Blood moon Ascendancy

The morning light barely reached through the haze of smoke and unrest as the city stirred with protests. The common folk, enraged and desperate for answers, gathered at the palace gates, chanting for the truth—demanding to know if demons had truly infiltrated the kingdom. Bodies were strewn across the streets, casualties of the rising violence, with the palace guards struggling to hold back the angry mob.

Amidst the chaos, Tristan moved through the crowd unnoticed. His demeanor was distant, detached. He wore all black, a figure that blended with the shadows, his every step heavy and deliberate, as though he carried the weight of something far darker than the unrest around him. His mind was not his own, a prisoner to the demon within him. People were too preoccupied with the turmoil to notice his presence, too absorbed in their cries for justice.

But someone did notice. The Chief Advisor, who had come outside to address the people, caught a fleeting glance of Tristan. His eyes narrowed, recognizing something unnatural in the young man's aura. The Advisor's pulse quickened, but he did not act—at least, not yet. He returned inside, a plan forming in his mind.

The Advisor made his way to the Demon Lord's chamber, kneeling before him. "My Lord," he began, "I saw him. Tristan has returned."

The Demon Lord's crimson eyes flickered with recognition. "Tristan…" he murmured. "That name rings a bell. So, he is the one. The one who can share the power of the demonic tree without it transferring fully to him. Interesting."

The Demon Lord's lips curled into a sinister grin, already considering the potential of this unexpected return.

Meanwhile, inside the palace, the King, alongside the blind shaman, discussed the looming threat. The shaman's ancient eyes, though sightless, were sharp with wisdom. He spoke in hushed tones, telling the King that the time for battle was drawing near. "The demon can only be caught during the new moon," the shaman said, his voice steady yet foreboding. "The power will be at its peak, and the demons will be hungry. You must prepare."

The King nodded, grim, his thoughts darkening. He had no choice but to trust in the shaman's guidance. The shaman, sensing the King's uncertainty, raised his hands, calling upon the spirits to lend their strength to the palace guards. The air thickened with the crackling energy of the divine.

Later, the King retreated to his secret chamber, alone with his thoughts. He wondered why he had been forced into this position—a battle against a demon lord that threatened to tear his kingdom apart. Why him? Why his kingdom? The burden weighed heavily upon him, but there was no turning back now.

Meanwhile, the Queen, still grieving her daughter's captivity, sought solace in her prayers. The walls of the palace could not shield her from the aching emptiness in her heart. Her daughter was gone, and the world seemed to be crumbling around her.

Back in the dark woods, the Demon Lord's forces were closing in. Tristan had ventured into the forest, his inner turmoil threatening to consume him. The full moon had risen, and with it, the demon's hunger. The woods were thick with shadows, and the air felt heavy with the presence of something ancient and terrifying.

It was here that the Demon Lord found him.

"Tristan," the Demon Lord's voice echoed through the night, chilling the very air around them. "Who are you now?"

Tristan, his eyes glowing a fierce red, turned to face him. The voice that escaped his lips was dark, distorted, an echo of the demon inside him. "I hate you," Tristan growled, his voice rasping with the weight of hatred and pain.

The Demon Lord chuckled, stepping closer. "Such defiance. Tell me, do you think you can control what is inside you?

The Demon Lord's dark presence filled the woods as Tristan stood before him, a fierce tension in the air. The Demon Lord, his eyes glowing with malevolent curiosity, circled Tristan, his voice laced with venom.

"Who are you?" the Demon Lord demanded. "How is it that you can command such power? You, a mere half-blood? And what of that… water house? What is it to you?"

Tristan's lips curled into a snarl, his internal struggle evident. The demon's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to lash out. But Tristan fought the urge, his fists clenching.

"You will not control me," Tristan growled, his voice laced with the struggle of defiance and the demon's taint.

A flash of red light illuminated the air as the Demon Lord struck first. Tristan barely dodged the attack, the force of it sending him stumbling backward. The two engaged in a brutal, chaotic clash, their powers crackling through the air. The battle was fierce, but Tristan, though weakened by the demon's influence, managed to land a blow to the Demon Lord's chest.

