The Festival of Shadows was the most anticipated event in the Demon Realm's calendar. It was a night when the perpetual gloom of the sky was illuminated not by lightning, but by millions of phantom-fire lanterns. It was a time of revelry, gluttony, and debauchery.
Naturally, Demon Lord Valdred treated it like a siege.
"Status report," Valdred barked.
He stood in the center of the War Room. The map of the continent had been replaced by a detailed, hand-drawn map of the Festival Grounds.
Lilith stood by the table, looking incredibly tired. She tapped the map with a pointer.
"The Cotton Candy stalls are located in Sector 4," Lilith droned. "The Fireworks display will commence at 22:00 hours from the Northern Spire. The expected crowd density is... severe. Risk of assassination is low, risk of sticky fingers is high."
"Excellent," Valdred nodded, adjusting his collar.
He was wearing The Coat. The same charcoal-gray trench coat from Shadow-Port, paired with a high-collared black shirt. He had spent forty minutes fixing his hair in the mirror to make it look "effortlessly messy," a concept Elara had tried to explain to him but which mostly resulted in him looking like he had been electrocuted by a storm elemental.
"And the budget?" Valdred asked.
"Approved," Lilith sighed. "I have allocated 500 gold coins for 'Frivolous Nonsense'. Please try not to spend it all on one stuffed animal."
"I do not buy stuffed animals," Valdred scoffed. "I acquire trophies."
The heavy oak doors creaked open.
"Are you done briefing the mission, Commander Buzzkill?"
Valdred turned. His breath hitched in his throat.
Elara stood in the doorway. She was not wearing her oversized robes. She was not wearing her military uniform.
She was wearing a Dark Yukata. It was made of midnight-blue silk that shimmered like a starry sky. The fabric was patterned with silver spider lilies that seemed to glow faintly. A crimson obi sash was tied around her waist in a complex bow, emphasizing her petite figure. Her silver hair was pinned up with a hair stick that looked suspiciously like a miniature magical staff.
She looked... elegant. ethereal. Like a spirit of the moon that had wandered into the underworld.
"Well?" Elara stepped into the room, twirling a paper fan. She peered at him over the rim of her glasses. "Do I pass inspection? Or is the hemline against regulations?"
Valdred opened his mouth. His brain, usually a fortress of logical processing, returned a 404 Error.
"You..." Valdred started. He coughed, looking away at the map. "The textile quality appears sufficient. The pattern provides adequate camouflage for the night sky."
Elara's smile dropped. She snapped her fan shut with a loud thwack.
"Adequate camouflage?" she repeated dangerously. "That's a 1 out of 10, Valdred. My Validation Gauge is actually going down. Try again. Look at the neck."
She tilted her head, exposing the nape of her neck.
Valdred swallowed hard. "It is... graceful. You look... radiant, Elara. Like the moon piercing the darkness."
"Better," Elara hummed, her smile returning. A soft, pink aura shimmered around her for a second. "See? Was that so hard? Now, come on. The Takoyaki isn't going to eat itself."
She walked up to him and, without hesitation, hooked her arm through his.
Lilith watched them go, shaking her head. "I give them twenty minutes before they blow something up."
Sector 1: The Promenade of Gluttony
The festival was a sensory overload. Rows of wooden stalls lined the cobblestone streets, each illuminated by floating purple lanterns. The air smelled of grilled squid, roasted dragon-tail, and sweet bean paste.
Crowds of demons—Orcs in loincloths, Vampires with parasols, Ghosts floating casually through passersby—filled the streets.
Valdred walked stiffly, scanning the perimeter. "Too many blind spots," he muttered. "A rogue mage could hide behind that shaved ice stand."
"Relax, bodyguard," Elara teased, squeezing his arm. "Tonight, you aren't the Demon Lord. You're just 'Val'. And I'm 'Ela'. We're just a normal, power-hungry couple out for a stroll."
"I am not hungry for power," Valdred corrected. "I possess absolute power. I am hungry for..."
He stopped. He stared at a stall.
"What is that?"
Elara followed his gaze. "That? That's an Apple Candy stand. But since we're in the Demon Realm, I think those are... Poison Apples?"
"They are glazed with Shadow Syrup," Valdred analyzed. "It causes mild hallucinations of grandeur."
"Sounds fun," Elara grinned. "Two, please!"
She dragged him to the stall. The vendor, a hunchbacked Goblin, squinted at them.
"Two apples!" the Goblin croaked. "That'll be five silver."
Valdred reached into his coat to pay, but Elara stopped him.
