Life of the 69th Child of the Demon Lord: A Cultivator’s Tale

[DreamingScholar]

Chapter 1: The Pond Has No Fish

There were no fish in the pond.

That wasn't metaphorical — not a single scale, fin, or flick of life swam beneath the mirrored surface. It was just water. Very clean, very expensive water, the kind distilled from celestial dew and filtered through the bones of extinct gods. Which made it perfect for reflecting exactly how stupid Shin looked right now, sitting on a little red stool, fishing rod in hand, line dangling into absolutely nothing.

He sighed. "Another perfect day in paradise."

A faint shimmer flickered in the corner of his vision. His TROPE Dao hummed to life like a half-bored narrator clearing its throat.

["Running Gag"] - You're fishing in a pond with no fish. Again.

["Comedic Irony"] - You could manifest fish through divine will, but refuse out of principle.

["Symbolism, Heavy-Handed"] - The empty pond represents your lack of purpose.

["Mood Whiplash"] - Incoming parental figure in 3… 2… 1…

"Shin!" boomed a voice that made the air itself try to kneel.

He didn't turn around. "Hey, Dad."

The temperature dropped ten degrees as the shadow of the Heavenly Demon Lord, Supreme Sovereign of Ten Thousand Torments, Celestial Butcher of Heaven and Hell, Patriarch of Infinite Despair, fell across the pond. Or, as Shin liked to call him: Dad.

The old man looked, as always, like someone had sculpted majesty out of sin. Tall, ageless, horns wreathed in quiet flame, eyes glowing with galaxies. His presence was so immense that the entire world bowed slightly just to be polite.

"You're fishing," the Demon Lord said, voice like a mountain remembering it could speak.

Shin nodded. "Yup."

"In a pond with no fish."

"Yup."

A pause. The kind that could span centuries if left unattended.

Then the corner of his father's mouth twitched. "Excellent focus. Very meditative."

Shin squinted. "You say that every time."

"I mean it every time. Besides—" the Demon Lord gestured lazily, and a throne of black glass rose from the earth behind him— "I love all my children equally. I just like some more than others."

["Favorite Child Denial"] - Classic parental lie. Probability of manipulation: 87%.

["Parental Approval Quest"] - Engaged.

["Plot Hook Approaching"] - Brace yourself.

Shin rubbed his eyes. "Can we not do this right now? I'm communing with the void."

"Your siblings commune with battle, blood, and enlightenment. You commune with boredom."

"Exactly," Shin said. "Balance in all things."

His father chuckled, a sound like hellfire wrapped in silk. "You remind me of myself when I was young."

["Foreshadowing"] - Oh no.

["You Remind Me of Myself"] - Expect impossible expectations soon.

["Plot Event Flag"] - 'Heavenly Demon Lord's Favorite Child Arc' Initialized.

Shin exhaled through his nose. "Right, so, what insane errand are you sending me on this time?"

The Heavenly Demon Lord didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gazed into the pond — into his own reflection, rippling beside Shin's. For a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. The skies turned red, the wind stilled, and even the palace behind them fell silent.

Then his father said softly, "I've seen a prophecy."

["Here We Go Again"] - Predictable plot device.

["Prophetic Child Number 100"] - Threat level: existential.

["I Just Wanted to Fish"] - Aborted.

Shin groaned. "Oh, come on, we're really doing this again? Didn't we just finish with the Bloodedge Rebellion?"

"The future stirs once more," his father murmured, still staring at the pond. "And this time… the currents run deep."

["Meaningful Pause"] - Overdramatic delivery detected.

["Cliff Hanger Ending"] - Confirmed.

Shin looked down at the pond, his reflection flickering beside the Demon Lord's divine image. One mortal soul among monsters. One lazy fool in a family of gods.

He flicked his wrist, casting the line again. It landed with a soft plop.

"Fine," he said. "But if this prophecy doesn't involve actual fish, I'm ignoring it."

Shin turned slowly, sighing as the ripples on the pond calmed behind him.

"Alright, fine, let's do the whole dread patriarch reveals destiny bit—"

He froze.

The towering, horned silhouette that had been blotting out the sun was… gone.

In its place stood a slender young man — early twenties maybe — with soft pink hair tied up in a lazy bun, a silk robe that hung off one shoulder, and a faint pout that could end wars.

"Hi, sweetie," the Heavenly Demon Lord, Supreme Sovereign of Ten Thousand Torments, Butcher of Heaven and Hell, Patriarch of Infinite Despair, said with the voice of someone who might ask if you wanted bubble tea.

Shin blinked twice. "Dad. No."

["Revealing the True Form"] - Expect tonal whiplash.

["Pretty Boy Demon Lord"] - Activated. Popular tag: "trap."

["Family Trauma: Gender Edition"] - Proceed with caution.

The Demon Lord pouted harder. "Oh, come now, Shinny. You know I only wear the big scary aura when I'm moody."

Behind him, the towering shadow returned for just a second — a massive, horned titan dripping malice and starlight, stretching from horizon to horizon. Then it flickered, like a faulty hologram, and the twink form waved a lace fan.

"See?" he said cheerfully. "Totally manageable."

Shin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dad, you can't just twinkify out of nowhere while talking about apocalyptic prophecy. It messes with the tone."

"I am the tone," the Demon Lord said, crossing his arms. "Besides, this body is easier on the eyes, and much better for diplomacy. The Celestial Court goes absolutely feral when I look like this."

["Fanservice for the Fallen"] - Audience engagement increased by 37%.

["Dissonant Aesthetics"] - Warning: Genre confusion imminent.

["Power in Softness"] - Underlying theme established.

"You're doing it again," Shin muttered, flicking through the visible trope windows. "You're breaking the genre walls for attention."

"Where do you think you got it from?"

Touché.

For all his ridiculousness, Shin's father really was terrifying — not for his raw strength, but for how casual he was about it. One moment, he could crush the heavens in a clenched fist; the next, he was sulking because someone called him "sir" instead of "madam."

It was hard to take him seriously, which was probably the point.

"So, what's the deal with this prophecy?" Shin asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Please tell me it's not another 'my child shall conquer heaven' scenario. We've run that arc six times."

The Demon Lord twirled his fan, eyes glimmering like galaxies reflected on a calm pond. "No, no. This one's different. The Hundredth Child isn't destined to conquer Heaven…"

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that rippled through the world like an echo in eternity.

"…they're destined to erase it."

["Record Scratch"] - Confusion confirmed.

["Escalation of Stakes"] - Subtle as a meteor.

["Oh, It's This Kind of Story"] - Audience bracing for impact.

Shin stared at him for a long moment, deadpan. "Neat. Can I still fish?"

The Demon Lord sighed, half amused, half exasperated. "You really are my favourite mistake."

Shin smirked. "You have ninety-eight others."

"Exactly," his father said, eyes twinkling. "And somehow you're still the weirdest."

Shin waited for the inevitable world-ending decree. Something involving heavenly armies, shattered destinies, or at least one newly discovered bloodline.

Instead, the Demon Lord closed his fan with a delicate snap and said,

"Carry me to my throne."

Shin blinked. "...What?"

"Piggyback." The Demon Lord stepped forward, fluttering his lashes. "I'm feeling faint."

["Tone Shift, Sudden"] - From cosmic prophecy to domestic nonsense.

["Because I Said So, That's Why"] - Parental logic detected.

["Daddy Issues"] - Perpetually active tag.

Shin looked him up and down. "You could teleport."

"I could also murder the sun," his father said, voice perfectly calm. "But where's the intimacy in that?"

[Eldritch Cuteness] - Level: Uncomfortable.

[Manipulative Adorableness] - 94 % success rate versus offspring.

Shin rubbed his temple. "Fine, fine. Get on."

The Demon Lord brightened—literally; his aura flickered into pinkish sparkles—and leapt onto Shin's back with impossible grace. Despite weighing roughly as much as a small planet, he felt light, like moonlight caught in silk.

"See?" the Demon Lord said happily as they started the long walk toward the obsidian palace. "Isn't this nicer than summoning bone dragons?"

"Dad, you're the ruler of ten thousand hells. You have a literal army of skull-headed butlers."

"None of whom love me, Shinny."

["Guilt Trip, Parental"] - Critical hit.

["Emotional Blackmail"] - Resistance check failed.

Shin trudged onward. "This is why none of the others visit."

"They lack imagination. All that 'saving face' nonsense. A throne is meant for reclining, not posing." He rested his chin on Shin's shoulder, smile wicked. "You, however, understand the importance of performance art."

"Yeah, because I'm the only one who humours you."

"Exactly why you're my favourite."

["Favorite Child Confirmed"] - Boost to Ego +3.

["Foreshadowing: Emotional Dependency"] - Logged for later heartbreak.

They passed the gate of screaming gargoyles, who all immediately averted their eyes. Shin could feel their confusion radiating like heat: Our Supreme Lord rides the Sixty-Ninth again?

He muttered, "You know they talk about this."

"Let them," his father purred. "Fear is easy. Confusion is power."

["Villainous Philosophy, Chaotic Subtype"] - +2 Style Points.

By the time they reached the central hall, Shin's knees were metaphorically dead and literally fine (immortality had few perks, but perfect cartilage was one). He crouched so his father could slide off, which the Demon Lord did with unnecessary flourish—mid-air spin, landing in his full regalia atop the black-glass throne.

A single clap echoed through the hall. Reality adjusted itself to make the moment more dramatic.

"Mission accomplished," Shin said flatly.

The Demon Lord nodded, serene. "Excellent work, my son. Truly, you walk the Path of Patience."

["Mission Complete"] - Reward: None.

["Enabler of Parental Madness"] - Achievement Unlocked

["Hidden Stat Increased"] - Filial Tolerance +1

Shin exhaled. "So that was it? No prophecy quest?"

"Oh, that too," his father said absently, flicking his fan open. "But we'll discuss it later. I wanted to see if you'd still carry me."

Shin stared, then laughed—tired, genuine. "You're insane."

"Of course," the Demon Lord said with a grin bright enough to crack heaven. "Sanity's for mortals."

Shin turned to leave, muttering, "I'm getting fish for the pond. Real ones this time."

Behind him, the Demon Lord's laughter rolled through the palace like sound made of velvet.

[Character Relationship: Healthy Dysfunction] - Stable.

[Plot Thread: The Hundredth Child Prophecy] - Suspended but not forgotten.

Shin strolled out through the throne-room's front gates, adjusting his cloak and pretending not to hear the chaos breaking out behind him.

The Hall of Ten Thousand Heirs was, in practice, a luxury apartment complex with delusions of grandeur. Velvet carpets, gilded pillars, and—currently—a mob of squabbling demons half his height.

His younger siblings.

There were dozens of them clogging the staircase: horns of every shape, wings in every colour, all yelling variations of "I'm the cutest!" or "You stole my destiny again!"

Shin towered above the lot—literally. For reasons no scholar could explain, he'd shot up past seven feet by age ten and had stayed there, broad-shouldered and mature-faced, looking more like the eldest brother than the sixty-ninth son.

["Visual Contrast Humour"] - Tall, jaded babysitter surrounded by goblins.

["Big Brother Energy"] - Resonance: Strong.

["Plot Convenience Height"] - Don't question it.

He slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, the smaller demons bouncing off his legs like rubber balls. "Excuse me—no, you can't duel in the hallway—yes, I'm still taller—yes, it's genetic—"

He made it to the courtyard without losing patience, which counted as spiritual cultivation in this family.

