Trapped in the human world, the Demon King struggles to resist falling in love with a girl as he plots to overthrow the 'gods' and conquer all realms upon his return.
Matian Meilin is an 18-year-old girl with a passion for gaming and a very well-kn...
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Feng Deming sat upon a golden throne in the Flare Wing Palace of Middle Astara. Despite appearing to be in his early twenties by human standards, in Astara, he held the title of King of Kings—an unmatched authority. His presence commanded both fear and respect, marking him as the most powerful man across all realms.
Deep in thought, Deming reflected on his accomplishments. "I have restored order after the chaos left by the previous Supreme Leader," he mused. His cold eyes narrowed as he envisioned his next steps, driven by an undying thirst to destroy the Fairy Realm, sparing no one who stood in his way. "I shall reclaim Astara's lost lands and historical artifacts from the Fairy Tribe... Yet, this is merely the beginning."
His mind drifted back to the day he ascended to the position of Astaran Supreme, earning the title of King of Kings as a teenager. He had entered the Fairy Realm as an innocent child but returned to Astara devoid of emotion, showing no mercy as the harbinger of destruction.
"My lord," a soldier clad in bulky black armor knelt before Deming. "The King of the West has defied your order. How shall I convey your response?"
Snapping out of his reverie, Deming's piercing gaze cut through the soldier, like ice through warm flesh. "It seems my benevolence has been mistaken for weakness," he growled, his deep voice sinister, sending shivers down the soldier's spine. His jaw clenched, a subtle sign of the anger simmering beneath his composed exterior. "However, there is indeed a message I demand to be conveyed."
The soldier trembled under Deming's intense scrutiny as the Demon King rose from his throne. Each step echoed ominously in the grand hall, telling a tale of the destruction he had unleashed and the countless lives he had mercilessly crushed beneath his heel, their anguished cries of despair haunting their memories.
Deming stood tall before the soldier, radiating regal elegance with his dark-brown hair flowing down to his thighs, as if drawn with a quill and ink. He wore multi-layered black garments and a golden half-crown. The horn-like protrusions on either side of the crown emphasized his esteemed status as the Demon King.
With eyes blazing like molten gold, Deming commanded, "Lock him away. Let his fate serve as a warning to all who would dare cross me."
"Yes, my lord!" The guards seized the soldier with vice-like grips, their hands clamping down hard on his arms.
Stunned by the swift judgment, the soldier protested, "But why, my lord? I'm inno—"
"Innocent?" Deming interrupted with a mocking sneer. "Do not insult my intelligence. Your loyalty has been compromised, and you know it full well."
With a nod from Deming, the guards dragged the soldier away, his pleas drowned out by the heavy thud of the closing chamber doors.
Alone once more, Deming turned to the window, his aloof eyes narrowing as he gazed out over the moonlit landscape. The night whispered its secrets, but darker ambitions consumed his thoughts. "West Astara shall kneel at my feet," he whispered to the darkness, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Soon."
