Meanwhile, in the underground realm, so vastly different from the world of humans it was like night and day, the air inside the Demon King’s tower was as tense and rigid as stone.
His face was set in a hardened scowl, dark veins crawling visibly beneath his bronze skin like swirling snakes. His black eyes were fixed intently on a large, marble-like orb resting on his desk. The orb displayed disoriented images and fragmented scenes of a cottage high in the mountains. And the longer he watched, the darker the veins on his skin became, and the longer the horns on his head grew.
"Your Greatness, how are you going to fix this? You’ve only made things worse instead of bringing him back here," said the Droot, his tiny companion, pacing anxiously across the table where the Orb of Wisdom that allowed them to observe the other realm was perched.
The creature’s tiny hands slapped the sides of his wrinkled, childlike face in dismay at what his master had accomplished.
Nothing. His master had accomplished nothing, despite revealing himself to the boy. And now, instead of improving, the situation had only taken a turn for the worse.
"Your Greatness should have followed my plans years ago, but Your Greatness wanted the boy to sire at least one son, and now he has gone ahead and fallen in great love with a dead girl. Oh, Mother Demon, it seems the Demon of Darkness will never rise from the ash again! We are doomed and—"
Tired and angry of hearing the Droot complain for hours, the Demon King swiped him off the table with a swift move of his hand. The tiny creature went flying and landed with impact against the dark tower wall. He cried and shrieked before he pushed himself to his little legs and walked back to the table and hopped on it again, panting and rubbing his back.
"I, Droot the First, am telling you the absolute truth, Sire! We are doomed and—"
The Demon King did not even look at the creature this time as he snapped his fingers, and the creature’s mouth disappeared. He would give him back his mouth when he was sure the damn little thing would not interrupt his head.
The Droot was his, and had been since the beginning of time. The tiny creature was as old as he was, and he knew that, just like him, the Droot was desperate to rebuild their world again. They both longed to bring back more Demons of Darkness, so that the other Droots, those who still waited in shadow, could be assigned to new masters and help restore their realm to the glory it once knew.
Many centuries ago, his realm had been the most beautiful of them all. It held the most enchanting things, a world so alluring that no soul, human or otherwise, could resist its pull.
He had ruled over his people with power and purpose, commanding and manipulating humans to feed the strength of his world. The more humans who turned to darkness and sin, the more his realm thrived. And to ensure that flow, he had used the dark witches, imbuing them with power to help him bend the mortal world to his will.
But everything changed when the Demons of Light and Fire joined forces to destroy his kind. They claimed the Demons of Darkness brought imbalance to the realms through their manipulative ways, that they corrupted too many and broke the sacred laws.
He saw it differently.
To him, it had always been jealousy, pure, ugly spite. They hated how much power he wielded, how easily he could sway mortals with darkness and desire, how their morals crumbled beneath his influence. His realm was perfect, unstoppable, and that drove them mad.
So they plotted against him.
They turned the very dark witches he had trusted, those he had raised, empowered, and honored, against him. They aligned with the Celestial Beings of the Upper Realms and conspired to purge the darkness from existence.
The thought of how they had ruined his world still made a bitter resentment rise to his throat, despite the many years that had passed. The day remained vivid in his memory, as if it had happened only yesterday.
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