Beyond the courtyard, the palace opened into what most mortals would call a city: jade markets, floating gardens, taverns staffed by succubi accountants. Being born here meant never needing to leave the estate—every vice, library, and cosmic phenomenon was within walking distance.

Shin headed toward the grand market building, intent on buying actual fish this time. Maybe koi. Maybe piranha. Anything that could survive demonic water.

He was halfway down the marble causeway when he collided with someone rounding the corner. The impact barely rocked him, but the smaller figure stumbled back with an undignified squeak.

"Brother Shin!"

Shin smiled. "Hey, Swan."

Standing before him was Swansong, 98th​ Daughter of the Heavenly Demon Lord, bearer of eight halos and the emotional wreck Shin had more or less raised himself. The rest of the family called her mother-er of All because she fussed over every sibling like a matriarch hen. Shin called her swan because he'd changed her diapers.

She adjusted her immaculate white dress, angel-wings flaring. "You should watch where you're going."

"You should be taller," he said automatically.

["Sibling Banter"] - Heartwarming subtype detected.

["Parental Role Reversal"] - Emotional thread active.

She swatted his arm. "Still snarky. Where are you off to?"

"Market. Buying fish. Dad says the prophecy's on later."

"Good. Maybe he'll forget about it." Her tone carried the kind of hope only a demon could have—grim and practical.

Shin cocked an eyebrow. "And you?"

Her expression dimmed a little. "Visiting Ninety-Nine."

Bloodedge, the 99th​ brother.

House-arrested in the Tower of Reflection for trying—and failing—to start a rebellion last month. Technically a family pastime, practically a cry for attention.

"Brave of you," Shin said. "Most of the others won't even talk to him."

"Someone has to. He listens to me sometimes." Swansong hesitated. "You could come."

Shin thought about it, then shook his head. "Later. I'm not in the mood for 'repentance monologues' today. Last time he tried to stab me with his sword."

["Sibling Drama Fatigue"] - Chronic.

["Foreshadowing: Reconciliation Arc"] - Logged for future pain.

She smiled faintly. "Fine. Bring me a souvenir from the market. Something pretty."

"I'll get you a fish."

"I said pretty, not useless."

"Then I'll name it after you."

She laughed—the sound light enough to make the air shimmer—and flitted away toward the Tower. Shin watched her go for a moment, that rare ache of affection stirring in his chest.

Then he turned back down the causeway. The market's neon runes beckoned, promising distraction, noise, and possibly a good gambling table.

["Scene Transition"] - Slice of Life Shenanigans.

["Foreshadowing Fish Quest"] - Gambling Arc.

["Player Ready?"] - Yes.

Shin cracked his knuckles and stepped into the marketplace of demons, where even enlightenment came with a price tag.

The Demon Lord's marketplace wasn't just a centre of commerce — it was the world's most competitive casino disguised as a bazaar.

From the outside, the Golden Lotus Gambling Hall looked refined: red lanterns, silk curtains, music that reeked of upper-class decadence. Inside, it was pure chaos — dice slamming, coins clinking, dealers shouting, and someone inevitably setting a table on fire to "bless" their hand.

Shin inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of burning incense, desperation, and bad decisions.

["Setting Analysis: Gambling Den of the Damned"] - "Authentic."

["Plot Cue: Gambling Arc Commence"] - Confirmed.

He didn't even need to play to win. The moment he crossed the threshold, his TROPE Dao began humming — the invisible pulse that let him feel narrative weight around him, like magnetic fields made of plot.

Every gambler here thought they understood probability. Shin understood structure.

He drifted toward a table surrounded by shrieking demons, half of them shirtless, one of them crying blood. The dealer, a six-eyed oni with a counting addiction, froze when Shin took a seat.

"Ah—Lord Shin! Are you… playing again today?"

"Just a few rounds," Shin said, flashing a smile that made everyone else quietly prepare to lose.

["Detecting narrative imbalance: Challenge the Veteran Gambler."] – go on.

Calculating irony factor… High. Adjusting world logic in favour of comedic victory.

The oni dealt. Shin rolled. The dice hit the table, spun, and stopped — both landing on the Symbol of Heaven's Approval, a result supposedly seen once every few thousand throws.

The crowd gasped. Someone fainted.

Shin leaned back, unbothered. "Huh. Guess I'm blessed."

From across the room came a strangled cry.

"That's impossible!"

A familiar voice — high-strung, offended, and statistically cursed.

The 13th​ brother: Fu the Unfortunate, also known as Lord of Statistical Miracles.

Fu stomped forward, clutching his robes. His presence warped the air slightly; fortune itself bent around him like light around gravity. His entire cultivation revolved around bad luck — he absorbed it, refined it, weaponized it.

He was, technically, the unluckiest being alive… and yet, through sheer spite, had turned that curse into a Dao.

And Shin still beat him every time.

Fu slammed his palm on the table. "You're cheating again, aren't you, Shinny?"

Shin blinked innocently. "Brother, please. Cheating implies I'm trying. I'm just… narratively inclined."

The crowd murmured — half confused, half in awe.

Fu snarled. "You can't keep twisting the world's script! Do you think luck cultivation bows to—whatever you do?"

"Tropes," Shin said simply. "Luck cultivation manipulates probability. Tropes manipulate probability's meaning."

Fu's vein bulged. "That's nonsense!"

Shin shrugged, tapping the dice again. They flipped into the air — slowly, elegantly — and came down as double Heavens again.

["The Unlucky Genius Loses to the Comedic Protagonist."] - Result: Inevitability enforced.

Fu fell to his knees, gripping his chest like he'd been betrayed by math itself.

The hall erupted — laughter, cheers, a few marriage proposals, and one spontaneous musical number that no one could explain but felt narratively consistent.

Shin accepted his winnings, which he promptly converted into Fish Budget funds.

["Mission Log Updated"] – Goody, more fetch quests.

Objective: "Buy pretty fish for Swansong and the pond."

Status: Funds secured.

Collateral damage: one disillusioned Luck Cultivator.

Fu, still trembling, looked up at him. "One day, Shin, your absurd logic will fail you!"

"Probably," Shin said, pocketing the dice. "But until then, I'm statistically unbeatable."

He patted Fu's shoulder and walked away through the crowd, haloed in victory and narrative immunity.

["Scene End"] - Fu will remember that

["Moral of the Chapter"] - No matter how powerful your Dao, you can't out-cultivate plot armour.

The fish vendor's stall sat at the edge of the Demon Lord's market, a fragrant, humid little corner of hell filled with sloshing tanks and the occasional sentient squid demanding labour rights.

Shin leaned over one tank, squinting.

"No, too bright. That one looks like it monologues before dying. Got anything… humbler?"

The vendor, a nervous salamander demon with four arms and zero patience, gestured toward a tank of grey, nearly transparent koi.

"These, my lord. They're quiet, obedient, and don't explode when you feed them."

"Perfect," Shin said, tossing a sack of gold the size of a child onto the counter. "I'll take three. And a bucket."

He crouched to inspect the fish, his reflection shimmering faintly in the water. The koi swam toward him — and, disturbingly, bowed.

["Foreshadowing of Unlikely Companion."] - pet acquired.

Shin frowned. "Not now, narrative."

He sighed. His life was too full of Chekhov's Guns already.

"Still," he murmured, "they'll look good in the pond."

He was about to leave when the air shifted. The background noise — the clinking of coins, the muttering of merchants, the haggling of minor demons — fell silent, one sound at a time, like a curtain dropping.

Shin didn't turn immediately. He knew that feeling.

"...Iron Orchid," he said.

Behind him, the market's light dimmed slightly as the 44th​ sister approached.

Iron Orchid didn't walk so much as glide, the hem of her battle robes brushing the cobblestones. Her aura was razor-clean, smelling faintly of steel and sandalwood. She was the Demon Lord's blade — equal parts devotion and discipline.

"Shin," she greeted, bowing slightly. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were scanning the area. "You look… untroubled."

"I try," Shin said. "Stress ages you. I'm still going for the 'eternally smug' aesthetic."

She ignored that, as she usually did. "Father is moving again."

Shin blinked. "Moving? As in, leaving his throne? Again?"

Orchid nodded, her expression grave. "The court felt it this morning — the pulse of his aura expanded beyond the domain barrier. He's… preparing something. I thought you'd know."

He sighed, setting down his bucket of fish. "I literally carried him to his chair two hours ago. He said he was going to get into the prophecy later."

Iron Orchid's eyes narrowed. "He lied."

"Well, yes. He is the Demon Lord."

She looked at him, unimpressed. "Do you take nothing seriously?"

Shin tapped his temple. "Sister, I take everything seriously. I just don't panic until the trope demands it."

[ "The Calm Before the Storm."] - Suggestion: Stock up on popcorn.

He grimaced. "...Ah, that's not good."

Iron Orchid's gaze sharpened. "You felt something?"

"Yeah. My plot-sense is tingling."

"Your what?"

"Never mind."

He straightened, bucket in one hand, fish sloshing softly inside. "Whatever Dad's planning, it'll hit us soon. Probably some kind of family-wide drama arc. He gets bored when the celestial courts stop warring with him."

Iron Orchid's expression softened for half a second. "You joke, but you're rarely wrong."

"I know," Shin said, smiling faintly. "That's the tragedy of being narratively aware."

They stood there for a moment — her posture sharp and dignified, his loose and lazy — two halves of the Demon Lord's legacy, one discipline, one deviation.

Then, from somewhere deep within the palace, a gong sounded — heavy, resonant, the kind that made space itself hum.

Iron Orchid froze. "That's a summons. Father's personal call."

Shin exhaled through his nose. "Wonderful."

["Inciting Incident"] - Destiny approaches.

He adjusted his grip on the bucket. "Guess dads ready to speak."

And together, they turned toward the heart of the palace — where the throne waited, and the Demon Lord, for whatever reason, had decided a story needed to begin again.

The path back to the central palace was paved in black jade — a gleaming river of stone that shimmered like ink under the eternal twilight.

Shin and Iron Orchid (Io, to her siblings — though few dared use the nickname) walked in companionable silence. The air was thick with power; every step closer to the throne hall brought the faint hum of their father's presence.

It wasn't just oppressive. It was alive.

Demon Lord auras weren't subtle — they warped the world around them, made the stars hesitate, made the earth remember. The Heavenly Demon Lord — First of His Name, Warden of Sin, Emperor of the Ninefold Abyss, and Enthusiast of Unscheduled Family Meetings — had a particularly notorious signature.

When he stirred, everyone knew.

By the time Shin and Io reached the main causeway, the palace was buzzing. Servants scurried through corridors like panicked ants. The banners along the outer walls — crimson and violet, each representing a branch of the Demon Lord's progeny — fluttered with the breath of a rising storm.

Shin slowed as he saw clusters of siblings arriving from every direction.

The 23rd​ sister, Graves. Eternally drunk and trying to remember which way was "up."

Number 58, Lord Mirage, phasing in and out of existence while on yet another "metaphysical cleanse."

Dumb-of-ass 72, Rok-Rok, carrying his own statue and insisting it was "alive."

And, of course, the youngest so far, 99th ​brother Bloodedge — sulking under guard, still wearing the remnants of the Tower of Reflection like a fashion statement.

It was chaos.