But the Demon Lord was too strong, and after a few more exchanges, he thrust Tristan back with an overpowering force, sending him crashing to the ground.

"You may have power, Tristan," the Demon Lord sneered, "but you are still my puppet. And I will control you. I always will."

The Demon Lord's victory was complete. Tristan, defeated and broken, could only watch as the Demon Lord retreated, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Tristan with his own torment.

Meanwhile, inside the palace...

The Shaman, having sensed the shift in the atmosphere, approached the King with grim news. "It is time, Your Majesty, let deceive the demon lord to come get the throne and we would set a trap for him and also get the princess back.

The King, weary and heavy-hearted, knew that this was the only path left to him. "I will go," he said with a nod. "But I will offer him the throne willingly, in exchange for my daughter, I can't continue this suffering".

"Your majesty don't let us give up the heavenly realm throne to the demon , let fight it.

The Shaman's expression was solemn as he prepared to carry out the ritual that would empower them in their final stand. The air thickened with anticipation as the time of the Blue Moon drew near.

The palace was a flurry of activity. Female Shamans, draped in red and white robes, prepared sacred idols and offerings. The chief advisors, scholars, and palace staff gathered around the table, with extravagant dishes laid out in front of them. The atmosphere was tense with anticipation as the Blue Moon rose higher in the sky, casting a pale light over the palace.

The throne sat empty in the center of the grand hall, a symbol of power waiting to be claimed. The King and his advisors stood in solemn silence, awaiting the Demon Lord's arrival. The Queen Mother and the Queen herself were present, their eyes hollow with grief and fear for what was about to unfold.

At the stroke of the Blue Moon, the gates of the palace opened, and the Demon Lord walked in, his figure towering and imposing. His red attire glimmered in the moonlight, and his presence was suffocating.

The moment he entered, the guards stood poised, ready to trap him. The air crackled with tension, but no one moved—yet.

The Demon Lord took his seat on the throne, his eyes scanning the room. The feast had been prepared for him, but something felt off. The King, unable to contain his frustration, addressed the Demon Lord with strained words. "You want my throne," he said, "but you will not have it."

The Demon Lord looked at him with contempt, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "Then come take it," he replied coldly, his gaze flicking toward the Queen Mother.

The tension in the room thickened. As the Demon Lord sat on the throne, the King signaled for the serving of the drink. But the moment the cup was handed to the Demon Lord, a faint, bitter scent reached his nostrils. He instinctively threw the drink away, his eyes narrowing.

"You think I would fall for such a petty trick?" the Demon Lord hissed, standing up. "You are not ready to give me the throne. You want to keep your daughter. But I will take everything."

At that moment, the guards above opened fire, their arrows raining down upon the room. Chaos erupted.

The Queen screamed in terror, but the Demon Lord was too quick. With a wave of his hand, the guards were dispatched, their arrows falling harmlessly to the ground.

Yet, amidst the confusion, the Demon Lord was not fast enough to stop the Queen's capture. They took Teodora from him. The Demon Lord, enraged, made a move to stop them, but he was too late.

Outside the palace, Tristan had been captured during the chaos. Bound and shackled, he was brought before the Demon Lord, who had to face the bitter reality of losing control over the boy he thought he could bend to his will.

Teodora, still in his grasp, looked at Tristan with a mixture of fear and longing. The Demon Lord was no longer just a force of evil, but a desperate, vengeful father figure clinging to his power.

As the blue moon reached its peak, Tristan felt the pull of something deep within him, a desire he could no longer ignore. The demon inside him, the darkness he had fought so hard to control, called to him. His blood burned with an unquenchable thirst.

Tristan made his way to the palace, his steps heavy with the weight of destiny. He had to face the Demon Lord. The time had come.

As he approached the palace gates, he could already hear the chaos within. The distant sounds of battle echoed through the halls. Blood-curdling screams filled the air as the Demon Lord, in his maddened fury, fed on the lifeblood of anyone he could get his hands on. Guards, palace servants, and even some of the chief chancellors, who had long been corrupted, were now consumed by the same bloodlust.

