The cave echoed with silence, the only sound being the faint crackle of dying hellfire licking the jagged walls. Somewhere deeper inside, the soft sniffles of a younger demon filled the air, cutting through the stillness like a distant drumbeat.
Legend of the Demon lord
"Dude, can you just shut up for a second?"
The elder brother grunted, his voice heavy with annoyance. He kicked a loose rock at the younger one, barely missing his head.
"You're gonna get us both killed."
The younger demon, his clawed hands wiping his face, let out a quiet sob. "I saw him again," he whispered, voice trembling.
The elder froze mid-step, but only for a second. Then, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he leaned against the wall. "Him who?"
The younger brother's eyes widened with fear. "Maltraxus," he murmured, as if speaking the name could summon the dark force himself.
The elder's expression twisted into a mix of disgust and disbelief. "Maltraxus? Come on, you still believe in that trash?"
The younger clutched the back of his head, the tremor in his voice growing stronger. "He was there, right in front of me. I could feel his gaze, cold and... piercing. Like he was looking into my soul."
"Seriously, bro, you're just making yourself crazy," the elder snorted. "It's just a myth. You know that."
The younger demon shook his head frantically.
"No, it's not! It's real. He's real! I swear, I saw him!"
The elder scoffed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, sure. You saw Maltraxus, the demon lord who's supposedly been dead for centuries. Who's probably nothing more than a bedtime story to keep little demons like you in line. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
But the younger wasn't having it. He dug through a pile of old, dusty scrolls and books, producing an ancient, worn-down tome. With shaky hands, he opened it, the pages crinkling with age.
"This," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "this is proof."
The elder leaned in, eyeing the book with skepticism. "You really think that old junk is gonna change anything? You seriously want me to read some creepy fairytale?"
The younger ignored his brother's sarcasm and began reading aloud in a low, cracked voice.
"Maltraxus... was born from the darkest ritual ever performed. He was consumed by his father's will, by the Satan's command. But instead of submitting to their orders, he broke free, killing the one who brought him into this world. He was not not born, he was never meant to be.." He paused, his voice faltering for a moment.
"He was the transformation of his very own mother who transformed when his father was having sex with one of his wives, resulting in exploding the woman's private and rape whatever comes in his way and he didn't stop there. He VIOLATED his siblings, devouring their souls and taking their power. He was... built for chaos, he didn't even spare his very own father.."
The elder's tail flicked nervously. "Okay, this is just messed up."
The younger continued, his voice trembling. "They called him the Fallen Star Destroyer. He didn't care about power. He didn't care about anything, except destruction."
The elder turned away, shaking his head. "I told you, it's just a story. A legend to keep the weak in line. We're demons. We don't need to be scared of bedtime stories."
But the younger demon wasn't so easily dissuaded. He looked up at his older brother, his face pale. "Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
The elder froze for a moment, before gruffly muttering, "You've got an overactive imagination, kid. Get some sleep."
But as he turned his back, something about the tale nagged at him, like a bitter taste on his tongue he couldn't wash away. Maltraxus... The name lingered in the air, dark and heavy, like a shadow looming just outside their reach.
Maltraxus
The darkness of the Ninth Abyss felt colder tonight, as if it too could sense the shift within him. Maltraxus stood at the edge of the chasm, his long claws digging into the stone, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down like a heavy iron chain.
Chaos, he had once thought. Chaos was all He needed.
But now? Now, something had changed. He clenched his fist tighter, the sound of his claws scraping against his palm barely audible in the vast emptiness.
"I don't understand," he muttered, his voice thick with venom. "Why am I still like this?"
His eyes narrowed, flickering with dark fury as memories of his wife, the one he had devoured, flashed before him. Her lifeless form, the taste of her power as he consumed her.
The very thought made his stomach churn.
He had been forced to kill her, as the Satan demanded. His flesh and blood had been sacrificed, and in return, they had bound him to a mortal, a being unworthy of his power, of his legacy.
But what did he feel now?
Maltraxus turned, his back to the void, pacing in circles like a predator unsure of its next move. The shadows whispered, as they always did, mocking his torment.
"This is who you are, Maltraxus. This is what you've become. A beast, bound by blood and fate. What else could you be?"
He growled, his claws digging deeper into the stone.
"I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to become... this."
A flicker of something, weak, almost imperceptible, danced in his chest. A feeling he couldn't place, a gnawing uncertainty that had no name.
Why did it hurt to remember her? To think of the one person who had ever truly understood him?
He stopped, his breath shallow as he faced the abyss. "What is wrong with me?" His voice was barely a whisper now, a broken man's lament.
The shadows only laughed, their voices deep and mocking. "You were made for this, Maltraxus. For chaos. For destruction. You can't escape it. You won't escape it."
But deep inside, in the coldest part of his soul, something had shifted. And as much as he loathed it, Maltraxus couldn't stop it. He couldn't understand it. And it terrified him.
Something inside him had changed, but even he didn't know what it was.
And that was the most dangerous part of it all.
Overprotective
The shadows thickened as Maltraxus stood still in the heart of the abyss, his form cloaked in darkness. His claws dug into the cold stone beneath him, grounding him in the depths of his rage and frustration. His thoughts were clear now. The prophecy, the death of his offspring, and the mocking words of Alex who dared to call him "Mal" and I'm afraid that he might do something to my offspring and all of it had led to this moment.
The woman, his creation, stood before him like a weapon waiting to be wielded. Her presence was alluring, dangerous, a reflection of the dark magic he had imbued her with. But it wasn't her beauty that caught his interest now; it was the role she would play in his grand scheme.
"Go to him," Maltraxus ordered, his voice like a cold whisper that carried the weight of millennia. "The one who dared mock me. The mortal who believes he can make a joke of my name. Go to him, and do what must be done."
She tilted her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And what exactly must I do when I get there, my lord?" Her voice was sweet but laced with dark intent.
Maltraxus's gaze hardened, his eyes glowing with unyielding fury. "Seduce him," he growled, each word dripping with venom. "Make him believe he can control you, that he can tame you. Use his arrogance, his pride against him. Turn his own desires into his downfall. Lead him to the brink of his own destruction."
She stepped forward, her every movement graceful and predatory. "And when he's broken, my lord?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous curiosity.
Maltraxus's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Then he will die. His death will shatter the prophecy, and I will reclaim my offspring. I will have my revenge, and the gods will learn the price of mocking me."
She nodded, the shadows around her swirling like a storm ready to unleash. "I will do as you command," she said, her voice low and confident. "He won't even know what hit him."
Maltraxus grins wickedly, his laughter sharp and unhinged, echoing through the dimly lit chamber. His eyes gleam as he watches her, a creature born entirely of blood, a being capable of unthinkable horrors.
"What if the chosen one fails?" he mutters, his voice low and venomous. "Who will fulfill the prophecy then? No one. Absolutely no one!"
The laughter spills out of him again, dark and hollow, reverberating off the cold, bloodstained walls. He shakes his head, the amusement in his voice tinged with a bitter truth.
This is what they are..
No emotion, no joy, no purpose. Just gore and flesh... and sex, sex, sex.
His laughter fades into a sinister silence, leaving only the weight of his words hanging in the air. There is no redemption here, no hope, just the grim reality of a world ruled by blood and lust.