Asuma found himself suddenly transported as soon as his feet touched the spiral stairs. The instant shift was disorienting, the sheer speed of the teleportation leaving his mind spinning. Meanwhile, below, Leon and Amira were left frozen in shock as the magic activated.
"What was that? Teleportation magic?" Leon asked, his eyes darting back to the now-empty stairs.
Larka's expression hardened, his voice taking on a much harsher tone. "Do not concern yourself with the workings of this place. Your mortal minds could never comprehend it."
Leon bristled at the demon's dismissiveness. "This guy… The moment Asuma left, he dropped all pretenses and started showing his true colors."
Amira crossed her arms, her tone cutting. "He wasn't hiding it very well in the first place."
Ignoring their mutterings, Larka gestured toward an underground passage hidden beneath the base of the oak tree. With a wave of his hand, the vines and wood parted, revealing a dark staircase spiraling downward. "Now then, humans," he said coldly. "Follow me."
As they descended, Amira and Leon's unease grew. The air thickened with a malignant energy, each step feeling heavier than the last. The moment they touched the final step, they were instantly transported to a vast underground cavern, the sudden shift jarring them as their surroundings changed.
The scene before them was nothing short of a nightmare.
Cages filled the cavern, each one binding humans entangled in vines, their faces pale and their eyes hollow. Some appeared lifeless, while others whimpered weakly, their bodies visibly deteriorating under the oppressive weight of demonic magic. At the cavern's center stood a massive, glowing portal, radiating an aura so vile that it sent shivers down their spines. Its dark red and black energy swirled ominously, casting flickering shadows that seemed to dance with malice.
Leon's voice was barely above a whisper. "Is that… what I think it is?"
Amira nodded, her expression grim. "Yes. An Abyss Gate. A portal to the demon continent."
Leon's stomach churned. "And these people—they're planning to send them through it?"
Amira's gaze lingered on the humans trapped in the cages. "They won't survive on the Demon Continent for long. The demonic aura there is overwhelming—it corrupts the mind, twists the body. These people… they're as good as dead if they go through that portal."
Leon clenched his fists, his voice shaking. "We have to find Uncle Rona before they send him through."
Larka turned sharply toward them, his lime-green eyes narrowing with disdain. "Humans, what purpose do you serve by standing beside our prince?" His words dripped with venom.
Amira didn't flinch. "Why are you questioning our purpose, demon? We stand beside him because we choose to."
Larka's lip curled into a sneer. "You are insignificant—fleeting insects compared to his destiny! You have no place beside him, no value to his goals or his very existence!"
Amira's eyes flashed with defiance. "And who are you to judge our worth? Who are you to say we have no value to the prince? We've fought by his side, bled by his side. What have you done except kneel and grovel?"
Larka's gaze darkened, but a faint, cruel smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Interesting. Then prove your value. If you claim to be worthy of standing by his side, then show me." He raised his hand, signaling to his demonic lackeys. "Bring him forward."
Two demons emerged from the shadows, dragging a man between them. His silver hair was matted with blood, his face was bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. His body was limp, his breathing shallow—he had clearly been beaten to the brink of death.
Amira and Leon's hearts dropped as they recognized him.
"Uncle Rona!" Amira gasped, her voice breaking.
Leon's fists clenched, his entire body trembling with rage. "What have you done to him, you bastards!?"
Larka ignored their outburst, gesturing dismissively to the demons. "This man has been nothing but a nuisance, attempting to escape repeatedly. If you wish to prove your worth, kill him."
Amira and Leon froze, their blood running cold. The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"Kill him," Larka repeated, his tone mocking. "Prove your value to the prince. Show that your loyalty is not to these weak humans but to the one destined to rule."
Amira's hands tightened around her spear, her knuckles white. Her mind raced, torn between fury and despair. "You're insane," she spat. "We'd never kill him!"
Larka tilted his head, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Then you admit it? You have no worth. You are nothing more than worthless pests clinging to our prince."
Leon took a step forward, his voice shaking but defiant. "We don't need to prove anything to you. And if you think we're going to slaughter our own people, then you're even more delusional than you look."
Larka's expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "Then allow me to make myself clear. If you do not kill him, I will rip him apart myself."
Amira's breath hitched as she looked at Rona, his battered form barely holding on to life. She glanced at Leon, their shared determination unspoken but clear.
