This time, Emperor Hexion did not send Xati to the abyss.
He delivered a far crueler sentence.
The little prince was stripped of indulgence and cast instead to the Barrier Gate, ordered to stand watch as its guardian. A rotation of elite knights was stationed alongside him, not to assist, but to ensure he did not dare slacken, scheme, or escape his duty.
There would be no time for mischief. No beasts to torment. No serpents to play.
And most importantly, no proximity to Jewel. The distance alone was punishment enough.
Curiously, Jewel showed no reaction.
She did not feign concern. She did not plead for mercy. She did not even pretend to miss her son.
Such indifference unsettled Emperor Hexion more than hysteria ever had.
At first, he dismissed it as one of her games. Perhaps, she was waiting for him to coax her, to grow impatient and seek her out. Or perhaps she was too occupied with the construction of her new empress palace, indulging in her grotesque whims.
Seeing, for once, that neither mother nor son was sowing chaos, Emperor Hexion turned his attention back to governance.
The demon realm enjoyed a rare stretch of uneasy peace, but it did not last. Whispers began to coil through the palace like venomous smoke.
The Empress was said to be close to a knight.
Emperor Hexion's wrath ignited instantly. He ordered an investigation at once, demanding to know who dared slander his empress with such blasphemy.
Yet no one wished to report. Demons avoided his gaze, their bodies trembling at the mere echo of his footsteps. Fear sealed every mouth, until, at last, Paris Helle stepped forward.
He brought witnesses and the truth. The rumors did not involve a single knight.
There were many names from knights to nobles. Figures whose loyalty should have been beyond question.
For any other crime, Hexion would have punished Jewel according to its severity.
But this time, his fury eclipsed reason.
Jealousy burned through him like a cataclysm. His aura surged uncontrolled, scorching the air itself. Palace walls cracked. Spires blackened. Demons collapsed where they stood, their consciousness extinguished by sheer terror.
The demon palace trembled on the brink of annihilation.
He knew it. Jewel was doing this deliberately.
Each step he took burned the ground beneath him. Living creatures fled in blind panic, instincts screaming of an existence that spelled extinction. His path led unerringly toward the palace garden.
There, Jewel was seated calmly, porcelain cup cradled between slender fingers, enjoying her tea.
The garden had once been a masterpiece, lush, vibrant, lovingly tended.
It was reduced to cinders as he approached.
Without a single word, Emperor Hexion drew his sword.
Distance meant nothing. In one seamless motion, the blade flashed.
The demon seated across from Jewel, laughing only moments before was beheaded instantly, his head striking the scorched ground before his body had time to fall.
Silence crashed down upon the garden. Ash drifted where flowers once bloomed.
And Emperor Hexion stood before his empress, wrath incarnate.
Jewel showed no trace of fear.
Instead, her eyes shimmered bright, reverent, as she took in the devastation before her, as though gazing upon a sacred vision.
Her crimson garden burned in solemn splendor. Every tree, every vine, every petal had been baptized in her blood, transfigured by flame. Fire surged skyward in towering pillars, purging and consecrating alike, until the heavens themselves seemed stained red.
"How beautiful, Hexi~" Jewel murmured, her voice trembling with exaltation. "Yes… this is better. A garden of flames."
This time, Emperor Hexion did not indulge her.
With a mere flick of his hand, the inferno was undone. The crimson fire collapsed inward, turning black, devouring itself until nothing remained. Not a leaf. Not a root. Not a single sprout to bear witness.
The garden became ash.
Jewel's expression dimmed.
Only then did she notice the beheaded demon at her feet.
She blinked slowly, as if confused, then lifted her gaze toward him, grievance softening her features.
"Hexi… why did you kill my friend?"
"A friend?" His voice thundered across the wasteland that had once been a garden. "My dear Empress, do you even comprehend what that word means?"
"Yes," Jewel replied earnestly. "Jewel has read many books in the library."
Emperor Hexion laughed, a sound sharp and mirthless. He seized her chin, forcing her to look at him. His grip was firm, unyielding.
"Then read again," he said coldly. "And this time, understand your duty. Understand your place. You are the Empress of this realm. You will not bestow special attention upon other demons as though they were toys to soothe your boredom."
Without waiting for her reply, he swept her into his arms and carried her back to the imperial palace.
He believed that this would be the end of it.
But Jewel frequently hosted gatherings. Tea parties, held beneath gilded arches and moonlit halls, and she also had the audacity to demand specific demons to serve as her aides, demons renowned for their beauty, exceptional ability, or noble lineage.
Each request was a blade.
Each acceptance, a provocation.
Emperor Hexion's wrath escalated beyond restraint. The palace drowned in blood. Its walls bore witness to torment and despair, echoing with madness and the terrifying magnitude of an Emperor's power unleashed.
Although the truth was never obscure. It was not his subjects defiance, but rather they were ensnared.
Bewitched by Jewel's nature, drawn into her orbit, unable to extract themselves no matter the cost.
