The tale of my kind, the demons, is a ceaseless loop of foolishness.
I sit upon my obsidian throne, chin propped on one hand, gazing at the four warlords groveling before me. The throne chamber reeked of sulfur, the haze shimmering with potent magic. Beyond the fractured panes, the Crimson Moon loomed over the Demon Realm's charred wastes.
A sight that could freeze mortal blood.
Yet this was just another dull assembly.
"My Liege," General Malphas croaked, his words like stones crashing together. The towering specter of darkness served as Field Marshal of my legions. "The augury stands confirmed. The Western Seer has spoken. The Hero exists."
Unease rippled through the hall. The other generals stirred. Volcan, Master of Infernos, tightened a fist engulfed in living fire.
"Attack immediately!" he bellowed, abandoning decorum. "The humans are feeble! If the whelp is fresh from the womb, we reduce their settlement to cinders! Wipe out the menace before it takes root!"
"Seconded," Lady Vex murmured, Mistress of Venoms. "Precision extermination. Taint their reservoirs. Slaughter them all. Problem solved."
Their gazes fixed on me, simmering, anticipating my decree. They assumed a nod, a grand proclamation of war. Just as my ancestors had done.
And where did that leave them? Rotting beneath some Hero's blade.
I exhaled, the echo booming through the vaulted space.
"No."
The quiet that followed pressed like lead. Volcan's flames flickered.
"My... Lord? Did you refuse?"
"Correct." A claw tapped the throne's arm. "Let's revisit ancient blunders. Five centuries past, the mighty Overlord Azaroth learned of a prophecy. He dispatched his horde to torch the Hero's village."
"A magnificent massacre!" Malphas beamed, nodding with fervor.
"Silence". I spoke, hushed and low, "One kid got away. Hidden in the wreckage, watching his family die. His home turned to ash. Know what that built, Volcan?"
Volcan paused. "A... heartbroken child?"
"Fuel. Pure, seething spite." My voice cracked like a whip. "Twenty years of training later—holy blade drawn—he lopped off Azaroth's head. Trying to murder him didn't stop destiny, it guaranteed it."
My cloak scraped stone as I continued to speak…
"Pain breeds might," I declared, circling them. "Hopelessness tempers resolve. Strike now, and we gift-wrap his tragic rise. Every sob story he'll whisper at campfires."
The Generals exchanged shocked glances… most of them are brutes. And I am aware of that and that's why they would never understand what I am trying to say.
Lady Vex cocked her head. "Then... how? If spared, he matures. The oracle claims he'll defeat you."
"It simply says the hero is destined to face me…" I countered. "Not to resent me."
Crossing to the war table, I eyed the crimson mark pulsing over Garia…some backwater hamlet near the frontier.
I pointed my finger at that location… "Raised amidst battle? Soldier. Starvation? Survivor. But—"
My grin widened… as I thought of my plan.
"But what if the life of that hero is content? Pampered? Coddled? No demons, he wouldn't have any reason to fight us…"
All of the general people give me blank stares, confused.
I loomed over the map, thinking of my plan.
"What if the hero is coddled by comfort and wields a feeble weapon. Shield him from hardship, spare him every sorrow, and he'll never grasp the hilt of destiny. Instead, he'll fade into obscurity… a contented farmer, a merchant growing stout with cheer. His end will come grey and forgotten, oblivious to the fate that demanded my demise."
Malphas rasped claws against parchment skin. "Your grand scheme is... raising the Hero?"
"I will smother the danger with kindness," I stated. "We forge for him an existence devoid of suffering, an upbringing so idyllic it erases his purpose."
Volcan snorted. "And who manages this farce? Not I. One misplaced spark, and the nursery is ashes."
"Precisely," I replied. "None of you are fit. Your very breath whispers ruin."
Magic coiled around me, shadows tightening, compressing. My monstrous frame twisted. Jagged plates melted into vapor. Stature dwindled. The oppressive dread that withered mortals slithered inward, buried deep.
When the fog cleared, I stood small.
A human boy, seemingly around ten years old, with messy black hair and pale skin. I looked weak. Fragile. Pathetic.
Perfect.
"My Liege!" Vex cried. "This—you've lessened yourself!"
"Disguise, idiot," I snapped, though my voice now carried the squeak of youth. Flexed thin arms. Weak, yet serviceable. "I journey to Garia. Slip among them unseen, observe the 'Hero' from his blind spots."
I turned to my generals.
"Malphas, guide the legions. Wage war, but advanced slowly. Let humans simmer between complacency and fear. Enough safety to grow lax, enough threat to avoid prying eyes."
Malphas bent stiffly, bafflement etched in his bones.
"No delays," I said, stepping toward the threshold. "Disturb me only if the fortress collapses inward. I have a hero to babysit."
I stepped from the ledge, surrendering to the wind's embrace.
They named me tyrant. Monster. Yet as I soared toward mortal lands unseen, I understood.
I alone in this world possessed a functioning mind.
Saving the Hero meant preserving myself. There's nothing wrong with that…