"Wait," she whispered. "I want to try something."
She leaned over the counter, batting her eyelashes at the Goblin.
"Excuse me, Mr. Goblin," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "My boyfriend here... he's very shy. But he thinks your apples are the shiniest, most beautiful apples in the whole world. Don't you, Val?"
She elbowed Valdred in the ribs. Hard.
"Oof—yes," Valdred grunted. "They are... exceptionally spherical."
"See?" Elara beamed at the Goblin. "He's so charmed by your craftsmanship. Couldn't we have a little discount for being such big fans?"
The Goblin blushed. "Oh, stop it. You flatter me. Fine! Take them for three silver!"
Elara paid, grabbed the apples, and walked away with a triumphant strut.
"Why did you do that?" Valdred asked, bewildered, accepting a black, glistening apple on a stick. "I have the treasury of an empire. I can afford five silver."
"It's not about the money, Val," Elara laughed, crunching into her apple. "It's about the game. It's about the victory. Besides..." She licked a bit of syrup from her lip. "It's fun to call you my boyfriend to get free stuff."
Valdred choked on his own saliva. He quickly took a bite of the apple to hide his face. The syrup tasted like blueberries and pure chaos.
"Boyfriend..." he muttered to the apple. "Strategic deception. I see."
Sector 2: The Games of Chance (And Skill)
"Look!" Elara pointed her half-eaten apple toward a crowded booth. "Goldfish Scooping! But... darker."
The sign read: "DANGER SCOOP: CATCH THE PIRANHA, WIN A PRIZE."
A large tank was filled with water. Swirling inside were hundreds of small, jagged-toothed fish with glowing red eyes. The "scoopers" were made of thin, fragile rice paper.
A large Minotaur was currently trying to scoop one. As soon as his paper touched the water, a piranha bit through it. The Minotaur roared in frustration and stormed off.
"I want one," Elara stated.
"You want a piranha?" Valdred asked. "They make terrible pets. They eat the other pets."
"Not the fish," Elara rolled her eyes. "The prize."
She pointed to the top shelf. There, sitting among dusty skulls and cursed daggers, was a plushie. It was a round, fat, black bat with big googly eyes and tiny felt wings. It was hideous.
"It's so ugly," Elara whispered reverently. "It's perfect. It looks like you when you wake up."
"I do not look like a felt bat," Valdred defended.
"Win it for me, Val," she turned to him, clasping her hands together. "Please? My magic is great for blowing things up, but I have terrible dexterity. I'd just boil the water by accident."
Valdred looked at the piranhas. He looked at the fragile paper scooper. He looked at Elara's pleading eyes.
"Very well," Valdred said, stepping up to the counter. "One scoop."
The vendor, a shaded wraith, handed him the paper tool.
Valdred removed his coat, handing it to Elara. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms that were scarred from centuries of swordplay. He adjusted his sunglasses.
"Observe," he said softly.
The Demon Lord entered a state of Zanshin—total awareness.
To the onlookers, he was just a tall man staring at a fish tank. To Valdred, this was a battlefield.
Target acquired: Alpha Piranha, Quadrant 3. Velocity: 2 meters per second. Paper structural integrity: 15%. Water surface tension: High.
He moved.
It wasn't a scoop. It was a surgical strike.
His hand dipped into the water at a 45-degree angle to minimize resistance. He didn't chase the fish; he anticipated its trajectory. As the piranha swam past, Valdred slid the paper under its belly.
Then, utilizing the water's own inertia to cradle the weight, he lifted.
Splash.
The piranha landed in the bowl. The paper was unbroken.
The crowd gasped.
"Impossible!" the Wraith vendor hissed. "That fish has bitten three fingers today!"
"Physics," Valdred said coolly, "is absolute."
He handed the bowl to the vendor. "The bat. Now."
Valdred walked back to Elara, holding the fat black bat plushie. He felt ridiculous. He felt like a conqueror returning with the head of a king, except the head was soft and squishy.
"Here," he said, shoving it into her arms.
Elara hugged the bat, burying her face in its softness. Then she looked up at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling.
"That was..." she bit her lip. "That was incredibly hot, Valdred. The way your muscles moved? The focus? 10 out of 10."
Flash.
A pulse of mana rippled through the crowd, knocking over a stack of empty cans at the neighboring stall.
"Elara," Valdred hissed, putting his coat back on to hide his own blush. "Control your output."
"I can't help it!" she giggled, squeezing the bat. "My hero. Let's name him 'Val-Jr'."
"Absolutely not."