"We're not killing him," Amira said firmly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
Leon nodded, stepping closer to Rona's broken form. "And if you touch him, demon, I swear I'll—"
Larka raised a hand, silencing him. "Then you leave me no choice. I will take all of your lives and present your corpses to the prince as evidence of your insignificance."
The air grew thick with tension, the looming demons preparing to strike. Amira and Leon readied their weapons, their resolve unwavering even in the face of overwhelming odds.
"Rona," Amira whispered, her voice filled with quiet desperation. "We'll protect you. Just hold on."
Leon tightened his grip on his bow, his eyes blazing with determination. "Looks like we're doing this the hard way."
Meanwhile at the Top of the Oak Tree.
At the top was unlike anything Asuma had imagined. It wasn't the oppressive, vine-choked lair he had expected but a serene, almost ethereal space. The floor was a vast carpet of white lotus flowers, their petals glowing softly in the ambient light. The air smelled faintly of honey and pine, a stark contrast to the corrupted aura of the city below.
At the center of the space, a miniature replica of the Great Oak Tree stood, its branches reaching upward like a smaller echo of its host. Beneath it, a small round table rested, adorned with a delicate tea set. Sitting there was a woman of haunting beauty. Her long, flowing white hair cascaded like a river, spilling over the back of her chair. Her branch-like horns, jagged and sharp, jutted out like remnants of a twisted crown. Her elegant demeanor was unnervingly at odds with the destruction she had wrought below.
She lifted her teacup with slender fingers, sipping gracefully before setting it down. Her voice was soft, yet it echoed powerfully in the stillness of the chamber.
"You're here." She said, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Join me."
Asuma hesitated. The woman exuded power—immeasurable, ancient power. And yet, he sensed no hostility from her, which only made him warier. Still, he forced himself to move, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword as he cautiously approached the table. When he sat, she greeted him with a warm smile—a dissonant, horrifying contrast to the dread and death she had sown across the city.
"Prince Malka, you have grown," she said, her voice calm, almost affectionate.
Asuma froze, his confusion evident. Prince Malka? Who is that? He opened his mouth to respond, but she raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Ah," she said softly. "You do not remember. Of course. You've only just awakened." She sipped her tea again as if discussing something mundane.
Her calm demeanor unnerved him. She already knows I have no idea what she's talking about. He had planned to feign knowledge, to play along and gather information, but her piercing gaze and cryptic statements made it clear she was several steps ahead.
"You knew the whole time?" Asuma asked cautiously. "That I'm not who you think I am?"
"Of course," Manola said with a faint laugh. "The Great Tree shows me everything. I knew the moment you and your human creatures entered my domain."
Her words were matter-of-fact as if she found the very idea of him deceiving her amusing.
"If that's the case," Asuma pressed, "why do you demons keep calling me the Prince of Mercy?"
Manola tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Have you heard the story of the Great Witch?"
"The Witch Queen?" Asuma asked, narrowing his eyes. "Everyone knows her story. She killed and destroyed entire cities in the name of the Goddess of Death."
"Ah, the version your Holy Church tells," Manola replied, her tone laced with disdain. "Let me tell you the truth—the story they refuse to acknowledge."
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes distant as she recounted the tale.
"A woman was born during the Age of Chaos, when the five gods waged war against the Goddess of Death, Venora, the mother of all demons. This woman was unlike anything the gods had ever seen. She wasn't created by them, nor by the Supreme Being. She was a child of madness and despair, born from the cries of the innocent slaughtered in their endless war."
Her voice softened, becoming almost reverent. "Her mere existence terrified the gods. She was not their creation, yet she possessed the power to transcend them. She was an anomaly, a being born of humanity's suffering. The gods despised her for it, but Venora… Venora loved her."
Manola's tone grew wistful. "Venora approached her, offering a place by her side. But the woman refused. She sought to protect humanity, to heal the very beings Venora despised. Yet her interactions and the love Venora gave her angered the five gods. They cursed her, ensuring that wherever she went, death would follow. The flowers she touched withered. The earth beneath her feet turned to ash. She became known as the Witch of Death."
Asuma frowned, his grip on his sword tightening. "You're trying to justify the horrors she committed. Even cursed, she killed millions."
Manola's gaze sharpened, her voice turning cold. "And what of the five gods who cursed her? Do you think their hands are clean? During the Holy War, they sent their chosen—the Holy Saints—to destroy her. They nearly succeeded… but men…"
She trailed off suddenly, her words cut short.
