The challenge echoed across the scorched plain like thunder before a storm.
Satsujin stood still—unshaken, unmoved.
Not a flicker of doubt crossed his face.
Only resolve.
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled—and in that breath, the ground cracked beneath his feet.
His demonic energy erupted, flaring like a living tempest. Shadows twisted around him, drawn to his aura as he entered a battle stance. In his hands, he conjured two blazing chakrams, forged from black and crimson fire—his own hellflame, laced with refined control.
Wester narrowed her eyes, instinct roaring in her gut.
'This boy... he's not your typical demon. He could match me—perhaps even surpass me despite his age. The only thing he lacks is experience'
The air grew thick. The earth tensed beneath their feet.
Then—
They moved.
A sonic boom shattered the stillness as Wester was the first to strike, hurling a volley of blue fireballs in rapid succession. They screamed through the air like comets, illuminating the ash-stained sky.
Satsujin met them head-on, spinning his chakrams with blistering speed. One slice cleaved through a fireball, detonating it in a shockwave of sapphire flame. Another chakram carved through the next, its arc graceful yet deadly. He flipped backward mid-air, gathering momentum, and with one fluid motion—
He vanished.
Wester's eyes widened. He reappeared in a blur beside her, fist pulled back, surging with compacted demonic energy.
She reacted just in time.
Pivoting sharply, she dodged as his punch obliterated the space behind her, sending a shockwave that tore the ground open, uprooting molten stone and scattering it into the sky like volcanic debris.
The sheer force of the blow echoed for miles.
Wester flipped through the air, landing on a boulder as it melted beneath her feet. Her blade flared to life, and she dashed forward, closing the gap in a heartbeat. They clashed—her sword meeting his chakrams with a deafening clang that sent sparks flying.
They moved like blurs across the battlefield—flame against flame, will against will.
Satsujin ducked a blade slash, spun low, and launched a chakram upward like a flaming boomerang. Wester parried with a twirl of her sword, sending the disk ricocheting into a distant ridge with an earthshaking blast.
She countered with a blast of blue fire from her palm, but Satsujin used the explosion to launch himself forward, flipping through the air, fire trailing from his feet as he descended with a flaming kick.
She blocked—barely.
The ground beneath her cratered.
As dust and flames engulfed them both, two warriors stood firm in the inferno.
Their powers clashed, their wills tested.
And neither had yet revealed their true strength.
The battle raged like a storm of fire and fury, shaking the scorched earth beneath their feet.
From the jagged ridges above, the Queensguard watched in stunned silence—warriors hardened by war, now breathless as they witnessed the impossible unfold before them.
Wester, the Seer of the Burning Plains, wielder of pure elemental flame, was locked in a furious dance with a boy who shouldn't have stood a chance. And yet…
He wasn't just standing. He was dominating.
Every motion from Satsujin became sharper, faster, more fluid. Each blast of fire Wester hurled was deflected, dodged, or dismantled mid-air by his spinning chakrams. But more than that—he was learning.
Every flame whip. Every eruption. Every burst of heat—Satsujin's crimson eyes tracked and memorized them all. He read her flow like a warrior reading scripture. Wester's fighting style, once unpredictable and untouchable, was now being broken down piece by piece.
She launched a spinning ring of blue hellfire, intending to trap him.
He hurled his chakram to intercept it—detonating the ring mid-air in a fiery explosion that painted the sky red and blue. From the smoke, Satsujin surged forward, weaving through her flame pulses with almost supernatural grace.
He closed the gap, leaping through a burning pillar she conjured as a barrier. He landed behind her with a thunderous stomp, pulled back his fist, and struck—not with killing force, but precision.
A shockwave erupted from the impact as his blow landed near her, toppling molten pillars and blowing back a wave of heat across the field.
Wester skidded across the blackened earth, barely regaining her footing, the heat of her own magic swirling wildly around her. Her chest heaved with effort, eyes wide.
'How can he keep up with me!?'
She roared, summoning twin vortexes of flame in both hands and launching them at him with a sweeping motion. The ground ignited, fire chasing him like a living beast.
But Satsujin didn't flinch. He sprinted straight into the blaze, chakrams spinning in blazing arcs, cutting through her flames with such force that the magical inferno was torn apart.
Before she could react, he was already there—above her.
He flipped mid-air, crashed down with a flaming kick that cratered the ground, causing lava veins to burst open beneath their feet. Wester barely twisted away, landing in a roll, her body steaming from her own magic.
The Queensguard could only stare.
"This is... unbelievable," one of them whispered.
"He's overwhelming her. Wester," another murmured.
"She's being pushed back."