Beautiful, expensive, generational chaos.

Io sighed softly beside him. "Every time he summons us, it's the same circus."

"Family bonding," Shin said absently, eyes flicking toward the central fountain at the base of the stairs.

He'd been meaning to fix that thing.

The fountain was a grand, multi-tiered structure — obsidian carved into the shape of coiling dragons, once spouting liquid flame. Now, it sat dry and cold, a monument to aesthetic neglect.

Perfect for fish.

While Io strode ahead toward the grand hall, Shin slipped away and crouched beside the basin. He set down his bucket with ceremonial solemnity.

"Alright, you little narrative gremlins," he murmured, tipping it gently. "Go forth and fulfill whatever vague foreshadowing I accidentally triggered."

The koi splashed into the empty fountain — and immediately, the basin filled with water.

Not flame. Not lava. Actual water, clear as glass, bubbling up from nowhere.

Shin stared.

["Symbolic Restoration of Lost Grace."] - Severity: Mildly ominous.

"Right," he muttered. "That's fine. Not foreboding at all."

As he rose, a demon guard approached — tall, armoured, and carrying the usual air of respectful terror that came with addressing one of the Demon Lord's brood.

"Lord Shin," the guard said, bowing low. "His Majesty commands the attendance of all ninety-nine children. Immediately."

Shin raised a brow. "Even the ones currently vaporized?"

"Their ashes have been summoned as well, my lord."

"Efficient," Shin said approvingly.

He glanced toward the hall, where the great obsidian doors were opening — massive things carved with writhing runes that pulsed faintly with their father's will.

Through them poured the rest of the brood: winged, horned, scaled, spectral — each a unique testament to the Demon Lord's excesses.

Shin felt his TROPE dao flutter like a nervous heartbeat.

["Gathering of the Bloodline."] - Family drama

["The Prodigal Children Assemble."] - Too many of them

["Fatherly Lecture or Apocalyptic Declaration Incoming."] - Die another day.

He sighed. "It's one of those days."

He gave the fountain one last look. The koi were swimming in perfect formation — three circles, glowing faintly with golden light.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Definitely one of those days."

With that, Shin turned and joined the tide of demon heirs ascending the stairs — the air thick with anticipation, sibling rivalry, and the faint smell of someone's aura combusting.

And as the throne doors boomed shut behind them, sealing them inside, the Demon Lord's voice rolled through the hall like thunder wrapped in silk:

"My beloved children! Your old man has decided it's time we reshuffle destiny!"

The throne room was vast — the kind of vast that bent sound and swallowed thought. Pillars of bone and black crystal rose to support a ceiling that shimmered with constellations that shouldn't exist, each one pulsing faintly to the Demon Lord's heartbeat.

At the centre, seated upon his living throne — a shifting mass of shadows and gold veins — sat the Heavenly Demon Lord, Father of Ninety-Nine, Devourer of Kings, Bureaucratic Partner to the Celestial Courts, and the current cause of everyone's confusion.

He looked, as always, fabulous.

Golden hair down to his waist. Silken robes that looked like night was personally tailored for him. And, for some reason, a clipboard.

He beamed at his gathered children, eyes bright enough to burn lesser beings to dust.

"Ah, my beloved progeny! It's so rare to see you all assembled without attempted homicide."

Someone coughed politely. A few others tried to hide their weapons.

Shin, standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, raised a hand. "You called us here, Father. I assume this isn't another spontaneous poetry recital?"

The Demon Lord chuckled, the kind of laugh that made the shadows ripple. "No, my favourite son—"

A hundred throats collectively groaned.

"—today's topic is much more important than art."

He raised a hand, and a sheet of parchment appeared in midair — glowing, heavy with divine seal-work and bureaucratic sigils that hummed with celestial annoyance.

"This," he said grandly, "is the Truce Agreement of Heaven and Hell, signed upon the birth of my tenth child, little Faust. You all remember, yes?"

Faust, an ice sculpture vaguely resembling a person, nodded frostily.

"Excellent," Father continued. "As per the agreement, the Demon Realm refrains from expanding into the Mortal Plane or any Celestial territories, in exchange for letting my talented offspring take heavenly jobs without divine interference. However…"

He leaned forward, grin widening. "…there is a clause. A single little clause that our bureaucratic friends up above insisted on."

He snapped his fingers. The parchment rotated in the air, the glowing runes reshaping themselves into a line of text.

'Should any descendant of the Demon Lord gain power to threaten the celestial balance or pierce the veil of Heaven, said power must be documented, filed, and approved before activation.'

There was a long silence.

"…Filed?" Shin said finally.

"Yes," the Demon Lord said proudly. "Filed. With Form 88-B, Section Seven, Subclause C. It's quite specific. I helped write that part."

"You helped write—?!" Number 27, Irene sputtered.

"Of course!" Father spread his arms. "I'm nothing if not a responsible ruler. Do you have any idea how many mountains of paperwork it takes to keep the heavens from smiting you all?"

Io pinched the bridge of her nose. "And what does this have to do with summoning all of us?"

"Ah!" Father's eyes sparkled. "Because the Prophecy of the Hundredth Child has come due."

The hall went utterly still. Even the throne's shadows stopped moving.

Every demon present knew the prophecy — whispered for millennia, sung in taverns and forbidden temples, hell it's why the demon lord had so many kids in the first place:

"When the Hundredth is born, the sky shall tear.

The mortal and the divine shall bleed as one.

The child of Heaven's Bane shall pierce the firmament.

Who, in all the hells, do you think you are?"

Shin frowned. "Pierce the heavens how, exactly? Metaphorically, emotionally, or physically?"

Father waved the clipboard like a fan. "That's the thing! I don't know. And the Celestial Bureaucracy insists I find out before it happens, otherwise it counts as a breach of our ancient pact, and they get to send auditors again."

The collective groan this time was louder. The last celestial audit had nearly ended in a literal genocide by spreadsheet.

"So," the Demon Lord said cheerfully, "as of this morning, I am formally designating the birth of the Hundredth Child as a potential existential risk! Which means—"

He clapped his hands. The parchment dissolved into fire, and from the flames emerged a massive sigil of red and gold.

"—I am opening the Heavenly Succession Game!"

Shin blinked. "The-what now?"

Father gestured dramatically toward the crowd. "To identify, prepare, and document the arrival of the Hundredth, each of you shall compete — in intellect, power, and creativity — to determine who among you will oversee the prophecy's unfolding and handle both the celestial paperwork and raising of the 100th​! This child will be my heir to the demon realm so whoever raises it will have supreme power in our court"

"…So, it's a tournament arc then," Shin said.

"A divine administrative evaluation," Father corrected.

Several siblings groaned again. Someone in the back started crying.

The Demon Lord grinned. "And the winner will be named Acting Heir to the Demon Realm until the Hundredth arrives."

["Plot Arc: Tournament of Fate."] – Can't go wrong with a tournament arc.

["Prophecy of the Chosen Successor."] – you are not the chosen one, yay!

["Fatherly Manipulation Masquerading as Parental Pride."] – dad loves you very much.

Shin sighed, rubbing his temples. "Of course it's a tournament arc. Why wouldn't it be?"

Father's eyes flicked toward him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "My dear Shin, I expect great things from you."

"You mean because I'm the only one who actually does the paperwork?"

"That too."

The Heavenly Demon Lord rose from his throne, his aura spilling out like dawn over blood. "Prepare yourselves, my children. The first trials begin at moonrise tomorrow."

And with that, the throne room plunged into chaos — ninety-nine voices shouting, scheming, bragging, panicking — while Shin just stared at the glowing koi visible through the window, circling endlessly in the fountain below.

["And thus begins the Arc of Bureaucratic Doom."] – remember to file duplicates

He sighed. "...I should've stayed fishing."

Shin turned to leave but then saw both Bloodedge and Swansong leaving and he decided to join them as they returned Blood to his house arrest.

The halls of the Tower of Reflection were quiet; in the way abandoned fortresses are quiet — all cracked pride and lingering echoes.

Once, the Tower of Reflection had been a grand library, its towers clawing the sky. Now, with most of its wards dismantled and its books moved to the new one by court order, it felt more like a prison of solitude, the timeout spot for the demon lords' children.

Shin stepped through the open archway, hands in his pockets, tail of his personally designed trench coat flicking lazily behind him.

Swansong followed, her steps light, almost musical. She carried a covered tray in both hands — the kind of thing that could be either food, bribe, or bomb depending on who cooked it.

"Do you think he's sulking again?" she whispered.

"Be?" Shin said. "Always."

"Do you think he's crying again?"

"Also always."

They shared a look — the kind of dry, shared amusement only siblings who had outgrown trauma could manage — before pushing open the doors to Bloodedge's confinement chamber. Shin still remembered how, on Be's 90th birthday, he'd declared his name "sounded like a sneeze" and demanded to be called Be. Only Shin and Swansong bothered.

The room was wide, sparse, and gently lit by runes carved into the walls — the Demon Lord's personal handiwork, designed to suppress rebellion without damaging one's soul and body.

Be sat cross-legged in the centre, surrounded by open scrolls, his long crimson hair tied back in a loose braid. His sword — the same one he'd used to challenge their father — sat in a rack beside him, its edge dulled by divine seal.

He looked up, blinking once. "...You brought food or mockery?"

"Both," Swansong said cheerfully, setting the tray down. "Mostly mockery."

Shin flopped down beside him without ceremony, stretching his legs. "And I brought emotional support. My presence alone counts as therapy, I'm told."

Be stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. "...You're impossible to hate, you know that?"

"I do," Shin said brightly. "That's my greatest defence mechanism."

Swansong grinned, removing the tray cover to reveal steaming buns and a bottle of demon wine. "Dinner for disgraced revolutionaries and professional favourites."

Be snorted, taking one of the buns. "You shouldn't be here. If Father finds out—"

"Please," Shin said, waving a hand. "Father likes me too much to get mad. He'd just say I'm 'building character' through family engagement."

"And then give you more paperwork," Swansong added helpfully.

"That too."

The three of them sat together for a while, eating in companionable silence.

For all the theatrics of their bloodline, this — these quiet, stupid, normal moments — were the closest any of them got to peace.

Be finally broke it with a low chuckle. "You know, I thought I'd have figured it out by now."

"Figured what out?" Shin asked.

"How to stop caring what he thinks."

Shin leaned back on his hands. "You don't."

Be looked at him sidelong.

"You just get better at pretending," Shin said. "Until one day, you realize you actually don't mind anymore. And by then, it's just funny."

Swansong poured him a cup of wine and raised an eyebrow. "And you've reached that point?"

"Oh, I surpassed it decades ago," Shin said proudly. "I exist in a state of permanent mild amusement."

Swansong giggled. "Explains why nothing phases you."

"Nothing?" Shin raised a brow.

"Almost nothing," she corrected. "Remember that celestial audit?"

Shin shuddered. "Okay, yes, divine auditors are worse than war. I'll give you that."

Be smiled faintly — small, tired, but genuine. "You really are Father's favourite, aren't you?"

Shin stretched out his legs. "Technically, I'm everyone's. You all like me because I don't pick sides."

"Or because you're too lazy to fight," Swansong said.

"That too."

Be chuckled. "You know what's funny? Out of all of us — the generals, the saints, the heretics — you're the one everyone trusts not to back stab them."

