Ten years. Ten years since the sky over the Demon Capital bled as if the heavens themselves wanted us erased. Ten years since the Hero butchered my father before an applauding world. Twenty years since I, Isobe Goro, was reincarnated. Now the forsaken Fifth Prince of a ruined realm vanished into the filth beneath humanity's boots. The cuffs around my wrists just didn't weigh down my arms. They whispered memories screams, fire, the scent of burning demon flesh until the present felt like an extension of hell.
"Move, filth!"
The whip cracked through the choking air. None of us dared look up. We were a chain of hollow bodies trudging downward, swallowed by the earth. The Azure Rift Mine… or as demons called it, our mass grave. The heat stabbed at our lungs. Raw mana flooded the tunnels so thick it scraped the throat like metal shards. To a sorcerer, this place would feel like heaven. To us, shackled in anti‑magic iron, it was demise in slow motion. I slumped like a broken marionette. A role I wore well. Beneath the rags and grime, the truth of me waited sharp, patient, and hungry. I wasn't the soft, pampered prince who had lived in the Royal Palace ten years ago. Ten years of running, hunting, and fighting for survival in the wilderness had stripped away the baby fat. My body was a roadmap of scars and survival. I was lean, yes, but it was the leanness of a starving wolf. My muscles were corded wire, dense and explosive, hidden beneath a layer of grime and oversized clothing. If I wanted to, I could snap the neck of the human guard walking beside me before he even realized I had moved. But I didn't want to. Not yet.
"Hold the line!" a voice bellowed from the front.
We stopped at the processing gate. Standing on a raised wooden platform was a man in the pristine white and gold robes of the Holy Church. Overseer Kaelen. I recognized him from the intelligence reports I'd gathered over the years. A mid-level bureaucrat with a God complex. "Welcome to your atonement!" Kaelen shouted, his voice amplified by a wind enchantment. "You demons are born of sin. Your existence is an affront to the Goddess. The Holy Empire is merciful! Here, you will work. You will mine the mana stones that fuel our righteous civilization. You will work until your debt is paid, or until your bodies fail."
He paused, looking down at us with a sneer that was entirely too practiced.
"And do not think of escape. The Elven Rangers watch the perimeter. The Human Paladins watch the interior. You are surrounded by the might of the Alliance."
I glanced to the side, peering through the curtain of my matted black hair. An Elven guard stood near the platform, his hand resting on a longbow. He wasn't looking at us with the righteous fury of the Human priest. He was looking at Kaelen with cold, barely concealed contempt.
"Priest," the Elf muttered, low enough that only those nearby could hear. "Processing is taking too long. My scouts report increased monster activity in the lower tunnels. We need to secure the perimeter, not listen to sermons."
Kaelen didn't even look at him. "Know your place, forest rat. You are here to shoot arrows, not to give orders. The Church dictates the schedule. Know your place."
The Elf's jaw tightened. His knuckles turned white on his bow.
Interesting, I thought, filing the interaction away.
The Alliance was crumbling. The Humans had taken the capital, the gold, and the credit. They treated the Elves their partners in the war against my father like hired help. Arrogance. It was the fatal flaw of humanity. They won the war, but they were already losing the peace.
"Next!"
"NEXT!"
I was shoved forward. A heavy iron collar clamped around my neck. It hummed with a suppression enchantment.
I felt the connection to my mana dull, like a heavy blanket had been thrown over a fire. I analyzed the sensation instantly. Standard Grade 3 suppression runes. Mass produced. Inefficient. It relies on brute force blocking rather than siphoning. If I overcharge my core, the feedback loop would shatter the crystal matrix in the collar within seconds.
I lowered my eyes, acting the part of the terrified teenager.
"Name?" the scribe asked, not looking up.
"Dug," I whispered, my voice raspy.
"Dug?" The scribe laughed. "Fitting. "I was shoved through the gate and into the darkness of the mine.
The "mess hall" was a generous name for what was essentially a mud pit cordoned off by rusted iron fences. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and something that vaguely resembled boiled cabbage. Hundreds of demons sat on the ground, huddled over wooden bowls, guarding them with the desperation of starving dogs. The ration for the day was a ladle of gray, watery gruel. It had no texture, no heat, and barely any smell, but in the Azure Rift Mine, it was the only thing keeping the reaper at bay. I found a spot near the edge of the pit, away from the flickering torches. I sat cross-legged in the mud, staring down at the murky liquid in my bowl. My stomach clenched painfully, demanding sustenance, but I forced myself to wait. Discipline. Discipline was the only thing I had left. The sound of shuffling feet stopped directly in front of me. A shadow fell over my bowl, blotting out the dim light. I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I could smell the stale blood and old sweat of the demons standing there. There were three of them. Heavy breathing. The creak of stiff leather.
"Well, well," a voice rumbled, deep and gravelly, vibrating in the humid air. "I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me in the tunnels. But it really is you."
Slowly, I raised my head. Standing above me was an Oni, a massive, red-skinned demon standing nearly seven feet tall. He was emaciated compared to what an Oni should be, his ribs showing through his skin like the bars of a cage, but he was still a giant. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, cutting through a blind, milky eye. I recognized the tattoo on his shoulder. The 45th division of the demon's army. This man had once sworn an oath to protect the kingdom. Now, he looked at me with a hatred that burned hotter than the magma vents below.