Wester stood again, her breathing heavy, the aura of her flames flickering irregularly. Her expression was a mix of disbelief—and respect.
He'd forced her to use everything.
But the moment had come.
Satsujin dashed in one final time, his aura bursting like a supernova, chakrams flaring at his sides. Wester launched a massive column of azure fire directly upward in desperation, but he twisted through it like a streaking meteor, launching a palm strike just short of her chest.
He stopped.
A deliberate pause.
A show of control.
He could've struck her down—but didn't.
Wester blinked.
And then… she lowered her hands.
Slowly, she dropped to one knee.
"You win… Lord Gyakushin," she said with a breathless smile.
"I yield."
Satsujin exhaled slowly as the tension ebbed from the battlefield. A flicker of warmth crossed his face showing a rather adorable smile.
He stepped forward and reached into his satchel, retrieving a small vial of shimmering red liquid.
"A recovery potion." he said with a respectful bow, offering it to Wester.
"Forgive me if I struck too hard."
Wester blinked in surprise but took the potion without a word. There was no arrogance in his gesture—only humility and honor. A rare combination in these lands.
Satsujin then turned to the Queensguard who had gathered nearby, their expressions unreadable. He gave a courteous bow to them as well.
"I apologize for the disturbance… and for raising arms against your captain. My intent was never to insult or bring shame, only to prove my resolve."
There was a pause.
And then, one of the guards gave a sharp nod.
Another placed a hand over his chest and bowed back.
"He's the first to show respect," one murmured.
"Not like the usual braggarts."
"Or corpses," another added, half-smirking.
The hostility melted away, replaced by something deeper—respect. For in their eyes, Satsujin had earned the right to stand as an equal.
Wester watched him in silence, her grip loosening on the potion. Then, without warning, her vision blurred. Her pupils glowed faintly as the world fell away.
A vision.
She saw a firelit hall. Laughter. A family gathered around a great table. Lady Astaroth sat in the center—content, no longer burdened by war or loneliness. Around her were other women, radiant and strong, and at their heart—Satsujin. Older, confident, surrounded by those who loved him. The air was calm. The Dark World was… whole.
It was absurd.
Unthinkable.
A boy, barely strong enough to match her, rising to fulfill what the Demon King had once failed to achieve? To unify a shattered world through ambition, strength, and love?
And yet…Wester's visions had never failed her.
As the boy continued speaking to her comrades with gentle, earnest, unwavering.
Without hesitation, she turned on her heel.
"Come," she said firmly, loud enough for him to hear.
"You've earned an audience."
Satsujin blinked, then followed.
Leading him through the blazing gates of the Magma Zone toward Lady Astaroth's keep, Wester allowed herself a rare moment of hope.
It was a bold choice, perhaps even reckless.
But sometimes… fate favors the bold.
"Stand strong when facing Lady Astaroth," Wester said as they neared the towering obsidian gates.
"She has no patience for cowards. Show even a hint of weakness, and she'll dismiss you without a second thought."
Satsujin bowed his head respectfully. "I will keep that in mind, Seer Wester. I hope things will work out well."
For the first time, Wester offered him a rare, genuine smile.
Astaroth was nothing if not capricious.
A flamboyant High Demon by title, but in truth, she was far more than any rank or courtly label could define. She belonged to no faction, pledged loyalty to no banner. Neither the ossified traditionalists nor the sycophantic reformers could claim her allegiance—she walked her own path, ruled by her own design.
She was power incarnate, wrapped in beauty and fire.
Countless men had tried—some begged, others demanded—to bend her to their will. Each one failed. Those who pushed too far were reduced to smoldering ash, reminders that Astaroth bowed to no one.
Yes, she indulged in pleasure, reveled in decadence, but never as someone's plaything. She was desire personified, yet untouchable.
And yet… when fate offered her something strange—something new—she changed.
Her cunning eyes would soften with amusement, her sharp mind drifting from politics and plots. Curiosity, her most dangerous trait, would take over.
And today was such a day.
For seated on her obsidian throne, Astaroth found herself watching a scene so unexpected, so delightfully absurd, that she nearly squealed in delight.
Before her stood not a suitor nor a soldier, but a boy.
A boy with fire in his eyes and a request so bold, it made her heart flutter like a spoiled child receiving a pet on her birthday.
Except this wasn't a puppy.
It was a charming little demon… asking to make her his bride.
"Lady Astaroth, I, Satsujindouji Gyakushin of the Naraka Tribe, have come to court you—and in time, to claim your hand in marriage."
The throne room fell still.
Astaroth had to restrain the chuckle that danced on her lips. Oh, Wester, you wicked little thing—this was quite the gift.