Shin smiled, eyes half-lidded. "I'm just a chill guy in a world full of drama queens. Spirit animal says so."

Swansong blinked. "Wait, your spirit form's still that capybara?"

"Still? Always." Shin grinned. "Peaceful, unbothered, terrifyingly bitey when provoked. That's the way."

Be almost laughed — a short, wheezing sound that made the runes tremble. "A capybara... in a family of apex demons."

"It fits," Shin said. "You're all predators. I'm the one lounging in the hot spring, letting birds clean my fur."

Swansong giggled again, clinking her cup against his. "To our family capybara."

"To survival," Be added dryly.

Shin raised his cup, grin softening. "To being the sane ones."

They drank — three outcasts in a dynasty of chaos — while outside, the palace pulsed faintly with growing energy.

["Peace Before the Storm."] – Enjoy it.

["Sibling Bond, Episode 9."] – why episode 9?

["Prophecy Threads Converging."] – the story begins again.

Shin ignored the warnings for once. He'd earned this moment.

Besides, if the story wanted to interrupt, it could damn well wait until he finished his dumpling.

The night stretched on in lazy conversation and half-empty cups.

Shin, Swansong, and Be sprawled around the centre of the room, a comfortable mess of limbs and laughter. The guards outside had long since stopped pretending they were listening in. When Shin was in a room, no one expected order to last long anyway.

"So," Be said, swirling his cup, "did anyone else notice Father's hair at the gathering?"

Swansong blinked. "His hair?"

"Yeah. Golden. I don't think I've ever seen him go gold before. Usually, he sticks with black or that weird pink void-colour that looks like it's sparkling."

Shin chuckled. "Oh, that? Yeah. He only breaks out the gold when he's doing business with the heavens. Apparently, celestial bureaucrats go weak in the knees for gold and jade. Something about auspicious colours and divine harmony."

Swansong snorted. "So, our mighty father shapeshifts to match heavenly fashion trends?"

"Exactly." Shin grinned. "He says diplomacy is ninety percent colour palette."

Be exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly. "Good. I can sleep easier knowing the mystery of his divine dye job is solved."

For a few moments, they just basked in the silence, the flicker of rune light washing over them in soft reds and golds.

Then Swansong tilted her head. "Hey, Be… why did you rebel, anyway?"

Be paused mid-drink. "…I was bored."

Shin snorted into his wine.

Swansong blinked. "That's it?"

"Boredom's a powerful motivator," Be said simply. "You know how it is. 50 years of perfect training, empty victories, endless bureaucracy… eventually, stabbing Father in the face seems like the only way to feel alive again."

He said it so casually that it was almost funny.

Almost.

Swansong sighed. "You're hopeless."

"Maybe," Be said. Then his eyes slid to Shin, faintly curious. "What about you, oh favoured one? Ever tried the family pastime? Treason, rebellion, patricide attempts?"

Shin blinked. "…Yeah, once."

That made both of them pause.

"Wait—what?" Swansong said.

"Yeah," Shin said, scratching the back of his neck. "First century. I'd just started cultivating my Dao, and I thought I was invincible. Didn't realize how unstable it was back then. The moment I declared rebellion, fate decided to assist."

Be frowned. "Assist how?"

Shin's gaze turned distant, faintly haunted and faintly embarrassed.

"By enforcing 'Surprisingly Sudden Death via Suicide Attack.'"

There was a long silence.

Swansong's cup froze halfway to her lips.

Be blinked twice. "You what."

"Yeah," Shin said flatly. "I charged in, screamed something about destiny, and the narrative decided that was foreshadowing. My own trope triggered mid-fight. Nearly killed both of us. Blew out half the western wards, too."

"…How did you survive that?" Swansong whispered.

"Father patched me back together. Eventually. I think he found it funny."

"Funny?" Be echoed.

Before Shin could elaborate, two pale, elegant hands slipped over his shoulders — dainty and smooth, yet thrumming with the weight of cosmic authority.

Swansong and Be both froze.

A chin rested atop Shin's head, long silken hair spilling forward and curtaining his vision in pink.

A familiar voice purred above him.

"Ahh… my little disaster. My precious catastrophe. You remember, then?"

Shin didn't even turn around. "Hi, Dad."

The Demon Lord — sovereign of the abyss, scourge of the divine planes — was hugging his 69th​ child from behind like an over-affectionate cat, claws lightly tracing bloody circles into his favourite son's chest, leaving streaks of blood in his wake. His golden hair was gone now, replaced by soft waves of pastel pink that shimmered with heat and pride.

"That rebellion," the Demon Lord murmured, eyes half-lidded. "So beautifully destructive. You nearly ended the demon world, my darling Shin. You made the sky bleed, and for a moment—" His voice dropped into a reverent whisper. "—I saw myself in you. I was so proud."

"Mm-hmm," Shin said, tone the very picture of resigned tolerance and minor discomfort. "You've told me. Every decade."

Swansong and Be were frozen in place, watching their world-conquering father nuzzle and maul Shin like a particularly smug feline.

"Father," Be managed, "decorum?"

The Demon Lord blinked, tilted his head as though the word were foreign, then ignored it entirely to rub his cheek against Shin's temple.

"I have no need for decorum when it comes to my favourite child."

Shin sighed as if this were just another Thursday. "You're really setting me up to get murdered by the other ninety-nine."

"They wouldn't dare," purred the Demon Lord. "Only I get to mark you."

"Uh-huh." Shin reached for his cup, managing to sip despite the godlike parasite of affection attached to his neck. "Can you not drool on my shoulder, though?" he asked his father, who was giving love bites to the back of his neck blood on his lips.

Swansong stifled a laugh behind her hand. Be looked equal parts horrified and amused, he had never seen this type of affection from his father, that of the dark possessiveness.

The Demon Lord ignored them both, continuing to purr audibly, voice vibrating through Shin's spine. "Ah, my beloved son… even when you sigh at me, it sounds like music."

"Please stop making it weird," Shin muttered as some of the cuts started to scab over via his accelerated healing.

"Never."

The air hung warm and absurd around them — the immortal tyrant clinging to his son, the rebel and the caretaker watching with disbelieving fondness, and Shin just sitting there, wine in hand, letting it all wash over him.

Somewhere, deep within the palace, distant thunder rolled — the first whisper of the prophecy beginning to move.

But for now, the Demon Lord just kept purring, louder now while lowering himself into Shins lap and curling up to him, nipping at his neck, lapping his son's blood with delight as it dripped down his skin. Shin kept sighing in exasperation even as he wearily rested his chin atop his father's head, and the family of chaos remained perfectly, stupidly content even as his sibling silently laughed at his plight.

 

[Jordisk]

Of course, the Demon Lord doesn't even think of the idea of...keeping it in its pants so they only have 99 children?

Also, I am going to put $20 imaginary internet money on the 100th Child being the daughter of the Demon Lord and 69-chan.

That will also be my official name for him, 69-chan.

 

[DreamingScholar]

Chapter 2: The Demon Lords Lore Dump

Shin woke with a groan — the kind that came from deep in the soul, right between existential dread and I-healed-too-fast-again.

His eyes cracked open to find Swansong gently brushing his hair back, his head resting in her lap. She looked far too awake for… whatever time it was.

"Morning," she whispered.

Shin blinked. "…Morning?"

"As close as we get here."

He winced, sitting up slowly. His neck still tingled where Father had bitten him. The cuts were gone, of course — demon regeneration worked fast — but the fatigue wasn't.

"Where's Dad?"

Swansong laughed softly. "Left ages ago. Said he had to 'prepare the cosmic stage' and that you looked cute when you sleep."

Shin rubbed his face. "Ugh. That tracks."

Across the room, Be sat cross-legged again, a scroll unfurled in his lap. A guard stood behind him, silent as stone, though visibly trying not to look at the trio too closely. Last night had been… a lot.

Shin stretched until his joints popped. "How late is it?"

Be didn't look up from the scroll. "Late morning, I think."

Shin glanced toward the window. Eternal twilight stared back.

"…How do you know?"

Be shrugged. "Body clock."

Shin groaned again and slumped back against the wall. "Father's venom takes way too much energy to heal from."

The guard choked quietly.

Swansong patted his head once more and stood. "I'm getting food. Real food. If you pass out again, I'm tossing you into the koi fountain."

She vanished into the Tower's tiny kitchen alcove.

The door slid shut behind her.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward… just charged.

Be didn't flip the scroll page. Didn't breathe louder. Didn't sigh.

But he fidgeted. A tiny shift of the wrist. A slight clench of the jaw. His aura prickled like a storm thinking about storming.

Shin glanced at him.

Be avoided eye contact.

Finally, very quietly:

"…What was that last night?"

Shin blinked. "…What part?"

Be swallowed. "The part where Father—" He gestured vaguely at Shin's whole chest and neck region. "—pounced on you. Started… rubbing. And biting. And purring. And-and-"

Shin waited patiently as his brother ran out of words and dignity.

Be exhaled sharply through his nose. "—that. What was that."

Unless interrupted, Shin was going to have to answer the question no demon child liked answering:

Why does the Demon Lord act like a lovesick murder-cat around the 69th?

Shins Dao flickered at the edge of his vision:

["Awkward Follow-Up Conversation"] - inevitable

["Sibling Realizes Their Father Is A Menace"] - ongoing

["Explanations That Raise More Questions"] - recommended

Shin sighed.

This was going to be one of those mornings.

Be waited stiffly, scroll forgotten in his lap, while Shin stretched his sore shoulders and finally sighed.

"Alright," Shin said, rubbing the last phantom sting from his neck. "Before I answer your question, I need to know how much history you actually know."

Be blinked. "…History?"

"Yeah. Our family history. Why we have so many siblings. Why Father is Father. Why our clan is… the way it is."

Be sat up straighter, frowning in concentration. "I know the rough points. The academy lectures. The official archives."

He cleared his throat — the way someone does before reciting something they memorized mostly out of fear.

"Well… originally the heavens and hells were corrupted. The realms weren't separated like they are now — Heaven, Mortal, and Hell were merged into some kind of… uh… gestalt of madness. Nobody alive remembers exactly what it was like, but the historical records call it 'The Era of Screaming Divinity.'"

Shin snorted. "Accurate."

Be continued.

"And during that time, the Heavenly Court and Hell's old rulers were… monstrous. Twisted by power. By worship. By whatever that eldritch fusion did to their minds. So, the world fell apart. Constantly."

"Go on," Shin said, motioning for him to continue.

"And then Father and the current Jade Emperor teamed up. Which still doesn't make sense to me."

Be shifted uncomfortably. "Somehow, they defeated the previous regime. The Celestial Collapse. The Great Sundering if the realms. All that."

"Good," Shin said. "Textbook version."

Be nodded.

"Afterward," Be continued, "Father became the first Demon Lord to ever ally with the Heavens instead of fighting them. And because of that, the realms stabilized. Demon-kind flourished. And… well… Father's still ruling 9,900 years later because nobody can dethrone him. Or survive trying."

He said that last part with a meaningful glance at the sealed sword beside him.

Shin chuckled. "Most people forget you're actually good at history."

Be folded his arms. "I'm good at everything except winning fights against Father."

Shin nodded once, slow and approving.

"Alright," he said. "That's what the public knows."

He leaned forward, voice lowering.

"But as the current youngest, you wouldn't know the full story."

His dao flickered quietly.