Tristan's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped deeper into the heart of the chaos. He could feel the demon's pull—he was already becoming what he feared. The thirst gnawed at his insides, his vision blurring as the scent of blood overwhelmed his senses. He stumbled for a moment, his body betraying him, but he fought to maintain control.

He pushed forward, sword drawn, clashing with the demon-infested guards, each strike a desperate attempt to hold onto his humanity. But every time he swung his blade, a strange, terrible satisfaction surged through him. He could feel the thirst growing stronger.

As he fought, his eyes locked on the Demon Lord, standing in the center of the madness, feasting on the blood of his enemies. The Demon Lord's face was a twisted mask of ecstasy, his eyes glowing with a hunger that could never be satisfied.

"You've come to join the feast, half-blood?" the Demon Lord taunted, his voice filled with malevolent amusement. "Come. Give in to the hunger. Embrace it. You were always meant to be mine."

Tristan staggered, his sword trembling in his hand. The bloodlust roared inside him, louder now, stronger than ever before. He fought against it, but it was like trying to swim against a current too strong to resist.

He glanced around him, watching as the corrupted chief chancellors and advisors—those who had been transformed by the Demon Lord's influence—sank their teeth into the flesh of the palace guards, draining them of life in a frenzy of madness. Tristan, too, could feel his own body reacting. The thirst was unbearable, and he felt himself losing control.

In that moment, Tristan's mind snapped. He was no longer a mere observer. He was a part of the bloodbath. His body moved on its own as he lunged at the nearest guard, sinking his teeth into the flesh, drinking deeply.

He pulled away, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with horror at what he had just done. But before he could process the moment, a powerful force shoved him back.

The Demon Lord stood before him, grinning darkly. "Good," the Demon Lord purred. "You're becoming what you were always meant to be. My true heir."

Meanwhile, the blind Shaman, who had been a constant guide to the King, felt the shift in the spiritual energy around him. He had sensed the darkness growing, the corruption that had spread throughout the palace. It was time for him to act, but he knew the risk.

The Shaman, his cane tapping against the stone floor, made his way toward the battle, guided by a sense of fate. He knew he could not allow the Demon Lord to continue unchecked. His power, though limited by his blindness, was enough to make a final stand.

As the battle raged on, the Shaman arrived at the entrance to the Demon Lord's chamber. He reached out with his senses, feeling the rippling presence of the Demon Lord inside. He called upon the ancient spirits, summoning every last ounce of power he could muster.

But the Demon Lord sensed his arrival. With a snap of his fingers, he sent a surge of dark magic toward the Shaman, striking him down before he could complete his ritual. The Shaman crumpled to the ground, his cane falling from his hand as he collapsed, his life slipping away.

Tristan, now fully under the sway of his bloodlust, stood in the Demon Lord's chamber, where Teodora was imprisoned. She looked up at him with fear and disbelief, her voice trembling. "Tristan... no. You can't let him control you."

But Tristan, his eyes wild, could barely hear her. The demon's influence had taken full hold of him. The battle within him was over. He was now bound to the Demon Lord's will.

The Demon Lord stood behind him, an amused expression on his face. "You belong to me now, Tristan. No more resistance. Together, we will rule."

Teodora, her heart breaking, called out to Tristan, her voice filled with desperation. "You can still fight this! Please, you're not him. You're not the monster he's turning you into!"

But Tristan only looked at her, his expression torn. The demon's control was suffocating, but deep down, a part of him knew the truth. He was losing himself

Meanwhile, the King, wracked with guilt and grief over the loss of his daughter and his kingdom, paced in his chamber. The death of the Shaman had left him lost, unsure of his next steps.

The Demon Lord's voice was cold, but there was an edge of sorrow beneath it, a sharp pain hidden deep in his words. He stood tall before Tristan, the moonlight casting eerie shadows over his figure, his eyes gleaming with the reflection of the past.

