her chest pierced straight through by a spear that had gone cleanly out the other side.

Marceline.

His light.

She had followed him to the battlefield because she refused to leave him alone. She wanted to serve by his side, even if it meant danger. When humanity unleashed their strongest mage’s ultimate spell, the entire war front had buckled. Demons and humans were sent flying. Fire swallowed the sky.

Marceline was caught in the center of it.

Beelzebub held her limp body in a princess carry, rocking slightly, as if willing her to wake up.

Tears poured freely from his eyes. They soaked her burnt shoulder. His small fingers dug into her clothes until his knuckles turned white.

Inside the memory, Raze felt it. Every shred of pain stabbing through the boy’s heart. The grief so sharp it nearly suffocated him. He felt like his own chest was being carved open.

The last light in Beelzebub’s world flickered.

Then it died.

In that single moment, something snapped.

Hatred rose inside him like a tidal wave, drowning everything. He hated the humans for taking her. He hated his mother for forcing him into a life he never wanted. He hated every living creature, every god, every demon who ever told him who he had to be.

He hated everything.

The ground vibrated under his knees. The air cracked.

Beelzebub threw his head back and roared, a sound so loud and filled with despair that the battlefield itself seemed to shudder.

A massive magical formation erupted beneath him, wide enough to cover the entire front line. Runes glowed with crimson light as the power he had been suppressing his whole life tore free.

Hell rose.

Flames fled from the sky, falling like meteors. A wave of hellfire spread from the circle, engulfing demons and humans alike. Armor melted. Bones burned. Screams lasted only a second before being swallowed by the inferno.

The battlefield died in silence.

When the flames finally stopped, nothing remained except ash, smoldering armor, and scorched earth stretching for miles.

Beelzebub rose to his feet, still holding Marceline’s lifeless body in his arms.

In the distance stood what remained of the demon army. At its center was his mother, watching him with unreadable eyes.

He began to walk toward her.

Each step heavy. Each one filled with quiet rage. The ash curled around his feet as he moved forward, carrying the girl who had been the only warmth in his life.

Raze felt the weight of each step inside his mind.

This was the moment Beelzebub stopped being a child.

This was the moment a demon king was born.