["Lore Dump: Classified Edition"] - permitted

["Younger Sibling About to Have His World Expanded"] - active

["Revelation Leading to Future Trauma"] - queued

Be stiffened. "There's more?"

"Oh, tons more," Shin said, waving his hand. "You know how Father tells everyone he had 'many lovers' and 'countless unions across the ages,' right?"

Be nodded slowly. "…Yes?"

"Yeah," Shin said.

"That's the polite version. The real reason we have so many siblings is tied directly to why Heaven and Hell were broken in the first place and why Father is still terrified of prophecies."

Be swallowed.

"Okay," he murmured. "Now I need to know."

Shin sat back.

Exhaled.

And for once, his voice held no sarcasm, no comedic resignation — just the tired weight of someone who'd grown up with too much truth.

"Alright then," Shin said softly.

"Let me tell you the version of history they don't teach — the one Father only tells his favourites."

Be's eyes widened.

["Dramatic Cutaway"] - recommended

But Shin ignored it.

Because the real explanation was going to get messy.

Shin exhaled slowly and fixed Be with a look that made the younger demon instinctively straighten. His dao windows flickered faintly at the edge of his vision, patient and waiting, like a narrator preparing for a lore dump.

"Alright, Be," he said, "you know the public version of our family's history. The war, the alliance with Heaven, the Jade Emperor and Father being allies for nine thousand nine hundred years. It's true, but it's not the whole story."

Be frowned, leaning forward.

Shin sighed, his voice settling into something steady and strangely gentle.

"Before the realms were forcibly split and everything was one place. A stitched-together nightmare called the Gestalt Plane. No borders. No sanctuary. The sky was rusted gold, and the whole world pulsed with forced fusion. Angels, demons, mortals, ghosts, yokais — all mashed together because the Council of Archons thought perfection came from mixing everything until nothing retained its shape."

Shin looked at him evenly. "Their favourite invention were the living iron cages. They hammered souls and flesh flat via shapeshifting magic and folded them into prisons that siphoned power from the prisoners. That was the world Father was born into."

Be's expression tightened, but Shin continued.

"Somehow, three kids survived that place together. Arael, Father, back when he had black hair and didn't know dramatic posing yet. Jade, just a rebellious celestial noble girl who stole food for starving strangers. And Jin, a human slave Heaven pretended they didn't keep, soul-bound to Jade and kind to the point of absurdity."

His voice softened. "The three of them met under a collapsing bridge where angels hunted and demons hid because they were starving. Fate said they should've killed each other, beings from the opposite sides usually did so. Instead, they shared stolen bread, hid under broken stone, and found a prophecy that would change their fates. And for a few fragile years, they believed in it."

Shin's tone darkened. "Then the corrupt Archons' so-called 'managed chaos' broke. Total war erupted. Jade was dragged back to Heaven by her family. Arael fought until his bones snapped. Didn't matter. He and Jin were taken to the demon pits."

He paused before continuing. "Jin became a cage cleaner. The job that kills almost everyone by day ten. He survived only because of his slave soul-bond to Jade, who kept him alive from a world he couldn't reach. And Arael… they turned him into a living iron cage and forced Jin into him. Carved, folded, reforged, alive the whole time. Three hundred years of torture inside his own skin for the both of them."

Be froze, horrified.

Shin nodded once. "Jin talked to him every day, even when he could barely crawl after cleaning the other cages. He'd whisper, 'about what jade was doing up in the heavens, of the plans that she had for us.' That went on for three centuries."

Shin's voice dropped. "Then, one night, Jin broke. He went back into Arael's cage, kneeling, trembling. He said, 'Don't look away. I want you to see me.' And he bit through his own tongue."

Be choked on air.

Shin continued quietly. "His soul ignited instantly. Black hellfire. It melted the cage, the floor, the guards. Everything. Only Arael lived. Jin's last words were 'Live free.' And Arael's scream shook the entire plane."

He drew in a slow breath. "Jade felt Jin die from Heaven. She tore free of her family, found Arael, forced back into his original shape, glowing with power he didn't understand, barely holding himself together. Together, they realised that the prophecy they heard had come to pass and they performed the final steps of the Ritual of Life Convergences that Jin had accidently started with the sacrifice of the innocent. Jade lent him her divinity. Arael unleashed centuries of agony. They killed all 666 archons of Heaven and Hell."

Be stared, wide-eyed. Shin didn't soften the blow.

"But the ritual curse hit immediately. For every archon killed, Arael's flesh was cursed to birth one soul. A frenzy. A forced breeding cycle. Endless. Jade ascended, becoming the Jade Emperor by default for she was the last of heaven bureaucracy, and sealed it. Not cured it — sealed it. Instead of a constant frenzy, it triggers once every hundred years."

He held Be's gaze. "Father isn't promiscuous. He isn't romantic. He doesn't collect lovers for fun. He's cursed. And every one of us — me, you, Swan, all the other ninety-six — exists because of the backlash of killing the old gods."

Be whispered, "So all of us are…?"

"Remnants of the day he survived the worst thing imaginable," Shin said softly. "And Jade refused to let him drown in what the curse would've turned him into."

He leaned back, speaking more gently now. "They rebuilt the world together. Split the realms. Made a system that wouldn't collapse into madness. Jade became Emperor. Arael became Demon Lord."

Shin let the weight of it settle before finishing. "And ninety-nine centuries later… you were born."

Be stared at the floor, hands trembling slightly. "And Father still smiles like everything's fine," he whispered.

Shin shrugged. "He's had nine thousand nine hundred years to practice."

Be didn't say anything at first. He just stared at the floor, chest tight, fingers curling and uncurling like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to fight something or collapse.

Then, without warning, he moved.

He rushed forward and buried himself against Shin's chest, arms wrapping tightly around him, the kind of embrace that came from instinct rather than thought. A small, strangled sound left him — anger, grief, confusion, and relief tangled into one raw exhale.

Shin didn't flinch.

He simply shifted an arm around Be's shoulders, steady and unhurried. Demons were tactile creatures — far more than humans ever were. Skin-ship for demons was sacred, grounding, a wordless promise of "you are not alone." It wasn't affection. It was survival.

Be clutched him harder.

Shin let him.

The room remained quiet except for Be's uneven breathing, and the faint hum of sealing runes responding to the emotional spike. Shin absently smoothed a hand down his brother's back, grounding the kid through the tremors.

"Dao," Shin thought dryly, "if you say, 'Trauma Bond Intensifies,' I swear to hell I'm uninstalling you."

The dao windows wisely stayed silent.

The door creaked open.

Swansong stepped in with a tray of food balanced in her arms, looking pleased with herself — right up until she saw Be trembling in Shin's arms.

She stopped instantly.

Her eyes widened first with alarm, then with that very specific brand of older-sister-panic that triggered whenever one of her siblings got hurt emotionally. She looked at Shin over Be's shoulder.

Shin, still holding Be, met her stare and deadpanned.

"I told him," he said.

Swansong's face fell into understanding — then into exasperated sympathy.

"…Oh," she sighed. "You really gave him the full version?"

"Yep," Shin said. "All of it."

Swansong set the tray quietly on the floor and crossed the room in three soft steps. She knelt behind Be, gently wrapping her arms around him from the back. She rested her cheek against his hair, wings folding around both brothers like a shelter.

Be made a small, choked noise between them — not quite sobbing, not quite breathing properly either.

"It's alright," Swan whispered. "We're here. You're here. You're safe."

Be didn't answer, but his grip tightened again, as if trying to anchor himself to the only two people who had ever actually listened to him.

Shin met Swan's eyes over Be's shaking form. She mouthed silently.

"How bad?"

Shin mouthed back:

"Very."

Swansong exhaled and held Be closer, wings trembling faintly as they cocooned them all.

And for a time — long enough for the tea to cool and the food to steam softly in the corner — the three of them simply stayed like that, breathing in sync, letting the weight of truth settle where it needed to.

A demon cuddle pile of shared history, shared blood, and shared burdens.

The kind that only family — real family — could ever survive.

Be's trembling eventually softened into slow, steady breaths. His grip loosened, his shoulders relaxed, and after a lingering moment of stillness, he gave the lightest press of his fingers against Shin's sleeve — a silent signal that he wanted to pull away.

Shin eased his arm back. Swansong released him second, slower, brushing a thumb over Be's shoulder as if making sure he was fully grounded before letting go.

When Be sat back with a sniff and a quiet exhale, Shin finally rose from the floor in one smooth motion and stretched.

Fully.

All 3 meters of him.

His spine unfurled like a bow being drawn, long limbs extending, joints popping in satisfying cracks that echoed through the chamber. A low noise of almost feline pleasure left him as vertebrae aligned and shoulders rolled back.

Be blinked up at him. Swan just giggled with fond resignation. Shin stretching was always a dramatic event, mostly because it had to be.

"Better," Shin muttered, rolling his neck until a final pop rang out.

Swansong retrieved the tray of food she'd set down earlier and carried it to the small carpeted area near the low table. She set the bowls and plates neatly, smoothing the cloth with automatic caretaker grace. Shin and Be joined her a moment later, sitting cross-legged around the quick, simple breakfast.

Sandwiches — demon realm luxury, considering the amount of theft and bribery required to acquire mortal bread.

They ate in companionable quiet at first. Be took small bites, thoughtful, processing, the weight of history still heavy but no longer crushing him flat.

Then he finally spoke.

"…I get it," he said softly. "The history. The curse. The worlds that came before. I get why we exist. Even if it's… a lot."

Shin and Swan both looked at him.

Be's brows furrowed, confusion shaping into something like hurt curiosity. "But even knowing all that… why did Father do everything he did afterward? Why fight so hard? Why keep going? Why rebuild anything at all? Why…" He hesitated, staring at his hands. "…why have children if it hurt him every time?"

Shin's dao stirred faintly at the question — a quiet pulse, like a heartbeat behind thought.

["Burden of Immortality"] - Deliver Explanation with Emotional tact, go on, do it.

Shin exhaled through his nose.

"That," he said, picking up another sandwich, "is where things get complicated."

Shin rested his elbows on his knees, sandwich half-eaten in hand. "So… you already know demons are immortal," he began. "Biologically, anyway. We don't age, we don't wither, we don't degrade. But we can be killed."

Be nodded. "Right. Immortal until someone stronger decides we're not."

"Exactly." Shin pointed the sandwich at him. "And Father? Back then? After the war? After Jin, after the cage, after killing the Archons… he wasn't strong. He was powerful, sure. But not strong. Not emotionally. He was half gone."

Be frowned. "What do you mean… gone?"

Shin rubbed his forehead. "I mean he tried to die."

The younger demon froze.

Swansong went still, wings folding tight behind her, not even she knew this part.

Shin sighed softly. "Arael was immortal, but he wanted to die. And he tried. Repeatedly. In every way that exists and a few that don't. But the curse from the Ritual wouldn't let him."

Be's voice cracked. "Why?"

"Because he hadn't finished his half of the bargain." Shin met Be's eyes steadily. "He killed 666 Archons. The curse required 666 souls born through him before he'd be allowed release. No loopholes. No shortcuts."

Silence wrapped around them like heavy cloth.

Be swallowed hard. "…So, he was trapped."

"Yeah." Shin looked down at his hands. "Trapped in pain he didn't think he could survive. He spiralled, hard."

["Divine Trauma"] - Deliver with minimal euphemism.