It wasn't often her Seer played games, and even less so did she allow strangers to step foot into Astaroth's sanctum. But this boy—this bold, burning little warrior—was clearly no ordinary stray.
A Naraka, no less?
Now that was a surprise. It had been ages since one of that fearsome clan had entered her orbit. Known for their ferocity and unbending pride, Naraka demons seldom bowed to anyone, let alone approached her with proposals of courtship.
And yet, here he stood.
Earnest. Unwavering. Believing, with almost childlike sincerity, that he could win her heart.
Astaroth lounged back on her throne, eyes half-lidded, lips curling with amusement.
Oh… the boy wasn't joking.
He meant it.
And he was still waiting—patiently—for her answer.
"Little Prince, I'm afraid courtship is not something won by words alone. If you were unaware, a—"
"A gift should be offered as proof of intent and commitment, yes! I've brought one, Lady Astaroth."
Oh?
Astaroth arched a brow, her words cut short by the boy's eager interruption. She leaned forward, intrigued, as the young Naraka retrieved a small, ornate box from his satchel.
With a few casual scan spells cast—ever cautious—she allowed herself to accept it. Her long fingers pried it open, expecting perhaps some trinket, a boy's charm.
Instead, her eyes widened.
Inside sat a necklace, strung with glossy obsidian pearls—not conjured, not enchanted, but clearly handcrafted. Each bead glistened with a natural sheen, shaped and polished with absurd precision. The craftsmanship was impeccable. No magic had touched it. Only time, fire… and pain.
She held it up, letting it catch the light.
"How much did this cost?" she asked bluntly, her tone sharper now—not out of scorn, but sheer disbelief. Even she, a being of immense wealth and influence, only possessed a single bracelet made from such a material. And this boy had made a necklace?
Satsujin smiled, holding up his calloused palms.
"A few burns on my hands, my lady."
Astaroth froze at the boy's quiet admission.
Her gaze slowly shifted back to the small figure before her—this determined little demon prince, standing tall despite the weight of her presence. She stared into his eyes, sharp and probing, searching for a lie.
But she found only truth.
He had made the pearls.
With his own hands.
With pain.
For her.
A gift that would cost most suitors their fortune… or even their soul.
"You burned your hands," she murmured, voice low and unreadable, "to craft this… for me?"
He nodded, unwavering, eyes filled with earnest fire.
Astaroth blinked. Something flickered in her chest. Unfamiliar. Inconvenient.
"You are…" she began, then stopped. Her frown deepened.
What was the right word?
Foolish? Naive? An idiot, maybe. Only a fool would think that a single gift—no matter how rare or costly—could win her affection so easily.
And yet… it wasn't just the gift.
It was the intent.
The effort.
The scars.
He was… sweet, damn it.
And perhaps—just perhaps—this one was worth entertaining.
Maybe… she could give him a chance.
Astaroth was bored.
Dreadfully, royally bored.
It had been ages since anything stirred her enough to abandon the throne and stretch her legs. Endless flattery, power games, and political vultures had dulled her interest in nearly everything.
But this boy—Satsujin—was a refreshing little firecracker. Cute. Honest. Awkwardly bold in the most amusing ways.
She watched him with the same curiosity one might have for an adorable stray animal that just declared itself your husband.
"So," she said, rising from her throne with a graceful yawn, "I'm declaring this a date."
Satsujin blinked. "A… a what?"
He did not expect to succeed so quickly that he was caught off guard. Though, he was trained by his mother doesn't mean he was prepared for everything. Astaroth giggled seeing his adorable reaction.
"A date, darling," Astaroth repeated sweetly, already scooping him up with zero ceremony.
"You brought me a gift, proposed courtship, made me blush a little—don't act so surprised."
Before he could protest, she snuggled him against her chest, her arms comfortably locking him in place. His face practically vanished between the soft warmth of her cleavage, and his entire body went stiff as a board.
"A-Astaroth—! L-Lady Astaroth! I can't breathe—or think!"
"Oh hush," she giggled, strolling toward the palace gardens without a care.
"You'll live. Probably. Besides, it's the reward for being so terribly charming. Do all Naraka boys bring courting gifts and trauma?"
"I-I trained for diplomacy, not suffocation!"
"That's what makes it cute!"
She giggled again, the sound airy and unguarded, the kind of laugh she hadn't let out in centuries. Deep down, she should have been calculating—probing the boy's motives, testing his true strength.
But instead…
She just wanted to see what kind of ridiculous, determined little lunatic had dared show up at her feet and ask for her heart.
Unaware, in her playful stroll through the gardens, that this moment… would be the beginning of her true love.