The Truth About the Fragment

The king walked toward Daemon, tapping his shoulder lightly.

"Yes," Aleric said, voice low. "That's what it really does to a human. I thought... maybe... the power of the Demon King could cure my son's illness. But I wasn't sure. We tried summoning holy temples—" his mouth twisted bitterly, "—but they hate demons. They would have killed him at first glance."

He gave a tired chuckle.

"Thankfully, I met Samuel—the priest who treated you. At least he had the decency to try. But it was impossible."

Daemon said nothing, his crimson eyes drifting toward the heaving, bloated creature chained to the bed.

The fragment.

The twisted shard of his own former power.

He could see it now—embedded just behind the monster's lips, radiating faint, sickening energy.

"What would happen," Daemon asked quietly, "if I pulled the fragment out?"

The king's answer came without hesitation.

"He would die."

Daemon scratched his head, confused, pretending to think harder than he was.

"Then why bring me here?" he said. "You know I'm after the fragment. I said I'd sacrifice anything to get it."

King Aleric smiled.

And started laughing.

He walked back toward his son, placing a mock-affectionate hand on the creature's warped shoulder, before turning back to Daemon, Robert, and the butler.

"Because, my dear friend," the king said smoothly, "that dragon heart I gave you wasn't free. It cost a fortune—more than you could ever pay."

Daemon narrowed his eyes slightly. His muscles tensed.

"You investigated me," he muttered.

"Of course I did," Aleric said lightly. "From what my sources tell me, you abandoned your kingdom when they rejected you. Whether you live or die, the King of Veryndor won't even blink. You have no resources. No allies. No power."

Daemon's heart pounded once—but his face stayed blank.

So this was a trap from the start.

"Don't try to bluff with me, Daemon Dominick," the king continued. "Right now, you're just a sixteen-year-old brat with a sword that's stronger than you. Without it, you're nothing."

Daemon forced a smile. "Strange. Back at the casino, you said you admired the Demon King. Respected him."

"I did. I do," Aleric said, smiling. "But you?" He waved a hand dismissively. "You're not the Demon King. You're boring."

He took a step closer, voice dropping to a hiss.

"My son will become the true Demon King. The one the world will fear. And through him, I will make this kingdom stand above all others."

Daemon's hands curled into fists, his aura flaring before he crushed it back down.

"Then why keep me alive at all?" he said coldly.

The king shrugged. "To show you. To make sure you see it with your own eyes—the new era. My son will replace you."

"And you think feeding him human flesh makes him a king?"

The king's smile sharpened. "I think feeding him whatever he needs will make him a god."

Daemon's teeth ground together as the king kept talking.

"And besides," Aleric added, "you're convenient. You took care of my little 'justice' problem—the commander, the nobles who still believed in old ideals. I didn't even have to lift a finger. You showed me just how useless honor is."

Daemon's eyes flashed. "You knew the massacre was my doing."

The king's laugh was cold and full of mockery.

"Of course. I let it happen. I wanted to see what you were capable of. And now I know."

He walked closer, lowering his voice to a private murmur.

"Here's your warning, little prince: don't try anything against me. You want the fragment? Forget it. Unless you can pay for the dragon heart, you have no leverage."

The king turned his back on him, dismissing him like a piece of furniture.

"You leave tomorrow. I have no use for you anymore."

Daemon stood there, breathing slow, steady, crushing down the rage boiling in his veins.

"You can leave now."the king said as he turned to his son.

Daemon walked away from the king's chamber, silent. The guards flanked him without a word, escorting him through the twisting corridors and down the main staircase.

They reached his room. Five soldiers stood stationed outside his door now—an obvious message.

You're not trusted anymore.

Daemon entered and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Nyxtriel was already there, standing against the wall like a shadow waiting for orders.

"My lord," she said, tilting her head. "How was the meeting with the king?"

Daemon exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We'll need to speed up the plan. It went awful. I've been caught."

Nyxtriel's eyes darkened. "I knew I hated that human. My instincts already screamed he was filth."

Daemon chuckled dryly. "You were right. I was fooled too. I knew he was dangerous... just not this clever."

He moved to the window, parting the heavy curtains with two fingers. Outside, more guards prowled the palace grounds—double the number from yesterday.

"They must've tortured Commander Rhodes for information," Daemon muttered. "He probably confessed everything about Duke Elias's plan to sneak in tonight."

He turned sharply back to Nyxtriel.

"What about the product I asked for?"

Nyxtriel stepped forward, her voice low.

"Because of the number, I couldn't smuggle them into the palace. But I stored them safely in an abandoned house within the city."

Daemon smiled grimly.

"Good. At least something's gone according to plan."

He walked toward her, lowering his voice.

"But right now, we can't risk walking through the city. You can still fly, right?"

Nyxtriel's crimson eyes gleamed. "Of course, my lord."

She took a few steps back, and her body shimmered. The blade form she summoned was larger now—wider, stronger.

"Get in," she said, her voice soft but eager.

Daemon hesitated only a moment before stepping forward and sitting on the floating blade.

The metal was surprisingly warm beneath him.

With a sudden burst of energy, Nyxtriel lifted into the air.

The palace shrank beneath them in seconds.

Daemon gripped the edge of the blade instinctively, his stomach lurching at the sudden speed.

Flying... wasn't exactly comfortable.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Nyxtriel called back, amusement in her voice.

Daemon gritted his teeth against the wind.

"I'll get used to it. Just don't throw me off."

He glanced down. The capital sprawled below like a tangled carpet of stone and firelight.

"Did the Demon King... the real one... fly like this?"

Nyxtriel giggled—an almost musical sound that startled him.

"Yes. I carried him through countless battlefields like this. He always said it made him feel free."

Daemon said nothing. But a small, real smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

For the first time in days, the weight on his shoulders felt... lighter.

For now.