Tristan, still trembling from his internal battle, could barely meet the Demon Lord's gaze. The bloodlust within him had subsided, replaced by a sense of anger and confusion. He wasn't sure if he was questioning himself or the being before him.

"What is it that you want from the Heavenly Realm?" Tristan asked, his voice laced with bitterness. "Why do you continue to disturb the throne and bring chaos to everything? What drives you to this madness?"

The Demon Lord's lips curled into a grim smile, but there was no humor in it. He walked slowly, his steps heavy with the weight of memories long buried. He glanced at Tristan, then turned his gaze to the distant moon.

"You ask why I disturb the Heavenly Realm," the Demon Lord began, his voice a soft whisper, almost lost to the wind. "It is because I was betrayed, Tristan. I was once one of the highest beings, a ruler in the Heavenly Realm—above both gods and demons. I ruled with fairness and wisdom, and for a time, the world was in peace."

He paused, as if the memory was too painful to continue. Tristan's curiosity grew, but he remained silent, waiting for the Demon Lord to continue.

"I was not always a demon," the Demon Lord said, a slight tremor in his voice. "I was once a god, a being of pure light and justice. I was the protector of the innocent, the guardian of souls. But as time passed, I saw the corruption in the hearts of the gods and the arrogance of humanity. I tried to bring peace, to lift the veil of suffering from their eyes. But no matter how much I gave, no matter how much I sacrificed... they always wanted more. They were never satisfied.

One day, the gods—the ones I called my brethren—betrayed me. They grew envious of my power and my influence over the human realm. They plotted against me, accusing me of crimes I did not commit. They stripped me of my title, cast me out, and condemned me to the deepest abyss. The punishment? To suffer for eternity, to watch the humans I tried to protect fall deeper into darkness."

The Demon Lord's eyes flickered with a terrible fury as he spoke of the betrayal. "They told me I was too compassionate. Too weak. They said that a ruler who showed mercy was no fit ruler at all. So they cast me out, locked me away, and left me to rot in the void. But the betrayal didn't end there."

He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms. "I watched as the humans—those I once protected—were left to fend for themselves. They became ruthless, driven by greed, lust, and hatred. And yet, despite their cruelty, they still cried out for salvation. They still begged for the gods to save them. But the gods... they ignored them. They turned their backs on their creations, while I was cast aside."

The Demon Lord's voice grew colder, and the air around him seemed to darken. "I realized then that there was no true peace to be found in the Heavenly Realm. The gods did not care for the suffering of humanity. They only cared for their own power. And the humans... they would never stop yearning for something more. Their desires would consume them until they destroyed themselves."

He turned back to Tristan, his eyes glowing with a fierce intensity. "That is why I became what I am today. A demon. I embraced the darkness because I understood its truth. Power is the only thing that matters. The Heavenly Realm is a lie, a prison built on false promises. I will rule over it, and I will give the humans what they truly deserve. No more false hope, no more empty words. I will take the throne, and I will create a world where only strength matters. Where satisfaction is not given, but earned."

As the Demon Lord finished his tale, a silence settled between them. Tristan, still reeling from his own transformation, struggled to understand the words he had just heard. He had always thought of the Demon Lord as a being of pure evil, a force of destruction, but now, in this moment, he realized that there was a deeper sorrow beneath the demon's cold exterior.

"I understand your pain," Tristan said quietly, his voice laced with empathy. "But your quest for power... it will only lead to more suffering. The humans may be flawed, but they are not beyond redemption."

The Demon Lord's eyes narrowed, a cold smile crossing his face. "Redemption? You still believe in that, don't you? It's too late for redemption. The world is broken, and the gods do nothing but sit on their thrones, pretending they care."

He walked toward Tristan, his presence oppressive. "I will bring an end to their reign. The throne of the Heavenly Realm will be mine, and I will make sure that no one ever suffers like I did. No one will ever be cast aside again."

Tristan swallowed hard, torn between the man he had once been and the dark force he was becoming. The Demon Lord's words had struck a chord within him. He could see the pain, the betrayal, the desire for justice—yet, he knew that such a path could only lead to more destruction.