There was no room for explanation. The red wedding gown, heavy with embroidered gold, dragged against the cold stone as the guards hauled Evelyn from the hall.
The supposed bride's family had already fallen to their knees, their voices trembling with pleas. Did they think the Demon Lord could be so easily fooled?
"My Lord, the woman you see is but a mere palace maid," the General reported, his voice low.
Damon exhaled, his gaze cold as the abyss. A maid. They had dared replace his bride with a servant of lowly station. A god such as he? Such an offense could only be repaid in blood.
"Please, my Lord, forgive us," the supposed bride's father begged, hands clasped in desperate prayer. "We knew not of this treachery. Not a word, not a whisper!"
"Enough!" The General's voice thundered through the hall. "Your head is all that is required. You should count yourselves fortunate my Lord even considered your daughter as his tenth wife. Yet you dare insult him so?"
Damon said nothing. His silence was absolute, a void swallowing all sound. Then, without so much as a flick of his wrist, the head of the family disintegrated into ash, his scream swallowed by the fire that consumed him. The rest followed—reduced to dust before the Demon Lord's wrath.
The priest, his knees trembling, dared to step forward. "My Lord…" His voice quivered, barely above a whisper. "The ritual… it is complete. Irrevocable. The only way to undo it…" He swallowed hard. "The maid—now your wife—must die. For the bond is sealed, and it is 'till death do them part.'"
Damon exhaled slowly, bored. "Well then, what's stopping you? Kill the thing." He turned, walking away, his crimson cloak dragging behind him.
"My—my Lord," the priest stammered, watching his figure disappear beyond the towering doors. He wrung his hands together. "Oh my… it is against the heavens to kill a newly wedded bride…" He mumbled under his breath, shaking his head.
The order had been given. Two guards were assigned to the underground prison where Evelyn was locked.
_ _
Evelyn sat curled in the damp cell, wrists shackled, her breath coming in short gasps. The red wedding gown hung loose on her, the weight suffocating.
Footsteps.
She looked up just as two guards entered, blades drawn.
"Please! Please, I didn't mean it!" she sobbed, her voice hoarse. "I was drugged—it wasn't intentional!"
One of the guards scoffed. "Oh yeah? Try explaining that to the Lord—"
The sword swung down.
And then—
It stopped.
Mid-air.
The blade trembled, its edge hovering an inch from Evelyn's throat. The guard's grip spasmed as though something had seized his hand.
His mouth opened in shock. "Wha—"
The sword turned. Fast. Unnatural.
With a sickening crack, the steel reversed—slamming straight through the guard's own throat. His eyes bulged as blood gurgled up his lips. He staggered, choking, before crumpling to the ground.
The second guard, frozen in terror, watched his partner collapse in a pool of blood.
The air hummed. Thickened.
Evelyn's wrists burned, a strange pulse beating beneath her skin, the same eerie darkness that had surrounded the Demon Lord.
"No! No!" she screamed, her voice raw with terror. Evelyn clamped a trembling hand over her mouth, her eyes widening as she stared at the lifeless body before her.
The second guard cursed under his breath, his grip tightening around his sword. Rage twisted his features. "You witch!" he spat, yanking his blade free and swinging it at her with full force.
Cold steel sliced the air—too fast, too close.
A lock of Evelyn's dark hair fluttered to the ground, landing in her lap. She swallowed hard.
That could have been her head.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. The guard took another step forward—then froze.
His muscles stiffened. His breath hitched.
His own hand—betrayed him.
The blade jerked unnaturally, twisting in his grip. His wrist spasmed as though an unseen force had seized control.
Then—slash.
A deep cut opened across his ear.
The guard staggered back, panting, eyes wild with panic. "W-what is this?!" His fingers trembled as he tried to steady his sword, but his limbs had turned against him.
Slash.
This time, the blade sliced across his arm. Blood seeped through the fabric, dark and wet. His scream rang through the prison walls, raw and agonized.
Evelyn screamed too. A strangled, horror-stricken sound as she pressed herself against the cold stone, her body shaking violently.
Blood.
It was everywhere. On her skin. Her gown. Her trembling hands.
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, a wild, frantic drumbeat.
What was happening?
Her vision blurred, her breath coming in short gasps. The guards had tried to kill her. Yet they were the ones bleeding.
Her fingers curled around the strands of hair in her lap.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
And whatever it was—it was inside her now.
The guard stumbled back, his face twisted in terror. Blood dripped from his wounds, staining his uniform, but he didn't dare look back.
"Witch! She's a witch!" he shrieked, his voice echoing through the stone walls.
Then—he ran.
His panicked footsteps faded into the distance, leaving nothing but the suffocating silence of the underground prison.
Evelyn lay motionless.
The cold, bloodstained ground pressed against her cheek, her lashes fluttering. The weight of fear, exhaustion, and the impossible truth was too much to bear.
Darkness claimed her.
She had never imagined her life would end like this—trapped between death and something far worse.
Evelyn's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she thought she was still in the underground prison, but the air was different—cleaner, lighter. The scent of damp stone had been replaced with something faintly spiced, like incense lingering in the air.
She shifted slightly, her body stiff from lying on the hard surface. Her fingers brushed against silk instead of dirt.
This isn't the prison.
Her breath hitched as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. It was far from lavish, but compared to where she had been, it was a miracle. The walls were dark stone, torches flickering along them. A small table stood in the corner, a single pitcher of water atop it.
The creak of a door opening made her sit up abruptly.
A man stepped inside—The General.
His presence alone sent a wave of unease through her. He was tall, his black and red armor making him look even more imposing. His face was sharp, eyes cold with the weight of experience. He did not look like a man who entertained foolish questions.
Evelyn immediately lowered her head.
"You live." His voice was calm, but there was no warmth in it.
She swallowed hard. "I—I don't understand…"
The General walked closer, stopping just a few steps away. "The reason you're still breathing, maid, is simple. You are now bound to the Lord by an irreversible bond." His gaze remained unreadable. "Until death parts you."
Evelyn stiffened. That meant—
He nodded as if reading her thoughts. "Had the heavens permitted, you would have been dead before that blade even reached your neck. But the laws of the divine are absolute."
She squeezed her hands together, her body trembling. "I—It wasn't supposed to be me."
"And yet, it is." His voice hardened. "Do you think a mere maid can be married to the Lord? This mistake will be corrected soon enough."
Evelyn felt her chest tighten. Corrected. A pretty way to say eliminated.
She pressed her forehead to the ground, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, my Lord—"
"I am not your Lord." The General's tone was sharp. "You should pray the real one never looks your way."
A suffocating silence fell between them.
Finally, he turned toward the door. "Rest while you can. The heavens may have delayed your fate, but they have not erased it."
And with that, he was gone.
Evelyn remained frozen, hands clenched against her lap.
Her survival was a curse.
And the clock was ticking.