When Astaroth stepped into the void, entering his domain, a heavy sigh escaped the demon's lips. Weariness gripped him, the weight of the tasks he had been forced to confront since his awakening taking a toll on his ethereal form. The desolate expanse of this new world provided a certain solace, a respite from the chaos, yet it also reminded him of the devastating loss he had suffered—his loyal subordinates, comrades in the creation of the old world, were nowhere to be found. Astaroth had fervently attempted to summon them ever since his emergence, but an eerie silence greeted his calls, shrouding him in a growing unease.
Now inside his domain, he tries to recall the words from his encounter with the gatekeeper. At that time, he was in a state of shock, he could still feel the hero's sword cutting through his neck. Astaroth's trembling hand instinctively reached for his neck, but to his astonishment, there were no visible marks or scars. His head remained intact, defying the gruesome fate he believed had befallen him.
But regardless of how hard he tried to remember he could not recall what the gatekeeper had said, Suddenly, a peculiar sensation coursed through his veins, causing him to raise his gaze towards the sky in his domain. There, descending from above with an eerie grace, materialized a spectral figure, ethereal and luminous in its ghostly pallor.
As the ominous figure drew nearer, the demon king found himself unable to discern its true form, a haunting enigma of gender and appearance. The face of the figure remained an ever-shifting blur, seamlessly transitioning between the visages of countless men, women, beasts, and demons. Clad in a billowing white shroud, its eight wings unfurled—a macabre fusion of angelic purity and demonic malevolence.
As the demon king stood transfixed, a chilling aura permeated the air, suffocating him with a sense of dread. With each step the figure took, its ethereal presence emanated an otherworldly power that defied comprehension. Shadows danced and twisted, casting eerie silhouettes upon the ground as the figure advanced, its steps deliberate and purposeful. Astaroth was puzzled, the sensation that he is feeling now, it fear or excitement.
The figure's voice resonated with an ominous tone, a chilling presence that sent shivers down Astaroth's spine. "Astaroth, the one they call demon king of the sixty-six worlds, abyssal sovereign, and commander of the dreaded forty legions of demons" it spoke, its words dripping with malevolence. "I am the gatekeeper, within my grasp lies the power of life and death, spanning across all dimensions".
And then all memories flooded into the demon king's head.
After his demise at the hands of the hero's party, the essence of Astaroth's soul embarked on a harrowing journey to the realm of the gatekeeper—a place where all souls were subject to the gatekeeper's dominion. In this ethereal domain, the gatekeeper held the power to delve into the depths of each soul's memories, the very fabric of their existence, and make the fateful decision between annihilation and rebirth. Countless worlds lay within the gatekeeper's purview, a vast tapestry of destinies that required no direct intervention.
But when a soul of significant profile emerged from the depths, the gatekeeper's attention would be piqued, and his spectral presence would loom ominously over the rebirth process, casting a shadow of uncertainty and apprehension.
Now, within the recesses of the demon king's mind, memories surged like a torrential storm, each fragment pulsating with dark energy. Visions of past conquests, fallen adversaries, and forgotten alliances melded together, creating an unsettling mosaic of power and malevolence. The gatekeeper's intervention signified something more than mere judgment—it was a harbinger of an unfathomable force converging upon the threads of fate.
As the demon king grappled with his resurrected memories, a sense of foreboding crept over him. Astaroth stared into the figure's eyes, a glint of anticipation and dread danced within them. The air grew heavy with an otherworldly aura, suffocating his senses. Shadows seemed to coil and writhe around the figure, obscuring its true form, and heightening the tension in the room. Every word dripped with a piece of ancient, unholy knowledge, revealing a vast and terrifying understanding of existence beyond mortal comprehension.
"I had thought that the gatekeeper is only active in your domain, but it seems like you have been intervening since I woke up. What do you want?"
