Leon's eyes snapped open, head pounding like a jackhammer. Darkness swallowed him—thick, suffocating, and cold as hell. No torches, no chamber, just an endless void that prickled his skin.
"Where the fuck am I?" he muttered, voice echoing into nothing. He staggered to his feet, hands groping the air. Nothing to grab onto, just empty black.
A voice hit him—deep, domineering, but ragged, like it was dragging itself out of a grave. "So Xandor died, huh?"
Leon flinched, heart slamming against his ribs. The sound came from everywhere—above, below, wrapping around him like a noose. "Who the hell are you?" he yelled, spinning, eyes darting for the source. "Where is this?"
"I am Demon God Mammon." The voice finally introduced itself. "Though calling myself a god now is a bit of an overstatement. I am merely a remnant soul, a fragment left behind after I was defeated by the gods long ago."
Leon's eyes widened. A god? A real god?
"And this place?" Leon asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"This used to be the sacred realm where I judged those who sought the throne of demons. It was here that the worthiness of each new Demon King was decided."
A cold feeling ran down Leon's spine.
"And what happens if they fail?" He asked, half-dreading the answer.
Mammon's voice was calm, yet merciless. "Then their soul is devoured."
Leon shuddered.
He had just transmigrated, and now he was at risk of getting erased from existence? What kind of messed-up situation was this? "Fuck that. I'm not dying here."
The voice chuckled again, sensing his fear.
"Relax, boy. You won't be devoured."
Leon narrowed his eyes. "And why's that?"
"Because there is no one left to test you."
Leon stilled.
"I am but a fading soul. The trial no longer exists because I no longer exist."
Leon's fists clenched.
"So… you're saying I get a free pass?"
"Indeed. And besides, I presume you are the last of the royal bloodline, correct?"
Leon remained silent for a moment before nodding.
"Then by default, you are the Demon King. There is no one left to challenge you."
Leon exhaled, his mind struggling to process the sheer weight of those words.
He was the last Demon Prince. And now, just like that, he was the Demon King.
"Live well, my child," Mammon's voice softened, carrying a tone of finality. "I hope that under your leadership, the demons will reclaim their former glory."
Leon remained silent.
"But before I fade, I shall grant you something."
Suddenly, the air around Leon crackled with energy. A deep, sinister red light began to pulse through the void, swirling like a storm.
"This is the last remnant of demonic mana that lingers in this realm. Take it. It'll juice you up a bit."
Leon had no time to react before the energy rushed toward him, flooding his body.
A burning sensation tore through his veins, his muscles tightening, his mind screaming as an unknown power surged through him.
And then—
Everything turned black.
******
Back in the chamber
The chamber was silent—a tense, heavy silence as everyone stared at Leon's unconscious body.
A single thought hung over them.
Would he succeed?
"Will he succeed?" Gorran rumbled, his bovine ears twitching, massive arms crossed tight. His voice carried a rare edge of worry.
"Let's hope so," Brahmir said, the oni's red eyes narrowing. "We need the power tied to that title to survive this shit."
Elvera snorted, flipping her silver hair back. "Doubt it. He's weak as hell. Couldn't even bleed for the ritual without whining."
"Shut your trap, Elvera," Sylviana snapped, tail lashing. "Don't jinx it, you smug bitch."
Before Elvera could fire back, Selene's soft voice cut through, sharp with urgency. "Hey, look—something's happening!" She pointed at Leon's crumpled form, fox ears perked.
A dark mist coiled up from the formation, thick and oily, swirling around Leon's body. It pulsed, then started sinking into him, like water down a drain. His limp frame twitched, then—fuck—he lifted off the ground, floating mid-air.
"What the hell's going on?" Kaedor squeaked, the goblin's beady eyes bugging out.
"I don't know," Zorath growled, gripping his staff tighter. "I've seen the ritual before. Never this."
Leon's body jerked again. The changes hit fast—his scrawny frame stretched, bones popping as he grew taller. Muscles thickened, hardening under his skin. His horns, once dull, turned pitch black, jagged and sharp. Dark veins snaked up his arms, pulsing with power. The shitty royal clothes he'd been wearing shredded apart, blasted to rags by a torrent of demonic energy ripping through the air.
The mist kept pouring in, faster now, until every last wisp vanished into him. His body hovered a moment longer, then drifted down, landing firm on both feet.
His eyes snapped open.
Gasp!
Leon sucked in a ragged breath, chest heaving. The chamber swam into focus—torches flickering, the formation's glow dying out. Sweat stung his eyes, but his whole body thrummed, alive with raw strength.
The demons gawked at him, jaws slack, eyes wide like they'd seen a ghost.
"What the fuck you staring at?" he barked, voice deeper now, rougher.
Zorath cleared his throat, tossing a plain black robe his way. "Cover yourself first."
Leon glanced down—shit, he was buck naked. The energy surge had torched every stitch on him. But damn, what a sight: packed abs, chiseled chest, arms corded with muscle. Not the weak-ass demon prince he'd been an hour ago.
"You can ogle yourself later," Zorath said, already turning. "Put the robe on and come out." He stomped off toward the throne room.
Leon shook off the daze, snatched the robe, and yanked it over his head. It hung loose but covered enough. He strode out after Zorath, head high, the council trailing behind.
Leon took his time, walking slowly toward the throne.
And as he reached it—he turned, facing them all, before finally—
He sat down.
Proudly.
Confidently.
Like a king.
While the others sat in two neat lines along the great obsidian throne.