Asuma didn't hesitate. His body moved before he could think, his sword plunging forward, impaling her chest. Manola's eyes widened in shock, her teacup slipping from her grasp and shattering against the floor.
The blade's flames burned brightly, but it wasn't Asuma wielding them.
His eyes had turned completely black, devoid of any light or humanity. Above his head, a fractured crown floated, pulsating with an ominous energy. His movements were precise, and mechanical, as though controlled by something else entirely.
Manola gasped, her hands trembling as she gripped the blade. Her serene demeanor shattered, replaced by disbelief.
"This story is not yours to tell, demon. This boy is not ready to face his true origin. You have voided your contract. You have forfeited your life." His voice distorted.
Manola, a being of immense power who had reduced an entire city to ruin, now looked genuinely afraid. Her hands trembled as she instinctively backed away, the glow of her branch-like horns dimming slightly.
"I have not voided the contract!" she yelled, her voice shaky but defiant. "You cannot claim this!"
But the entity possessing Asuma wasn't listening. His burning black sword erupted with flames that seemed to eat away at the very air, reducing the once beautiful white lotus flowers to ashes. The heat radiating from him distorted the surroundings, creating waves of suffocating pressure. His smirk—cold and predatory—showed no recognition of fear or mercy.
With a single fluid motion, Asuma lunged forward, his black-flaming blade colliding with Manola's gnarled staff. Sparks flew as the two clashed, the sound of metal and wood grinding together echoing through the chamber.
Manola's expression twisted with anger and desperation. "That damn witch, always meddling in our affairs!" she spat, countering Asuma's ferocious attacks with a flurry of strikes from her staff. Her once-composed demeanor had crumbled into raw fury.
"Black Flames: Shattered Ashes," the voice growled through Asuma.
He drove his sword into the ground, unleashing a massive shockwave of searing black flames. The inferno spread in an instant, engulfing the entire chamber and reducing everything to a burning wasteland. The once-pristine garden was now a smoldering ruin, the oak tree groaning as it struggled to withstand the sheer intensity of the attack.
Manola screamed as the flames consumed her, her body igniting like dry kindling. The fire clung to her, unrelenting, eating away at her form no matter how much magic she poured into resisting it. Her agonized cries echoed as she stumbled, her body seemingly breaking apart under the assault.
Asuma—or the force within him—turned away, his focus already shifting. But his steps faltered as a sharp tension rippled through the air.
"Do you think this is enough to kill me?" Manola's voice rang out, distorted but still laced with defiance. From the heart of the tree, her figure reappeared, her body reconstructed entirely. The burns, the charred remains—they were gone, replaced by a rejuvenated form that seemed even more terrifying than before. Her horns now glowed a sickly green, and her aura pulsed with renewed strength.
The tree itself trembled, responding to her power as vines and roots surged from the ground, creating a barrier around her.
Manola pointed her staff at the entity inhabiting Asuma. "Great Prince," she said, her voice firm and resolute, "you are nothing but a puppet. I will drag that monster from your body and end its interference here and now."
But Asuma smirked, unfazed by her words. His eyes, black voids filled with malice, reflected no fear. The flames around him surged, forming a whirlwind of fire that melted the ground beneath his feet.
"So you wish to challenge me?" the distorted voice taunted. "Then let this battle be your last."
Manola raised her staff high, summoning a massive wave of roots and vines, each one brimming with corrosive energy. They lashed out like serpents, striking at Asuma with unrelenting force. But the black flames answered in kind, clashing against the incoming attacks and turning them to ash.
The chamber quaked as the two forces collided—fire and nature, each vying for dominance. Manola's attacks were relentless, her control over the tree amplifying her power. Massive branches tore from the walls and ceilings, crashing down toward Asuma with devastating force.
Asuma met each strike with precise and brutal efficiency, his sword carving through the onslaught like a hot blade through butter. The flames around him grew hotter, and darker, consuming even the light of the room.
Manola's voice rose above the chaos. "You are a puppet, Great Prince! Your power is not your own. You are but a shadow of what you should be!"
The voice within Asuma laughed, cold and mocking. "And yet, you tremble before me."
With a sudden burst of speed, Asuma closed the gap between them, his blade igniting into a crescent of black fire. He struck down with all his strength, his attack aimed directly at Manola's heart. The dryad barely managed to block, her staff splintering under the impact as she was forced to her knees.
Manola gasped, her strength waning as the flames began to encroach upon her again. But her eyes remained defiant. "I will not fall to a fractured prince!"