1000 Years Later...in demon realm.
The obsidian gates of the fortress groaned as they parted beneath Selene's touch, revealing a cavernous hall stretching into shadow. Her demonic attire—jagged edges and intricate crimson patterns against midnight fabric—seemed to absorb what little light filtered through the stained-glass windows high above. The magic energy sword in her grip hummed with malevolent power, its crimson aura casting eerie shadows across her face.
"The demonic presence here is stronger," she whispered, her breath visible in the unnatural chill. "The Demon Lord is here... finally."
She moved with purpose down the grand corridor, boots barely making a sound against the ancient stone. A thousand years in this realm had changed her—hardened her, shaped her into something neither human nor demon, but something in between. Something dangerous.
The corridor opened into a vast throne room, its ceiling disappearing into darkness. Bones—some ancient, some disturbingly fresh—adorned the walls in grotesque patterns. At the far end, upon a throne carved from what appeared to be solidified shadow, sat a figure.
The Demon Lord.
His form was massive, limbs too long, shoulders too broad to be human. A crown of twisted horns erupted from his brow, framing eyes that burned like molten gold in the gloom. When he spoke, the very air trembled.
"So... the little human who's been slaughtering my generals finally shows her face." His voice was like gravel over velvet, unnaturally smooth despite its harshness. "I've been watching your progress with... interest."
Selene's grip tightened on her sword. "Then you know why I'm here."
A smile split his face—too wide, revealing too many teeth. "Because you're a fool who doesn't know when to die? Because fate has delivered you to me at last?"
"Because I'm going to kill you," she replied, her voice steady. "And then I'm going back to my world."
The Demon Lord rose from his throne, his form seeming to stretch upward endlessly. The air around him distorted, reality itself bending in his presence.
"You killed all my strongest generals," he growled, shadows coalescing around his clawed hands. "So I will end you myself."
He moved with impossible speed, crossing the throne room in a blur. Selene barely raised her sword in time, the clash of their meeting sending shockwaves through the chamber. Stained glass shattered, raining colored shards upon the stone floor.
His strength was overwhelming, forcing her back step by step. Each blow felt like being hit by a mountain, her arms trembling with the effort of deflection.
"You've survived this realm for a thousand years," he sneered, darkness swirling around him like a cloak. "But surviving isn't the same as winning."
Selene's back hit a pillar. The Demon Lord's claws slashed down, missing her throat by millimeters as she ducked and rolled. His attack shattered the stone column, debris raining around them.
"I didn't just survive," she gasped, blood trickling from a cut on her cheek. "I learned."
The Demon Lord laughed, the sound like breaking bones. "Learned what? How to die slowly?"
His next attack came as a wave of pure darkness, threatening to swallow her whole. Selene raised her sword, the crimson energy blade parting the shadows like a lighthouse beam through fog.
"I learned your weakness," she whispered.
The Demon Lord faltered, just for an instant. It was enough.
Selene lunged forward, her movements a dance she'd perfected over centuries. The sword hummed in her hands, responding to her will as if it were an extension of her body. She feinted left, then spun right—a move she'd developed after watching the movements of shadow beasts in the lowest levels of the realm.
The Demon Lord's claws scraped across her armor, tearing through metal as if it were paper. Pain blossomed across her ribs, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
"Impossible," he hissed, golden eyes widening as she slipped past his guard. "No human could—"
"I'm not just human anymore," Selene replied, her red eyes glowing with an inner fire. "You made sure of that."
Her blade slid between his ribs, the crimson energy disrupting the dark magic that held his form together. The Demon Lord's mouth opened in a silent scream, golden eyes locked with hers in disbelief.
"How?" he rasped, black ichor spilling from the wound. "I am eternal. I am—"
"Finished," Selene said, twisting the blade deeper.
The Demon Lord's form began to dissolve, darkness peeling away like mist under the morning sun. His golden eyes remained fixed on her, narrowing with dawning recognition.
"You," he whispered, voice fading. "I know what you are now. They think they've won, but they've only created something worse."
The last of his form dispersed, leaving only a crown of twisted horns clattering to the stone floor. Selene stood alone in the throne room, blood dripping from her wounds, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She had done it. After a thousand years, she had defeated the Demon Lord.
But as she stared at the empty throne, an unsettling thought crawled through her mind:
If she could kill a being as powerful as the Demon Lord...
What exactly had she become?
The throne room, still heavy with the remnants of dark magic, trembled. A ripple of unseen power coursed through the chamber, disturbing the dust, shifting the bones embedded in the walls. The air crackled—something was coming.
From the fractured shadows of the great hall, they emerged.
Hooded figures, draped in robes of deep crimson and abyssal black, materialized in a perfect semi-circle. Their presence made the air feel heavier, each one exuding an aura that twisted reality itself. On their foreheads, symbols pulsed with an eerie luminescence—some bore the sigils of sin, others of virtue, a strange juxtaposition of holiness and corruption.
One stepped forward, his voice echoing unnaturally, layered as if spoken by many at once.
"You have defeated that pesky woman..."
The words faltered.
Golden eyes flicked downward. Their supreme king—the eternal, all-consuming force of darkness—lay at the feet of a woman who should not have survived him.
A human.
No. Not human anymore.
Selene stood above his dissolving remains, her sword still embedded in his chest. Blood, both hers and his, painted the stone beneath her feet. She looked at them, gaze burning with something beyond fury, beyond exhaustion.
"Continue," she said, her voice like a whisper laced with steel.
They stammered, shifting, uncertainty rippling through their ranks. The council of ancients, once advisors and manipulators behind the Demon Lord's reign, had not foreseen this. No one had foreseen this.
A figure with the sigil of Pride etched into his brow stepped forward, gathering his composure.
"You have done what even we could not," he admitted begrudgingly, voice now steady. "The Lord of Night is dead. A throne does not sit empty for long."
Another, marked by Deception, tilted her head. "Some would say you are unworthy of such power."
"And others," came a smoother voice—Wrath, perhaps—"would say you are more deserving than any before."
The murmuring among them grew, hushed arguments slipping through the darkness. Some wished to see her reign, others wished to see her erased. Yet a few, the most insidious of them all, whispered of another path.
A different ruler.
Not her, but one of them.
A consort.
A husband.
Selene watched them, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. Their game was obvious—divide her power, weaken her position before she could claim it fully. The political intrigue of demons was no different from that of humans. Lies woven into flattery, betrayal masked as loyalty.
"Enough," she said, her voice cutting through their debate.
The council fell silent.
"You wish to argue my worth?" she continued, stepping forward. Her presence alone was a force, a thing that made the torches flicker and shadows bend. "Then step forward and challenge me."
None did.
One, however, smiled beneath his hood. Greed.
"We have no desire to waste our strength fighting what is inevitable," he murmured. "The throne must be filled. The power must be wielded."
The one bearing Wisdom nodded. "And so, you shall be named anew. You are no longer Selene, the lost warrior."
The figures raised their hands in unison. The air thickened, charged with ancient magic. The throne room trembled.
"You are Belladonna Evernight."
The words struck like a spell, reverberating through her bones. The ground beneath her pulsed with dark energy, recognition, acceptance. The realm itself bowed to her, whispering her new name in the wind that coiled through the shattered windows.
"Demon Overlord," they intoned, finalizing the decree.
A crown of blackened horns, wreathed in silver fire, rose from the remains of the old Demon Lord, hovering before her.
Belladonna Evernight exhaled, staring at the symbol of absolute rule.
She had won.
But the game had only just begun.