"Too late. Hi, Val-Jr!"
Sector 3: The Dance of Shadows
They wandered deeper into the festival, away from the noisy games, toward the central plaza. Music was playing—a haunting, rhythmic waltz played by a skeletal orchestra.
Couples were dancing. Dark Elves, Vampires, and Humans who had defected to the dark side were swaying under the lantern light.
"Dance with me," Elara said suddenly.
They were standing near a stone fountain filled with black water.
"I do not dance," Valdred replied automatically. "I march. I conquer. I sit ominously."
"Liar," Elara said. "I saw the old portraits in the gallery. You were trained in court etiquette. You know how to waltz."
She handed Val-Jr to a passing gargoyle ("Hold this, don't eat it," she commanded) and held out her hand.
"Come on, Val. No one is watching. Just us."
Valdred looked around. Hundreds of people were watching. They were the most striking couple there. But looking at Elara's hand, the rest of the world seemed to blur out of focus.
He sighed, a sound of defeated affection.
"If I step on your feet," he warned, taking her hand, "it will be because my boots are heavy."
"I'll cast a shield spell on my toes," she promised.
He pulled her in.
His hand found her waist. Her hand rested on his shoulder. The size difference was comical—she had to look up sharply, and he had to hunch slightly—but as soon as they began to move, the awkwardness vanished.
Valdred moved with the grace of a swordsman. Every step was precise, fluid. He led her through the crowd, spinning her under the lantern light. The silk of her yukata brushed against his legs.
"See?" Elara whispered, breathless, as they turned. "You're a natural."
"It is merely geometry," Valdred muttered, focusing intently on not crushing her. "Rhythm is just a predictable pattern of time."
"You ruin everything with logic," she laughed. "Just feel it."
She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his chest.
"You know, Valdred... I'm really glad I quit the Hero's party."
Valdred tightened his grip on her hand slightly. "I am... pleased you did as well. My logistics have improved by 400%."
"Is that the only reason?" she asked, looking up. Her violet eyes searched his.
Valdred stopped dancing. They stood in the middle of the swirling crowd, an island of stillness.
"No," he said softly. "It is not the only reason. My life... was gray before. Efficient. Powerful. But gray. You brought... color. Chaos. Noise. But mostly color."
Elara's eyes widened. Her validation gauge didn't explode this time. There was no flash of light. Just a deep, warm glow that seemed to come from her soul.
"Val..." she whispered.
She stood on her tiptoes. She leaned in.
Valdred leaned down. The distance between them closed to inches.
BOOM.
A massive explosion rocked the plaza.
The sky lit up. Not with fireworks. With Holy Light.
Valdred instinctively pulled Elara behind him, his coat flaring out like a shield. His sunglasses fell off, revealing eyes that were now glowing with infernal rage.
"Party crasher," Elara hissed, peering around his arm.
Floating above the festival grounds was a ship. A golden airship, bearing the insignia of the Holy Church.
A magical loudspeaker crackled to life.
"CITIZENS OF DARKNESS!" a voice boomed—a voice that was annoying, pompous, and nasal. "CEASE YOUR HERETICAL FESTIVITIES! SURRENDER THE TRAITOR ELARA, OR FACE THE WRATH OF THE GODDESS!"
The crowd screamed and scattered. The gargoyle dropped Val-Jr (Elara gasped).
"It's Leo," Elara groaned, slapping her forehead. "He actually came. He brought a blimp. Who brings a blimp to a stealth mission?"
Valdred looked up at the golden ship. He cracked his knuckles.
"He interrupted the dance," Valdred said. His voice was calm. Terrifyingly calm.
"Yeah," Elara said, stepping out from behind him. She bent down and picked up Val-Jr, dusting him off. She adjusted her glasses. Her eyes began to glow with violet mana, clashing with the holy gold above.
"He ruined the vibe," Elara agreed. "Val? Can I blow up the blimp?"
"No," Valdred said.
Elara pouted. "Why not?"
"Because," Valdred said, ripping off his trench coat to reveal the combat-ready shirt underneath. He summoned his massive black sword from thin air. The blade hummed with hungry darkness.
"Because," Valdred smirked, a truly demonic expression crossing his face, "I am going to blow up the blimp. You may handle the falling debris."
Elara grinned. A wide, shark-like grin.
"You're on, partner."
She kicked off her wooden sandals. She floated up into the air, her yukata fluttering like battle robes.
"Hey, Leo!" she screamed at the sky, amplifying her voice with magic. "NICE BALLOON! HOPE IT'S INSURED!"