The throne room was a battlefield drenched in the aftermath of Nitish's first true fight in this strange, dangerous world. Bodies of fallen demons littered the stone floor, and the air still buzzed faintly with the residue of electric energy from Nitish's lightning-infused katana. The seven deadly sins lay among the wreckage, defeated but not dead. Nitish stood amidst it all, his eyes scanning the room with a calculating calm that belied the exhaustion rippling through his muscles.
The demons who had watched from the sidelines were silent, their collective breaths held as they awaited Nitish's next move. They had seen their leaders—the once indomitable embodiments of sin—fall to the blade of a human, a being they had dismissed as beneath their notice. Now, with Sura's blood on his clothes and lightning still sparking at his fingertips, Nitish was something far more dangerous.
Nitish turned to face the mass of demons, his expression unreadable but his presence commanding. He sheathed his katana, the blade sliding into its scabbard with a sharp, definitive click that echoed in the stillness. The demons flinched at the sound, some instinctively taking a step back, their eyes darting between Nitish and the fallen sins.
"Is there a healer among you?" Nitish asked, his voice carrying effortlessly across the vast chamber. It wasn't a request; it was an order. There was a tense pause as the demons exchanged uncertain glances. None of them wanted to draw attention, to risk the ire of the human who had just bested their leaders. But then, slowly, a single demon stepped forward—a slender figure draped in robes of deep green, eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.
"I am the healer," she said, her voice soft but steady. She moved with a grace that set her apart from the others, her steps light and unhurried. Nitish nodded, gesturing toward the sins with a tilt of his head. The healer glanced at them, her expression unreadable, before she moved to begin her work.
Nitish watched as she knelt beside Wrath, her hands glowing with a pale, ethereal light that seeped into the demon's wounds, knitting flesh and bone back together. The sins stirred as the healing magic flowed through them, their eyes flickering open one by one. They were disoriented, the pain still lingering as a dull ache, but they were alive.
While the healer worked, Nitish turned his attention to the remaining demons. "Clean this mess up," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And fetch me clean clothes. I want this room spotless." The demons hesitated only for a moment before scrambling to obey, their movements frantic as they hurried to comply. They dragged away the fallen bodies, scrubbed the blood from the stone floor, and began to restore order to the chaos.
Two demons stepped forward to guide Nitish, bowing their heads as they gestured for him to follow. "This way, my lord," one of them said, his voice trembling slightly. They led Nitish through a side passage, down a winding corridor lit by flickering torches. The air was cool and damp, the faint scent of mildew clinging to the stone walls. They arrived at a modest chamber equipped with a basin of water, fresh linens, and a simple change of clothes.
Nitish dismissed the demons with a nod, watching as they scurried away, eager to avoid further scrutiny. He stripped off his blood-soaked clothes, the fabric clinging to his skin, and stepped into the basin, the cold water washing away the grime and gore of battle. As he cleaned himself, Nitish's mind raced, replaying the fight in vivid detail. He had won, but it hadn't been easy. His moves, though effective, were still rough—more instinct than skill, more desperation than mastery. He needed to refine his techniques, to turn his raw power into something truly formidable.
While Nitish changed into the fresh clothes the demons had provided—simple, dark garments that clung comfortably to his frame—he heard the soft, rhythmic clinking of armor. He turned to see the healer standing in the doorway, her glowing eyes fixed on him with an intensity that was hard to read. She waited patiently, her hands folded in front of her, a small satchel slung over her shoulder.
Nitish nodded at her, gesturing for her to speak. "What is it?"
The healer stepped forward, her movements fluid and purposeful. "The sins are awake," she said, her voice calm. "They asked how they were defeated so easily, given their strength and experience. I told them the truth."
Nitish arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what truth is that?"
The healer's gaze didn't waver. "I told them that you didn't kill them because you didn't want to. That if you had aimed for their vitals, they would be dead right now, not being patched up by me."
Nitish's expression remained neutral, but he could see the ripples of her words taking effect on the other demons who lingered nearby, their ears keenly tuned to the conversation. They exchanged uneasy glances, their postures stiff with the realization that Nitish had held back. They had watched him carve through the sins with what they thought was full force, only to now learn that he had deliberately avoided lethal strikes, hitting only the weakest points.
The healer continued, her voice unwavering. "I told them that your strikes were precise, meant to incapacitate, not to kill. That you saw their weaknesses and exploited them without hesitation. And that even though you wield power that rivals that of a demon king, you fought with restraint."
Nitish looked at the healer, seeing not just a servant of the sins but a keen observer who had witnessed the truth of his battle. He nodded slowly, appreciating the weight of her words. She had seen what the others had missed—the calculated precision, the deliberate decision to spare rather than to end.
"Why did you tell them?" Nitish asked, curious about her motivations.
The healer met his gaze without flinching. "Because they needed to understand. You didn't just beat them; you outthought them. They need to know what kind of power they're dealing with now, and that they are no longer the apex predators in this hierarchy."
Nitish smirked, an expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. He turned his gaze back to the chamber, where the sins were being helped to their feet by the other demons. They were still reeling from the fight, disoriented but alive. Nitish watched them for a moment longer, noting the mix of emotions that flickered across their faces: anger, disbelief, a touch of fear. It was a fear they hadn't known under Sura's reign—a primal, gut-level realization that the balance of power had shifted irrevocably.
He looked back at the healer, his tone firm. "Tell them to rest and recover. I don't need them dead; I need them to understand their place. And make sure this room is spotless. I want no trace of this battle left behind."
The healer bowed her head in acknowledgment, her respect clear in the small, measured movement. "As you command, my lord." She turned to relay his orders, her voice carrying with an authoritative calm that soothed the restless demons still lingering in the throne room.
Nitish returned to the throne room, now partially cleaned of the gore and debris of the recent battle. He settled into a makeshift seat, a stone slab that had been hastily cleared, and watched as the demons worked under the healer's direction. The sins were still groggy, leaning against the walls or each other as they tried to process what had happened. Nitish kept his gaze on them, his expression unreadable.
As the last of the blood was scrubbed away and the room returned to a semblance of its former state, Nitish issued one final command. "Bring me something to eat. Fruit, preferably."
A few demons scurried off, eager to fulfill his order. Nitish let his eyes wander across the room, taking in the sight of the demons' uneasy cooperation. They were no longer his enemies; they were potential allies, resources to be utilized in the coming days. He would need them to secure his position, to maintain the order he planned to impose.
Minutes later, a demon returned with a basket of fruits, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. Nitish took a piece, a bright red apple, and bit into it with deliberate slowness. The sweet, crisp taste was a welcome relief after the metallic tang of battle. He ate in silence, his gaze never leaving the demons who now moved with a palpable tension, each glance they stole in his direction a reminder of their newfound place under his command.
As Nitish finished his meal, the sins were finally on their feet, their wounds closed but their pride still bleeding. They met Nitish's gaze, but none spoke. The healer's words had done their work, instilling a quiet but profound respect—or perhaps fear—that hadn't been there before. They had felt the touch of death, the cold edge of Nitish's restraint, and they knew that his mercy had been a choice, not a necessity.
Nitish leaned back, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. He watched the sins carefully, his expression a mask of calm confidence that hid the relentless calculations of his mind. He had won this round, but he knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. He would need to be smarter, stronger, and more ruthless than ever before if he was to reshape this world in his image.