Chapter 63
The Demon Realm
The Demon Realm never slept.
It breathed.
Darkness pulsed through the vast kingdom like blood through veins, carrying screams long since silenced and hatred that refused to fade. The sky above the realm twisted endlessly, black clouds clashing with crimson lightning, illuminating towering structures built from bone, stone, and the remains of fallen races.
At the heart of it all stood the Throne Hall.
An endless chamber forged from skulls—thousands upon thousands of them—each belonging to a race that had once dared to stand against the Demon King. The skulls were fused together, their hollow eyes glowing faintly, whispering stories of conquest, loss, and annihilation.
Upon the highest platform sat Roosevelt.
He lounged on his throne of skulls, one arm resting casually on the armrest, clawed fingers tapping slowly in a rhythm known only to him. His expression was calm, almost bored—but the air around him trembled faintly, as though the realm itself feared his thoughts.
He was waiting.
Moments later, the heavy doors of the throne hall burst open with a gust of demonic wind.
A demon flew in, wings wide and sharp-edged, skin pale as bone, eyes glowing an unnatural shade of purple. He landed before the throne and dropped to one knee immediately, bowing his head low enough that his horns scraped against the skull-littered floor.
"My Lord."
Roosevelt's tapping stopped.
"Jyra," he said smoothly. "Welcome back. Tell me—what did you find?"
Jyra remained kneeling, voice steady but cautious. "My Lord… I spied on the Red Moon Pack."
Roosevelt's brow lifted slightly.
"And?"
"The Alpha," Jyra continued. "The one who seems to know too much… he did not die."
For the first time in a long while, Roosevelt's eyes flickered with genuine interest.
"Oh?" he murmured. "That is interesting."
A slow smile formed on his lips.
"He survived my attack ?" Roosevelt asked softly. "Then he is far more entertaining than I gave him credit for."
Jyra swallowed but continued. "My Lord… I believe I may have discovered why he knows so much."
Roosevelt leaned forward slightly. "Go on."
Jyra exhaled. "While spying, I overheard something troubling."
Roosevelt's voice dropped. "Troubling?"
"The Living Book, my Lord," Jyra said carefully. "They have access to it."
The temperature in the throne hall dropped sharply.
Roosevelt rose slowly from his throne, his cloak dragging across skulls as he descended the steps.
"The Living Book…" he repeated. "How?"
Jyra shook his head. "I do not know why it responds to him, but I heard them discussing ways to defeat us. I believe the Alpha possesses a special bloodline."
Roosevelt stopped walking.
"A special bloodline?" he echoed.
"Yes, my Lord," Jyra replied. "And there was an elf present, the one with white hair that almost killed Daksha. He mentioned that both the Alpha and a woman named Erin were crucial."
At the name, Roosevelt turned sharply.
"Erin?" he asked. "Who is she?"
Jyra lowered his head further. "I do not know, my Lord. I have not seen her on the battlefield."
Roosevelt's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That is strange," he murmured. "Why would someone so important remain hidden?"
Jyra hesitated. "These werewolves… they are becoming increasingly cunning."
For a moment, Roosevelt was silent.
Then—
He laughed.
A low, dark laugh that echoed through the throne hall, bouncing off skull-lined walls and sending shivers through the demons lurking in the shadows.
" That's Enough," Roosevelt said at last. "Let us stop the spying."
Jyra looked up in shock. "My Lord?"
Roosevelt turned back toward his throne, his expression alight with anticipation and excitement rather than concern.
"Why should I waste my precious time worrying about an 'Erin' or a special bloodline?" he said calmly. "I am not afraid, at all."
He sat back down, crossing one leg over the other.
"Let them scheme," Roosevelt continued. "Let them hope, Let them train."
His smile widened dangerously.
"We both know they cannot defeat me. I am too strong, too strong for them."
A flicker of crimson lightning illuminated his face.
"And if all else fails…" he added, voice laced with cruel amusement, "Shadow Scale will burn them to ash."
Jyra stiffened, then bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord."
Roosevelt waved him off. "Call Devyani. I want him here."
Jyra nodded and exited the throne hall swiftly.
Minutes later, Devyani entered—tall, composed, his demonic aura sharp and disciplined. He knelt immediately.
"My Lord, you summoned me."
Roosevelt studied him briefly. "How are our soldiers?"
"They are doing well," Devyani replied. "Stronger than before. Training relentlessly."
"Good," Roosevelt said, reclining on his throne. "Tell them to stop entering the Werewolf Realm."
Devyani blinked in surprise. "My Lord?"
Roosevelt chuckled softly. "Let the Werewolves rest."
"May I ask why?" Devyani ventured carefully.
Roosevelt's eyes gleamed. "Because this will be their last break."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Hope is a dangerous thing," Roosevelt continued. "They hoped once… and look where it led them, death, burnt house."
His voice hardened.
"They will not dare to hope again, ever."
Devyani bowed. "I understand, my Lord."
"I want no demon in the Werewolf Realm," Roosevelt added. "Not until I decide otherwise."
"Yes, my Lord."
Devyani left the throne hall, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Silence returned.
Roosevelt remained seated for a long moment, lost in thought.
Then as the demon king that he was he stood, with grace.
He walked out of the throne hall,In a regal way, the demonic air brushing against his skin as he stepped onto the balcony overlooking the realm with his dark crimson eyes. Below him stretched an endless wasteland bathed in red lightning and shadows.
He gazed up at the sky.
Somewhere far away, the Werewolves were preparing.
Training.
Hoping.
Planning.
Scheming.
Roosevelt smiled.
"Struggle all you want," he whispered to the wind. "In the end… fire consumes everything, the fire's going to consume their dreams, their future, everything they've ever hoped for would all be gone."
Turning on his heel, the Demon King walked toward his chamber—calm, confident, and utterly convinced of his inevitable victory.