["Demon Lord Woobie"] – You don't see that every day.

Shin continued, voice low. "He left the last pieces of the crumbling ruins of the Gestalt plane and wandered the Mortal World. For years. Decades. He… tried to complete the quota as fast as possible. In every way he could think of."

Be shifted uncomfortably. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning," Shin said plainly, "he sought out mortals. A lot of them. He wasn't in his right mind. The curse's invulnerability was burning through him, and he was desperate to finish it, no matter what." Shin's tone stayed even, non-graphic, but honest. "Demons and immortals aren't physically compatible with mortals. Not safely. Not without holding back more power than he had the sanity to restrain. Many of them died."

Be's face flickered with horror.

Swansong closed her eyes. She already knew this part — but hearing it aloud always stung.

"He wasn't trying to hurt them," Shin said quietly. "He was breaking. Lost. Half-feral, half-screaming, trying to claw his way to the end of a curse that wouldn't let him rest. He didn't understand his own strength, or his own presence. Most mortals couldn't withstand it."

Shin tapped the floor lightly. "He never forgave himself for it. Not once. Not even till this day."

Be's breath shook.

"And after disaster number seventy or so," Shin went on, "he realized mortals would keep dying. So, he stopped. Cold. Forced himself to. Locked himself away until he could think clearly again."

Be whispered, "So Father… didn't start a family because he wanted one."

Shin shook his head. "No. He started because he was cursed. He kept going because he refused to let that curse define him."

Swan spoke softly at last, voice trembling: "He chose to love us, Be. Not because the curse asked him to — but because he refused to let what happened to him be what defined him.

Be looked between them, eyes wet, breathing slow and uneven.

Shin added, "He built a family out of that curse, made it something to love. That's… who he is, deep down."

Be pressed a hand to his mouth, overwhelmed.

Shin's Dao hummed faintly in the background, warm this time — not warning, not dramatic.

Just… acknowledging the facts.

Shin let Be breathe through the shock for a moment before continuing, voice gentler than usual.

"And… before you start imagining the worst, you should know something else." He leaned back against the wall, arms loosely crossed. "Not every mortal Father met died. A lot did, yeah. But plenty survived. Pure luck, or good constitution, or maybe Jade was watching over them without father knowing it."

Be blinked up at him, processing.

"But…" Shin tapped his finger on his knee. "None of those unions ever produced a child."

Swansong quietly nodded. "He… tried. He hoped."

"Yeah." Shin sighed. "But Father can't impregnate anyone unless he's in a frenzy. And thanks to Jade's seal, he only goes into that state once every hundred years. On the dot. And only during the heat period."

Be frowned, eyes flicking between them. "So, he physically couldn't?"

"Exactly," Shin said. "Biologically impossible. His body is locked down unless the curse cycle is active. Doesn't matter who he's with, or how many times he tried. No frenzy, no conception."

Be muttered, "…That's… tragic. Actually tragic."

Shin snorted softly. "Welcome to our family. Half history lesson, half existential crisis."

He continued, rolling his shoulders. "Look, Father spent centuries trying. Mortals, sages, spirits, cultivators, the occasional eldritch being that probably had tentacles—"

Swan elbowed him. "Shin."

"What? It's true. Dad experimented a lot." He raised a hand in mock innocence. "But the result was always the same. No frenzy, no child. Not even a spark."

Be's brows knit. "So, he realized he was… going to be alive for… how long?"

Shin pinched his nose.

"66,600 years."

Be stared.

Swansong winced sympathetically.

Shin shrugged. "Minimum."

Be made a noise like his soul stubbed its toe. "That's— That's— Father is forced to live that long just to finish the curse?"

"Yep," Shin said with unhelpful cheer. "A bare minimum of 66,600 years stuck being immortal against his will. Not exactly something to look forward to."

Swansong gave a weak laugh. "Imagine having your life expectancy held hostage by a fertility curse."

Shin deadpanned, "Imagine watching the countdown and realizing it doesn't even have the courtesy to tick."

Be rubbed his forehead, overwhelmed. "…Father really lived with that hanging over him for millennia…"

Shin nodded, expression softening. "And he didn't just live through it. He built a realm. A court. A future. A ridiculous, chaotic family. And a pact with heaven that shouldn't have been possible."

Swan added gently, "He didn't break. Not all the way. And in the end… that's why we're here at all."

Be looked down at his hands.

For the first time, he didn't seem ashamed of their bloodline. Just… humbled by it.

Shin let the quiet sit for a moment. Be needed that. Swan needed that. Hell, he needed that.

But the story wasn't finished.

He inhaled slowly. "There's one more part. The… ugly part."

Both siblings looked up.

Shin continued, voice steady. "Imagine it. You're immortal against your will. 66,600 years, minimum. No escape. No loophole. Every century, the frenzy hits and you bring another life into a world you didn't choose. And you know — really know — that it won't end until all 666 are born."

Be whispered, "He couldn't handle that."

"Nope." Shin lifted a shoulder. "He shattered."

Swansong's wings tightened around her like a blanket.

Shin gestured loosely in the air. "Father didn't collapse all at once. It happened slowly. First, he stopped talking as much. Then he stopped sleeping. Then he started wandering the demon realm at night like a ghost. And then one day, he informed Jade he was 'going to the mortal world to study mortal happiness,' which was demon-speak for: I am about to implode completely."

Be leaned forward unconsciously.

"He travelled the mortal realm, looking for a cure, didn't work. Tried meditation? Failed. Tried murdering fifty mountains? Surprisingly cathartic but temporary." He tapped his chest. "And eventually… he decided the only way to survive immortality was to stop being himself."

Be flinched. Swan swallowed.

"Father," Shin said softly, "broke."

["Demon Lord Down"] – tragedy flag raised.

And this time Shin didn't smirk or soften it. He just laid it bare.

"He reached a point where he couldn't stand waking up as himself anymore. So, he planned something insane. Something only Father would think of."

He held up a finger.

"One: he took every sealing tag, power suppression elixir, and transformative ritual he could get away with."

"Two: he shapeshifted his body — age, gender, appearance. Everything. From the black-haired, golden-eyed demon he used to be, to someone new entirely."

Swansong whispered, "The pink hair…"

"Yep," Shin said. "Not natural. It was never natural. It was chosen. Part disguise, part symbolic fresh start."

"And Father's old form wasn't big," Shin added. "He was small for a demon. No horns like razors, no galaxy eyes, no colossal aura. Just… a man. A survivor with too much pain."

Be asked, barely audible, "So he wanted to start over?"

"More than that," Shin said. "He wanted to disappear."

He rested his hands on his knees.

"Three: He wiped his memories."

Be's breath caught.

"Not partially. Not selectively. Completely. He rewrote his identity from the root. Forgot his suffering. Forgot his life. Forgot the war. Forgot Jade. Forgot Jin. Forgot himself."

Swansong closed her eyes, grief written across her features.

Be looked horrified. "He… killed who he was."

"He tried," Shin corrected. "But you can't erase truth that deep. The core stayed. His power stayed, sealed, but there. His nature stayed. His curse stayed. And eventually, his memories came back too — slowly, painfully. Like shards pushing out of old scars."

Be exhaled shakily.

"By the time he remembered everything," Shin said, "he'd already begun building a new life. New name. New body. New presence. A new relationship with a new family.

He leaned back on his hands with a soft sigh.

"And eventually he decided… maybe he didn't need to be Arael the survivor anymore. Maybe he could be the Demon Lord instead. The ruler. The parent. The man who chooses instead of reacts. The man who builds instead of bleeds."

Shin's voice gentled.

"So, Arael died. Or went to sleep. Or became something else. Depends on who you ask."

Be stared at the floor, voice small. "The father we know… isn't the original?"

Shin shook his head. "No. He's who Father chose to become."

Swansong whispered, "And who he keeps choosing. Every day."

["From Trauma to Divinity"] – growth arc confirmed.

Be looked overwhelmed again — but not from fear this time.

From awe.

Shin let the weight hang for a moment before continuing, softer now, as though the next part deserved a gentler voice.

"When Father wiped himself, he didn't take a neutral form," Shin said. "He made himself a child. A little girl. Pink-haired, small, harmless, completely unrecognizable. Arael died, and in his place was… someone new. Someone innocent."

Be blinked, stunned. "Father… was a little girl?"

"Yep," Shin said, unfazed. "A cute one, apparently. Big eyes. Soft hair. Looked like a storybook orphan. Jade must've been watching from afar, because a wealthy mortal couple found her almost immediately. She looked exactly like the daughter they'd just lost."

Swansong pressed a hand to her mouth. "That must have been… heartbreaking."

"Yeah," Shin agreed. "But also, lucky. Mortals took her in. Loved her. Fed her. Named her something sweet — not Arael, but something soft. And they raised her like she was theirs. No idea they'd adopted a walking apocalypse."

Be exhaled shakily.

Shin continued, voice steady. "That life lasted eighteen years. Eighteen mortal years of being a girl who didn't know she'd once slaughtered gods. Eighteen years of school, chores, laughter, siblings, tiny heartbreaks, and quiet dinners. A normal life. A good one."

He paused, eyes distant.

"And when she reached adulthood, she married. A mortal boy. Good man, they say. The kind you only find once every few centuries."

Be whispered, "Then the curse hit."

"Yeah," Shin said. "On her eighteenth birthday, 100 years after the killing of the Archons, the first frenzy since the Gestalt fell. It hit hard. And it tore apart her disguise, tore apart the seals, tore apart everything that made her 'mortal.'"

Swansong's wings drooped. "She must have been terrified."

"She was," Shin said. "Imagine waking up to memories you didn't know you had. Millennia of pain crashing back in one night. The cages. The screams. Jin. The war. Jade. Everything."

He let out a slow breath.

"But mortals are sturdier than we give them credit for. Her husband survived the frenzy. Somehow. Maybe fate intervened. Maybe Jade did."

Be looked down. "And the child…?"

"A daughter," Shin said softly. "Superbia. First of Father's line. Born mortal-demon hybrid, powerful enough to crack stone walls by crying. Father adored her instantly. More than adored — she grounded him. She made living worth it."

Be swallowed.

"So instead of running back to the Demon Realm…" Shin said with a faint smile, "…he stayed. Lived out a whole mortal lifetime with his husband. Twenty years. Raised Superbia together. Watched her grow. Watched his husband age. Watched him die — peacefully, in his sleep."

Swansong murmured, "That must have hurt."

"It did," Shin said. "But it also healed him. Losing someone peacefully is different from losing someone violently. He needed that."

Be lifted his gaze slowly. "And after that… he came home."

"Yeah," Shin nodded. "He returned to the Demon Realm. Older. Wiser. Pink-haired and female-presenting, because the form grew on him. And he conquered the realm in under a year — with Superbia at his side as his blade."

Be blinked. "Superbia helped conquer Hell?"

"Yep. Brilliant girl. Terrifying. And very smug." Shin smirked. "She's still the strongest of us. Don't let her old-lady disguise fool you."

Swansong shivered. "She scares me sometimes."

"She scares everyone," Shin said with a shrug. "She's Superbia."

Be ran a hand through his hair, trying to absorb the impossible scale of everything.

"So, Father was… reborn. Lived. Loved. Lost. And came back."

Shin nodded. "Pretty much. Arael died. The Demon Lord was born. And the rest… is our family's very messy, very dramatic history."

