The demon slave

The sky burned red. The underworld was at war.

Demons screamed as enemy forces crashed through their cities. Black towers crumbled, and rivers of fire spilled onto the streets. The air smelled of blood and smoke. The Demon King stood on a high mountain, watching his kingdom fall. His eyes glowed like molten gold, but even he knew the truth.

They were losing.

The invaders had come with powerful magic—magic strong enough to wipe out his people. He clenched his fists. If they took the underworld, it would be over. He had to act fast.

With a wave of his hand, a massive gate rose from the ground, covered in ancient symbols. This was his last chance. He spoke words of dark power, and the gate began to close. A massive force pushed against it from the other side, but the king held firm.

The underworld would be sealed.

But a key was needed. A key that could never be found.

His mind raced. The key had to be hidden somewhere no one would look—not in a weapon, not in a demon, but inside a human. A weak, ordinary human.