At this repeated ordeal, Paris Helle stepped forward. He volunteered to serve as Jewel's personal knight.
Emperor Hexion refused at first. Paris had once raised his hand against Jewel, and though she was immortal, the memory lingered. Yet logic prevailed over sentiment. Paris Helle was strong and disciplined. Controlled. And perhaps most importantly, he despise her.
So he consented.
Paris Helle accepted the role with cold resolve. For years, he had despised Jewel, harbored deep-seated resentment and loathing toward the being who had driven the Emperor he revered, his sovereign and friend, to the brink of madness. He saw this as an opportunity.
If he could not end her, he would just torment her.
But time eroded certainty.
Perhaps it was because he was an incubus and she a succubus, creatures shaped by desire. Or perhaps it was the exhaustion of guarding an existence who was hollow inside, incapable of understanding consequence.
Gradually, his hatred dulled. Duty replaced loathing. And duty, slowly, gave way to understanding.
He came to see her for what she was.
Innocent, yet experienced. Fragile, yet terrifying. Hateful, yet profoundly pitiful.
He understood then that Jewel, the so-called curse of the throne had never chosen this fate. That she, too, was trapped in a cycle of pain and punishment, inflicted again and again by those who feared her existence but also by herself.
And most cruel of all, even when their generation perished, even when names and empires faded into dust, Jewel would remain.
Feared. Hated. Desired. Condemned to an inescapable existence without choice or freedom, forever a prisoner of her own being.
One day, Emperor Hexion sought her and was told she had returned to the Forbidden Forest.
The forest was a place no one dared to venture into, its paths devoured trespassers, its silence swallowed intent. Yet there were those who could find it.
Him.
And, later… Xati.
Following the familiar trail, Hexion advanced deeper into the scarlet gloom. As he drew closer, laughter drifted through the air, light, unguarded, painfully out of place.
His steps slowed.
There, beneath the colossal red tree where he had first laid eyes upon her, Jewel sat laughing beside Xati, her voice clear and bright. Paris stood nearby, recounting tales as they listened, stories from a time long past.
The sight pierced him.
Once again, that familiar surge rose, violent, consuming, the very madness that haunted his reign.
How dare she bring Paris here?
This forest was theirs.
It had been his sanctuary with her long before thrones and crowns weighed upon his head. He had already tolerated Xati's presence with clenched restraint, but Paris Helle?
Even her so-called "friends" had never been granted this privilege.
Before Emperor Hexion could speak, Paris sensed it instantly.
The crushing weight of a murderous aura, aimed directly at him.
"Ah, Richt," Paris said calmly, unflinching. "I was telling them stories of our ventures back when we were still sprouts. I hope you don't mind."
A pause.
He straightened, realizing the impropriety.
"I mean, Your Majesty. My apologies."
It was what Paris had called him when they were young demons in the North, before the empire, before madness, before Hexion ascended as Emperor.
Jewel smiled faintly.
"Right… Your Majesty," she echoed lightly. "Paris is very good at retelling stories."
Prince Xati rose at once, stepping closer to Jewel, eyes blazing with hostility, like a hellhound guarding what it deemed its territory.
"Your Majesty?" Emperor Hexion repeated softly.
His gaze darkened.
Once, he had forbidden her from addressing him so intimately, for calling him Hexi. Yet over time, slowly, inevitably, he had grown accustomed to it.
Now she called him as though he were merely another sovereign. Another ruler.
What was she implying?
Then his fury snapped.
"Paris Helle, how dare you set foot in this domain?" Emperor Hexion snarled, power rippling outward. "Take that little nuisance and begone. Neither of you is permitted to enter this place again."
Paris froze, momentarily stunned by the naked hostility blazing in Hexion's eyes.
But then he understood, this was not reason. This was not judgment. This was jealousy, raw and unrestrained.
Without protest, Paris grasped Prince Xati by the shoulder. The boy resisted for a heartbeat, teeth bared, but Paris did not loosen his grip.
As the tension escalated, time itself seemed to stretch, every heartbeat drawn thin, every breath laden with words left unspoken.
Jewel met his gaze with quiet defiance, deliberately testing the limits of his patience, provoking the madness she knew all too well.
Emperor Hexion unsheathed his sword.
A devouring darkness erupted.
The aura that poured forth was unlike anything he had ever unleashed before, deeper, steeped in annihilation.
Dark mist coiled around the blade as though alive, the engraved runes writhing and pulsing with malignant intent, each sigil blazing with a hatred so pure it scorched reality itself.
Without a word the blade pierced Jewel's body.
Crimson blood spilled from the corners of her lips, falling like sacrament upon the scorched ground.
The Forbidden Forest screamed.
Trees bent as though in mourning. The wind shrieked through the crimson canopy. The ground convulsed, fissures tearing outward as if the world itself recoiled from her pain.
The true death she had sought for thousands of years... was finally descending upon her.