["Cycle of Death and Rebirth"] – completed

["Demon Lord Backstory: Full Sync"] – achieved

["You are processing too much lore at once"] – accurate

Be whispered, "I… I had no idea."

Swan rested a hand on his shoulder. "None of us did. Until Shin."

Shin shrugged as he took another sandwich. "I was bored one century and did research. Also, Father overshares when drunk."

Swansong elbowed him.

Be huffed a small, overwhelmed laugh.

Be stayed quiet for a long time.

Too long.

Shin could feel the question forming before Be even opened his mouth. His Dao flickered.

["Sensitive Topic Approaching"] — warning appreciated.

Be finally looked up, face pink with embarrassment and something like dread.

"…Shin," he started, hesitant, "I… I need to ask something. About Father. And… you."

Swansong froze mid-bite.

Shin paused mid-chew.

Be fumbled for words. "I just— I know demons are sexually active and that Father's biggest kink is consent. Everyone knows that. He'd never do anything you didn't want. But last night was… a lot. And I know everyone in the court jokes, but—"

Be swallowed hard.

"Are you two… seriously involved?"

The air went still.

Shin exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. "Be. Look at me."

Be did.

"Father and I are… complicated."

Swansong set her food down, watching carefully.

Shin leaned back, speaking calmly, evenly — as he was not embarrassed.

"First thing to understand: demon-kind have a biological reaction to power. When a demon's blood surges, when their aura spikes, their body responds. It's instinctual. Doesn't have to be sexual. It's more like… pressure building. Heat. Energy. The stronger the demon, the worse it is."

Be nodded, he knew this already, but chose to listen closely.

"For most demons in the court," Shin continued, "that pressure expresses itself through physical combat or closeness. Touch. Skin-ship. Sharing energy directly. Sex. It's a cultural release valve."

Swan added gently, "It keeps us sane. Literally."

Shin tapped his chest. "And Father? He's the strongest demon alive. His innate power hits him like a tidal wave. If he doesn't ground it regularly, he gets unstable. The pressure hurts him."

Be's eyes widened. "…So, he comes to his children because we can handle it."

"Exactly," Shin said. "We're the only one's durable enough these days, magically compatible enough, and trusted enough. And some of the kids do take advantage of that closeness for political gain. Power. Boons. Court standing."

He sighed.

"But me? I don't do it for treasure. Or power. Or politics."

Be hesitated. "Then why—?"

"Because he needs it," Shin said simply. "Because I can handle it without expecting anything in return and because out of all of his get, I can take the most physical and mental punishment."

Swan's face softened with quiet understanding.

Be swallowed. "But— Shin. Do you want that kind of closeness?"

"None that I don't condone," Shin said immediately.

Be blinked.

Swansong blinked.

Shin shrugged, casual as breathing. "I'm asexual."

Be nearly choked on air.

Swan smacked Shin's arm. "You can't just— say that in the middle of a sentence!"

"Why not? It's true."

Be sputtered. "But— you— Father—?"

Shin waved a hand. "He knows. I told him ages ago. Father would never cross a boundary I set. Not ever. Consent is his religion. And for him, the grounding he needs is important. It's emotional. Physical contact helps, but it's not enough"

Be stared, stunned. "…So the purring, the clinging… the neck biting—?"

"Grounding," Shin corrected. "Intimacy for demons is layered. It can be erotic, but it doesn't have to be. With me, It's comfort. Pressure and relief. Trust. Familiarity. Instinctual affection."

Swansong nodded slowly. "Think of it like… an exchange."

Shin smirked. "With extra dramatics because Father is a theatre kid."

["Accurate"] — the universe agreed.

Be finally breathed — a long, shaky exhale of pure relief. "So you're not… forced. Or pressured."

"Not even a little," Shin said. "I set the rules. Father follows them. And if I ever told him no? He'd stop so fast reality would lag."

Be laughed weakly, tension draining from his shoulders. "…Okay. Okay, that actually… helps. A lot."

Shin clapped a hand on his back. "Be. You're my brother. If you're ever confused about anything in this family, you ask me. Not rumours. Not politics. Me."

Swansong beamed, proud and warm.

Be smiled for the first time that morning.

"…Thanks, Shin."

Shin leaned back, arms behind his head. "Anytime." He sat silent, waiting for the moment one of the others broke the ensuring silence, neither Swan nor Be had much patience for silence.

It was Be who broke first.

"Say, sister, you where awfully quiet for Shins explanation, why was that?" Swan looked kind of nervous at the question, her angelic wings shivering a little as she tried to put into words how to describe her silence. She settled as her crafted answer was complete, Shin thought it awfully cute.

"Shin tells fathers story best; besides, I've never heard the full story myself." She answered with a flutter of her feathers. Shin was slightly surprised at that, Swan was only 199 years of age, but still enough time to hear most of fathers story from any of the other siblings. Before Shin could show his surprise did his dao trigger.

["Found Family Vibes"] — peak

Outside, somewhere deep within the palace, a gong rang.

The summons for the tournament.

Be jolted.

Swan groaned.

Shin sighed.

"…And that," he muttered, getting to his feet, "is the end of breakfast peace."

 

[DreamingScholar]

The romance in this story is going to get very weird and very varied. Shin is asexual, but that doesn't mean he hates it or won't be receptive to it, he just doesn't seek it out for himself. I want to write a story where demons are actually demons and not humans with just horns. I want to get weird and kinky and a lot of dirty and deprived shit. But I dislike writing just pure smut, love story to much. This is why im doing both an SFW and a NSFW version of the story.

 

[DreamingScholar]

Chapter 3: The Tournament Arc Begins!

The Tower of Reflection's doors groaned shut behind them, sealing Be's exile chamber back into its quiet, rune-lit slumber.

Swansong stretched her wings once, shaking off the heaviness of recent revelations, and Be walked with new, uncertain steadiness beside her. Shin lingered a half-step behind, hands tucked into his coat pockets, stride loose as always.

The path from the Tower wound past the central courtyard where the koi fountain waited—restored by accident, nourished by narrative, and now quietly alive beneath the eternal twilight.

The moment Shin saw it, he slowed.

Then stopped.

"Go ahead," he murmured to Swansong and Be, waving them on. "I'll catch up. The fish demand my attention."

Swan gave him a knowing smile. Be rolled his eyes but didn't argue. They continued toward the main palace steps.

Shin crouched by the basin's edge.

The fountain's water shimmered like liquid glass, rippling faintly with the pulse of demonic ki. The koi beneath its surface glided in lazy arcs—ghostly silver shapes shifting through the clear depths. Their scales were translucent, almost ethereal, but each carried a subtle streak of solid colour woven through the grey: a single line of gold, red, or jade glimmering like threads of fate.

Shin watched them with a half-lidded, contemplative gaze.

"…Grey, transparent, but marked by something bright," he murmured. "You're either symbolic, prophetic, or the universe is laughing at me."

One of the koi broke formation.

It drifted upward like a shy spirit, pausing just below the surface. When Shin dipped a finger into the cool water, the ghost koi nibbled gently at the tip—soft, curious, harmless.

"Yeah," Shin sighed, "I know. This week's going to be annoying, isn't it?"

The koi blinked its pale silver eye.

Shin let his Ki flow—not a blast, not a surge, but a small thread of physical vitality, warm and steady. The water trembled faintly as the koi absorbed it, their spectral bodies brightening with soft internal colour. Hints of blue, gold, crimson, and green shimmered beneath their faint grey shells.

"There," he muttered. "Breakfast."

The koi circled him in slow gratitude.

Shin stood, brushing water from his fingers—just in time to hear someone clear their throat behind him.

Hem—hem.

Not a cough.

Not a grunt.

A very pointed, very aristocratic hem-hem.

Shin's shoulders sagged.

He turned.

And looked down.

Way down.

Superbia, First Daughter, Sin of Pride, oldest of the Demon Lord's brood, gazed up at him like a queen regarding her favourite disappointment. She stood straight-backed and elegant; her body draped in layered robes of deep violet and moon-gold. A thin silk veil covered her face, but through its fine weave he could see the glint of ageless, sharpened eyes.

Time had not dulled her—only refined her, like a blade forged twice.

"Superbia," Shin greeted, giving her a lazy two-finger salute. "You're early. I thought you preferred to arrive fashionably late."

She sniffed—an imperious little sound that somehow carried the weight of ages.

"When Father summons the family," she said, her voice smooth and resonant beneath the veil, "I arrive precisely when I intend to. Unlike some people who stop to pet ghost fish in the middle of a crisis."

Shin glanced back at the koi, who were now circling like tiny pastel omens.

"They're not ghost fish," he said. "They're koi with narrative issues."

Superbia's veil shifted—he couldn't see her expression, but he felt the sigh like a blade pressing to his patience.

"Regardless," she continued, "Father expects you. And when Father expects you, tardiness becomes… unfashionable."

Shin dusted imaginary dirt from his coat sleeve. "The fish needed Ki."

"The Realm needs stability."

"Ki is more immediate."

Superbia stepped closer, tilting her head up so the veil caught the faint starlight.

"You have changed, Shin."

"Not really. I've always been like this."

"Yes," she mused, a cold smile in her tone, "but now the Realm is changing with you."

Shin blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Superbia merely turned, robes whispering against the marble steps as she began walking toward the throne hall.

"Come, Sixty-Ninth," she commanded, not looking back. "The Sin of Pride will not repeat herself."

Shin sighed through his nose.

"Oh good," he muttered, following her with reluctant footsteps. "We're starting the day with symbolism and ominous foreshadowing."

He cast one last glance back at the koi.

They circled once, shining softly, then vanished beneath the water's silver glass.

Shin's Dao flickered at the corner of his vision:

["Prophetic Animal Encounter"] — fate stirs.

He ignored it.

And followed his oldest sister into the palace where destiny waited, tapping its foot.

The throne hall held its breath.

Arael—sitting tall, gilded mane spilling like molten light around him—let his last ripple of power fade into the shadows of the cosmic throne. For one suspended moment, the world was still.

Then he spoke.

His voice rolled through the room like velvet thunder, soft yet unignorable.

"My beloved children… the Heavens and the Hells have reached an agreement."

A murmur swept through the assembled demons and immortals. Even the celestial bureaucrats stiffened, quills frozen above their scrolls.

Arael lifted one elegant hand, silencing them.

"There has been… debate," he continued, "regarding the prophecy of the Hundredth Child."

Shin's eyebrow twitched.

The phrasing alone irritated him.

Arael went on. "A child born of my line, destined to pierce the Heavens."

Shin snorted before he could stop himself.

Several siblings glanced his way.

Arael's eyes flicked toward him in amusement for a heartbeat, then resumed their solemn glow.

"—and destined to destroy them."

Shin rolled his eyes so hard it was audible.

Oh yes, destroy the Heavens, what a shocking development. Maybe if you didn't treat the prophecy like a foregone apocalypse, the kid wouldn't grow up ready to throw hands. Self-fulfilling prophecies: a xianxia realm classic.

His Dao flickered:

["Narrative Criticism"] — mild snark delivered

["Heaven-Piercing Destiny"] — Gurren Lagann intensifies

Arael's hands rested on the throne arms—elegant, steady.

Except Shin noticed the tightening of his fingers.

Subtle. Controlled.

Fear disguised as decorum.