"You've been eating well, haven't you?" the Oni sneered, stepping closer. "While we rotted in these holes for ten years? While your people were beaten and broken? Where were you, Your Highness?"
He spat the title like a curse. The two demons behind him muttered in agreement, their eyes filled with a toxic mix of recognition and disgust. To them, I wasn't a survivor. I was the coward prince who had fled the capital while they were chained. I said nothing. I kept my face blank, my eyes dull.
"Answer me!" the Oni roared.
When I remained silent, his hand lashed out. It was a blur of motion. The back of his massive hand struck my wooden bowl.
Smack.
The bowl flew from my grip, spinning through the air before landing upside down in the mud. The gray gruel splashed out, instantly soaking into the filth of the floor. The sound echoed through the silent mess hall. Heads turned. Eyes watched. High above us, on the reinforced steel walkways, two human guards leaned against the railing, watching the scene unfold with bored amusement.
"Look at that," one guard chuckled, pointing down with the stem of his pipe. "The big one is bullying the runt." "Animals," the other guard scoffed, shaking his head. "Put them in a cage and they'll tear each other apart before they even look at the lock. Pathetic."
They laughed, the sound drifting down like ash. They saw a squabble. They saw a hierarchy of beasts. They had no idea they were looking at the last surviving heir to the Demon Throne and his former captain. Back in the mud, the Oni loomed over me, chest heaving. He waited for me to fight back. He wanted me to fight back. He wanted a reason to vent ten years of agony on the source of his betrayal. I looked at the overturned bowl. I looked at the gruel disappearing into the dirt. My heart rate didn't spike. My hands didn't curl into fists. The adrenaline that should have flooded my system was locked away behind a dam of iron will. If I fought him, I would win my body was a concealed weapon, denser and faster than his starving frame could manage but I would expose myself. The guards would notice a "runt" dropping an Oni. So, I did the hardest thing imaginable.
I did nothing.
I slowly stood up. I didn't look at the Oni. I didn't look at the food. I simply wiped a speck of mud from my rags, turned my back on him, and began to walk toward the barracks.
"That's right!" the Oni shouted after me, his voice cracking with emotion. "Run away! It's what you do best, isn't it? Run, you coward!"
Ptoo.
A glob of spit hit the ground inches from my heel. I didn't break stride. I let the insult hang in the air, let the other prisoners see my back, let them believe I was weak. Let them hate me. Their hatred was the most effective armor I could ask for. No one suspects the coward. No one fears the broken. As I stepped into the shadows of the sleeping quarters, my face remained slack, but my mind was sharpening the blade.
Let them starve me, I thought, the hunger pangs already gnawing at my ribs. Hunger is just another reminder of why I'm here. Night fell, though you couldn't tell down here. The only light came from the glowing moss and the harsh magical lanterns of the guards. The barracks were nothing more than a hollowed-out cavern with straw scattered on the damp stone floor. Hundreds of demons lay huddled together. Some wept. Some stared blankly at the ceiling. The air smelled of unwashed bodies, rot, and despair. I found a corner in the shadows, sitting with my back against the cold rock. My stomach growled I hadn't eaten in two days, but I ignored it. I had trained myself to ignore far worse. From my position, I could see the structural support of the main cavern. They were old dwarven work, sturdy, but the humans had been greedy. They were mining too close to the load bearing pillars. The mana density in the air was fluctuating wildly; they were harvesting the stones faster than the earth could stabilize itself. The fools were sitting inside a bomb and chipping away at the fuse.
"Here, boy."
I looked up. An old demon, his skin grey and leathery, sat down next to me. He held out a piece of hard, moldy bread.
"You look new," the old man said, his voice kind but incredibly sad. "Eat. You'll need the strength."
I looked at the bread. Then I looked at the old man. He didn't know who I was. To him, I wasn't the Fifth Prince. I wasn't the heir to the throne who had failed them. I was just another kid thrown into the meat grinder.
"Why?" I asked softly.
"Because we are all that is left," he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "The King is dead. The princes are dead. The world hates us. If we don't look out for each other, who will?"
He closed his eyes. "Sleep, child. Tomorrow is hell. And the day after that. Until the end."
I took the bread. I didn't eat it immediately. I held it in my hand, feeling the grit of the crust. Everyone here thought this was the end. They thought the story was over. They thought the demons had lost, and now we were just waiting to fade into history. I looked at the cracked ceiling where the humans were mining too deep. I looked at the Elven guards at the entrance, simmering with resentment toward their human commanders. I felt the flawed, breakable collar around my neck. I hadn't spent three months leaving a deliberate trail of breadcrumbs for the slave catchers just to come here and die. I hadn't let them shackle me because I was weak. I was here because this mine was the beating heart of the Human Kingdom's economy. It was the source of their magic, their wealth, and their power. And they had just marched their greatest enemy right into the center of it. The shadows hid my face, which was fortunate. Because as the old man drifted off to sleep, the terrified expression I had worn all day melted away. A smile took its place. It was sharp, cold, and utterly terrifying. I took a bite of the bread.
"So it begins," I whispered.