"Astaroth, heed my warning! Cease your reckless slaughter before fully regaining your strength. The eradication of an entire legion of goblins on a whim will upset the delicate balance of this world and draw the weariness of the goddesses upon you. They remain oblivious to your existence in their realm." The gatekeeper's voice echoed ominously, devoid of a mouth, while their ethereal wings fluttered softly. Astaroth's gaze met the gatekeeper's penetrating eyes.
"In unraveling the depths of my soul, you bore witness to my true essence and untamed temperament," Astaroth retorted, a glint of defiance gleaming in his eyes. "But rest assured, I comprehend the necessity. For now, I shall restrain my desires. But gatekeeper, I had consented to be summoned to this realm solely because you promised me the power to unleash chaos and devastation upon it."
A wicked laughter escaped Astaroth's lips as he reminisced about the gatekeeper's offer to rule over Arcania as its malevolent demon king. He had readily embraced the opportunity, fully aware of the gatekeeper's motive—to maintain equilibrium within his dominion. As one demon king perished, another would be reborn in a different world.
"I can sense your strength returning, growing stronger by the day. You have found a fascinating pawn, someone who will devote her entire life to serving you. But beware, for your path has already been marked. I shall no longer reveal myself to you, but I must warn you of the watchful eyes that lurk in the shadows. The goddesses themselves are aware of the absence of a demon king in this world for countless years. And once they discover your presence, a hero will be born, destined to stand against you."
Astaroth contemplated the gatekeeper's words, his mind swirling with unease. It was undeniably true that since awakening in this realm, he had sensed a disquieting shift in the air. A lingering sense of impending doom whispered through his every fiber.
The thought of a formidable nemesis relentlessly pursuing him sent a shiver down Astaroth's spine. He clenched his fists, determination etching lines on his face.
"Very well," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of uneasiness and resolve. "I shall not allow those goddesses to haunt me once more. I caught a glimpse of their unfathomable power in our previous encounter, and the memory still haunts me. Those cunning witches toy with us, mere pawns in their cruel game of amusement."
"I shall take my leave now, Astaroth. Farewell," the gatekeeper bid his farewell to Astaroth. The creature's wings flapped ominously as it ascended into the darkened sky, vanishing from sight. After the gatekeeper departed, an unsettling sense of unease settled upon Astaroth's shoulders, a chilling uncertainty about the true nature of this enigmatic being.
With a cautious exhale, Astaroth released the breath he had unknowingly been holding. Though outwardly composed, an undercurrent of worries still lurked within him. What if the gatekeeper harbored ulterior motives, ones that extended far beyond the mere balance of good and evil in his worlds? The notion sent tendrils of apprehension coiling around his mind, like a web of sinister intrigue.
"For now," Astaroth whispered, his voice laced with determination, "I must gather a legion of loyal subordinates, willing to march to the beat of my command. This world, devoid of a true demon king, shall bow before me, succumbing to my iron fist. Yet, the gatekeeper's words linger in my mind, warning of vigilant eyes ever watchful, eager to expose the slightest deviation to the goddesses. I must be prepared for the unexpected, for their tricks and schemes."
As the chilling words left his lips, Astaroth's mind raced, weaving intricate plans to expand his sinister influence. Each step was calculated, each move a chess piece on a treacherous board. He knew he had to cloak himself in shadows, shielding his malevolence from the prying eyes of the divine.
In the eerie confines of the castle, King Borosik cowered within the shadows of his chamber. Dark tidings had reached his ears, whispering of his decimated army, crushed beneath the ruthless might of the goblin king. Yet, the true horror lay in the enigma that befell him—the goblin horde had mysteriously vanished into thin air.
Anxiety gnawed at his soul as he strained to summon his trusted general, hoping for solace and answers. But from the trembling lips of the soldiers who dared approach, dread weighed heavy in the air. None had caught sight of the revered commander, nor the valiant knights who were dispatched to wage war against their grotesque adversaries.
The king's chamber doors rattled with a series of ominous knocks, shattering the silence that enveloped the room. Each knock reverberated through the air like a foreboding omen. "Your Majesty," the soldier guarding the king's room announced, his voice laced with tension, "Lady Elizabeth has arrived to deliver her greetings."