shadows of Betrayal

The palace, once a symbol of power and stability, was now plagued by fear. The citizens were beginning to grow restless, whispering among themselves as reports of lifeless bodies drained of blood continued to surface.

The guards, ever vigilant, kept the masses at bay, but even they couldn't hide the sense of dread that had gripped the kingdom.

The King paced in his chamber, frustration gnawing at his insides. His advisors had failed him, his people were questioning his rule, and the shadow of the Demon Lord hung ever closer. His own palace was not safe, and it seemed as though no corner of the kingdom could escape the wrath of demon.

"They cannot keep hiding the truth forever," the King muttered to himself, his voice strained with the weight of his thoughts. "The blood, the bodies, its only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down."

Outside the palace walls, the cries of the people had grown louder, but the guards remained firm in their position. The King knew that he had to act before the unrest turned into full-blown rebellion.

But what could he do? Demon lord was untouchable. The Demon Lord had already shown his power, and nothing the King had done so far had been enough to stop him.

His frustration boiled over. He had no choice but to meet Demon lord face-to-face. If he couldn't defeat the demon with force, perhaps he could bargain with him. He had nothing left to lose.

The King rode through the dark forest, guided only by the pale moonlight, his heart heavy with the realization of what he was about to do.

As he entered a clearing, he saw him—the Demon Lord. He stood tall, cloaked in darkness, his red eyes glowing in the night. His presence was suffocating, and the King could feel the weight of his gaze as it pierced through the shadows.

"King, you come at last," demon voice echoed in the silence, smooth and mocking. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."

The King stood firm, despite the gnawing fear in his gut. He wasn't here to show weakness; he was here to bargain for the survival of his kingdom.

"I haven't forgotten you, Demon Lord," the King said, his voice steady but laced with an edge of desperation. "I've come to make a deal."

Demon lord tilted his head, his lips curling into a smirk. "A deal?" he mused. "You think you can bargain with me, little mortal?"

The King stepped forward, his eyes hardening. "I offer you riches. I offer you power. What more do you want? The throne is mine, but I can give you everything else—cows, gold, sacrifices, whatever you desire."

Demon lord eyes flared with amusement, his form shifting in the shadows. "You think I care for your cows? Your gold? Your sacrifices? I do not seek your kingdom's wealth, King. I seek your throne. The very seat of power you occupy."

The King swallowed hard, the weight of the Demon Lord's words pressing down on him. He had known this would be the price. Demon lord had always wanted the throne—the ultimate power over the kingdom. But the King had to buy time, to keep the people at peace, to stave off a rebellion.

"Take it. It's yours," the King said, his voice strained but resolute. "But spare my people. Spare the kingdom from your wrath. I can give you what you want, but I will not give up my life."

Demon lord expression darkened. He stepped closer to the King, his towering presence casting a long shadow over him. "Your life is of no concern to me. But your kingdom—your throne—will be mine. You will relinquish it willingly, or you will feel the consequences. And if you do not act quickly, your people will be the ones who suffer."

The King gritted his teeth, his resolve tested. He had no intention of giving up the throne, but he couldn't deny the power of demon. The Demon Lord was a force beyond mortal comprehension. But the King still had one card left to play.

"You want the throne? I'll give it to you. But not yet. Not now. Let me rule for a time, and then when I am done, when I've led my people to prosperity, you can take it."

Demon lord chuckled darkly, his voice like a low growl. "You think you can delay me with promises of prosperity? Your kingdom is already crumbling. You are nothing more than a puppet in my game. But I will grant you this—keep your throne a little longer. But know this, King—you are living on borrowed time. The moment I decide to take it, nothing will save you."

Back at the palace, word of the Demon Lord's actions had spread like wildfire. The citizens, already on edge, were now furious. The bloodshed, the fear, the lies—it was all too much for them. They wanted answers, and the King's assurances could only do so much to quell their anger. The palace walls had become a prison, the people's cries echoing in the streets.

As the King returned to his chambers, his mind was clouded with the weight of his decision. The Demon Lord would not be satisfied with anything less than total control. And the King knew, deep down, that his kingdom was on the brink of collapse.

The moon hung low, casting a pale light over the palace walls. The air was thick with unease, and the scent of blood lingered like a warning.

A sudden cry shattered the stillness—sharp and desperate.

A palace guard came running, his breath ragged as he stumbled into the courtyard.

"The Demon Lord has returned! He's attacked again!"

Panic rippled through the guards stationed outside the gates.

Tristan, already on duty, gripped his sword tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the dark energy pressing against him, a force so familiar it stirred something deep within.

When Tristan stepped forward, he froze. Bodies of fallen guards lay scattered, blood pooling around them, soaking into the dirt. The metallic scent struck him like a blow.

His vision blurred. A deep hunger stirred inside him, primal and uncontrollable. His hands trembled, and his breathing grew ragged.

"No… not now," Tristan muttered, pressing his hand against his chest.

His teeth began to ache as sharp points pushed against his gums. His nails darkened, thickening like claws. A faint glow flickered in his eyes, reflecting the blood around him.

The Demon Lord appeared briefly at the edge of the shadows. His piercing gaze locked with Tristan's.

"You can't escape what you are," the Demon Lord said, his voice deep and mocking. "I may have disowned you, but the darkness will never leave you. You are mine, Tristan. No matter how far you run, your blood calls to me."

Tristan staggered back, struggling to resist the transformation clawing at him.

The guards were too preoccupied to notice him slipping away. Tristan bolted toward the forest, his body trembling with each step as he fought to keep the demon within him at bay.

Deeper into the woods, he collapsed near a clearing. His vision swirled, and sweat dripped down his face.

The hunger clawed at him, merciless and consuming. His sharp teeth ached for flesh.

A lone cow wandered into the clearing, its soft eyes blinking in the moonlight. Tristan lunged without thinking.

His claws pierced its skin, and his fangs sank deep into its flesh. Warm blood gushed into his mouth, but it wasn't enough. It couldn't silence the hunger.

"No!" Tristan roared, staggering away from the lifeless body.

He collapsed against a tree, his hands trembling as he wiped the blood from his mouth. His reflection in the nearby stream revealed a face he barely recognized—his eyes glowed red, and his skin was paler, almost shadowed.

The sun rose slowly, its light piercing through the trees. Exhausted, Tristan curled into himself and fell into a restless Sleep.