Arael inhaled, gaze sweeping the hall. "The Celestial Court demands the child be contained. Hell's High Council demands the child be weaponized. And I demand neither."

Shin blinked.

He wasn't surprised—but hearing Arael say it aloud burned something warm in his chest.

"So," Arael said, "to prevent war, we have agreed upon a solution."

He rose from the throne.

Space bent with him.

Shadow peeled away like silk. Stars bowed. The hall seemed to widen further, the constellations on the ceiling dimming in preparation.

"A tournament," Arael declared.

The room erupted—shouts, gasps, delighted laughter, sharpened power humming through the air as ninety-nine demons vibrated with sudden competitive glee.

Arael continued, louder:

"An unrestricted tournament. No limit on participants. Anyone in this room may enter. Mortals, demons, spirits, elders—any who stand in this chamber are eligible."

Shin groaned into his hand.

He knew where this was going.

He did not like where this was going.

Arael's voice softened, but the weight increased.

"The winner," he said, "will earn the privilege…"

He paused.

The shadows of the throne curled like anxious serpents.

"…of choosing the Hundredth Child's fate."

The hall exploded.

A shockwave of voices. Screams. Cheers. Arguments. Posturing. Aura flaring like fireworks. Siblings leapt onto furniture; some released battle cries; one of the Celestial Bureaucrats fainted.

Even the Jade Emperor straightened in alarm.

And Shin—leaning against his wall, arms crossed—felt his stomach drop.

Choose the child's fate?

Death was on the table.

Arael had said it himself.

An entire generation of demons roared with excitement around him, giddy with the intoxicating scent of destiny and power. Whoever won would shape Heaven, Hell, and every realm beyond for the rest of time.

Shin hated it.

Hated all of it.

Not because he doubted the Hundredth's power.

But because—

This was not fair to the child.

His jaw clenched.

They're treating a life like a political prize. A bargaining chip. A prophecy made of meat.

He inhaled slowly.

Not happening.

Around him, more siblings shouted plans. Bragged. Threatened. Laughed. Practically salivated at the idea of fate being placed in their hands.

Shin stayed silent.

Then he made a vow.

I'm going to win this.

No matter how ridiculous.

No matter how many tropes I must weaponize.

I will protect that kid.

Even if the whole world wants them dead.

A quiet, fierce resolve settled low in his chest.

He wasn't proud of many things.

But he would be proud of this.

Shin lifted his gaze.

Arael was still standing.

Still golden. Still beautiful. Still utterly ridiculous.

But Shin saw through the façade.

He always did.

Arael's eyes met his.

For a heartbeat, the world went silent again.

Arael's carefully crafted composure cracked—just enough for Shin to glimpse it:

Worry.

Fear.

Sadness.

Hope.

Shock, faint and fleeting.

Then something else—something softening in his gaze. Something raw. Something like—

Shin's breath stilled.

Had his father felt his vow?

Could Arael sense it? Smell it? Taste the resolve on his qi?

Or maybe—

Maybe Arael simply knew him that well.

Before Shin could decipher it, the Jade Emperor leaned in and tapped Arael's shoulder sharply. A signal to behave.

Arael straightened, regaining his regal poise, though his eyes lingered on Shin one second longer than necessary.

Just long enough for Shin to know:

He did feel it.

And he was relieved.

The hall roared back to life around them, hungry for destiny.

Shin didn't move from his wall.

He just exhaled—slow, controlled, resigned.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "guess I'm winning a tournament."

His Dao flickered.

["Protagonist Resolve Achieved"] — destiny route locked.

Arael lifted one hand.

Just one.

But the gesture carried the authority of a god who had torn down an era.

"Quiet," he said.

And the hall obeyed.

The roaring, shrieking, jostling chaos of ninety-nine demonic heirs, a battalion of celestial bureaucrats and demonic courtiers choked off mid-breath. A ripple of silence trembled across the space-expanded throne room. Even the drifting constellations above seemed to dim in anticipation.

Arael's golden mane shimmered as he settled back into his throne, shadows curling reverently around him.

"There is one more matter," he said, voice slow, deliberate, heavy. "Perhaps the most important."

Something cold crawled down Shin's spine.

Arael continued.

"In order to keep the prophecy neutral… in order to preserve the Hundredth Child from external influence until the tournament concludes…"

He paused, looking over the hall like a teacher gauging the readiness of dull, troublesome students.

"The Hundredth has been locked into a state of potential."

Shin moved.

Not much.

Just a shift of weight, a tightening of jaw, a faint stiffening of the shoulders.

But it was sharp enough that Swansong—three rows down—glanced back in worry.

Be stiffened at his side, nostrils flaring.

Several siblings flinched as his aura rippled, wild and unguarded.

Because Shin knew exactly what that meant.

A state of potential.

A soul suspended at the final moment before rebirth.

A life halted before its first breath.

A consciousness frozen at the gate of existence.

Shin's vision went white at the edges.

They locked the child down before they were even born. Forced them into a reincarnation freeze!

Who?

Which snivelling, idiotic, celestial, heaven-blind waste of cosmic bureaucracy dared—

His hands shook.

Mount Tai? No. No one here can even see Mount Tai. They're all crawling blind in front of a fucking mountain and calling it wisdom.

Shin was, dare he say it "spitting blood."

His rage surged like wildfire—hot, choking, sharp enough to slice reality. A spike of killing intent shivered through the room, so sudden that half the siblings stepped back with startled instincts.

Arael's eyes snapped toward him.

The Jade Emperor's gaze struck him like a spear.

She turned her head sharply, veil brushing her cheek, golden eyes narrowing with laser precision—calculating, observing, noticing.

Shin froze.

Then forced the wildfire back down.

Instantly.

Breath by breath.

Muscle by muscle.

Clamping a steel lid down on the inferno until it was nothing more than heat coiled deep in his ribs.

The Jade Emperor's gaze lingered a heartbeat longer.

Then she looked away.

Shin dropped his eyes.

He tightened his emotional hold, fingers curling into his sleeves.

Calm. Calm. Calm. Later you can rip the skin off the idiots responsible, but now? Calm.

A soft rustle brushed his collarbone.

Then something warm, smooth, and familiar slithered across his shoulders.

A body like living silk looped lightly around his neck, coiling with gentle, careful pressure.

A forked tongue flicked against his jaw.

Shin breathed out and let his muscles soften.

"Hey, Gula," he murmured quietly.

From behind him, a long, elegant chimera serpent—scales shimmering with faint iridescence—rested its triangular head against his shoulder. A second pair of eyes blinked lazily from the side of its face, and the creature's forked tail flicked with soothing cadence.

Gula.

Of the Seven sins, she was the youngest, the Seventh child.

The gentle one—when not devouring emotions.

She had felt his fury spike.

She had felt it from across the room.

And she'd slithered to him, weaving between demons twice her height, simply to calm him before he snapped the room in half.

Her weight settled across his shoulders like a grounding cloak.

Warm. Heavy. Comforting.

Shin's breathing steadied.

The last of his killing aura dissipated.

He lifted one hand and stroked the soft scales behind her jaw. "Thanks."

Gula hissed quietly in response—affectionate, placid, protective.

The room continued to hang on Arael's next words, unaware of the crisis that had just narrowly passed.

But Arael had noticed.

Jade had noticed.

Gula had intervened.

And Shin…

Shin kept petting the chimera-serpent, eyes lowered, fury banked but not gone.

Arael resumed speaking.

But Shin's thoughts were already locked on a single vow that now burned deeper than ever.

Whoever put that child in potential…

Whoever tried to trap their fate…

Whoever decided convenience mattered more than a life…

Shin would make sure they ate consequences for eternity.

But not yet.

For now—

He stroked Gula's scales again, steady and gentle.

And listened.

Arael waited until the last traces of Shin's killing intent evaporated—until the hall steadied into an uneasy silence, until even the Celestial Bureaucrats stopped sweating through their embroidered collars.

Only then did he continue.

"Now," Arael said, voice echoing like a tolling bell, "let us discuss the arena."

A murmur drifted across the crowd—anticipation, curiosity, competitive bloodlust. Demons loved fighting almost as much as they loved overreacting.

Arael spread his hands.

"The arena," he declared, "will be held… here."

Shin blinked.

Here?

As in—in the throne room?

"What?" muttered someone near the back.

"This room?" whispered another.

Arael nodded once, and the shadows behind him swelled like a living tide.

"This chamber has already been expanded to accommodate it. Its boundaries reach beyond the physical. Beyond the conceptual. Beyond the horizon."

He gestured to the vastness behind him—pillars twisting into star fields, staircases leading into nebulae, doors that opened onto entire landscapes.

"It stretches infinitely so you may all fight without constraint."

Shin looked around again.

Yeah.

This was no mere expansion.

This was a pocket dimension stitched into reality with divine pettiness and terrifying craftsmanship. The kind of place where you could violence someone for three weeks straight and still be two steps from where you started.

Arael's voice darkened with warning:

"There will be no ring-outs. No borders. No time limit."

A thrill ran through the room.

Some demons vibrated so violently Shin feared they'd combust.

Arael continued:

"Death itself will be prevented."

A celestial scribe fainted again.

"If you are slain," Arael said calmly, "you will lose instantly and be teleported directly to the infirmary. Intact. Untouched. Undamaged."

He tilted his head, lips curving faintly.

"But the pain will remain."

The room collectively shivered with excitement.

"Mercy is optional," Arael added cheerfully. "But surrender is always allowed."

Several demons booed.

Shin massaged the bridge of his nose.

You're encouraging murder as a warm-up exercise. Great. Wonderful. Excellent parenting as always, Father.

Arael continued, pacing slowly before his throne, radiant and theatrical:

"If you choose to participate, do not hold back. Use every inch of power you possess. Every technique. Every skill. Every cunning strategy."

The shadows swirled behind him, shimmering like cosmic ink.

"For this tournament offers more than merely deciding the fate of the Hundredth."

He smiled—wide, dangerous, delighted.

"There will be rewards. Artefacts. Techniques. Titles. Sect privileges."

The hall erupted in delighted screams—not frightened, but eager, ravenous.

"And," Arael added casually, "investors may sponsor fighters for grander prizes should they enjoy your… performance."

Shin exhaled sharply.

Oh good. A celestial reality show. What could possibly go wrong.

Arael raised both arms.

"Everyone understand?"

"Yes, Lord Arael!" thundered nearly a hundred voices.

Shin did not join.

Arael clapped his hands once.

"Then the sign-up for the tournament is now open!"

A glowing golden obelisk materialised at the front of the hall, scripts swirling across its surface with empty name slots waiting to be filled.

"You have one hour to inscribe your name," Arael said. "One hour to decide your path. One hour to choose your destiny."

His voice rang like a divine decree.

"All who do not participate, please proceed to the viewing tiers. Doors will direct you. Snacks will be provided."

The entire realm lurched into motion.

Demons surged forward. Celestials retreated. Scribes almost trampled each other to set up betting ratios. Siblings elbowed, jabbed, threatened, bragged. Flames ignited. Wings expanded. Someone was already monologuing in a corner about the supremacy of their footwork technique.

Shin stayed where he was.

Gula still draped across his shoulders like a living scarf.

Breathing slow.

Rage banked.

Resolve coiled.

He watched as siblings raced to the obelisk with manic zeal.

He watched the Jade Emperor observing him from the corner of her eye—studying, evaluating.

He noticed Arael watching him outright—gaze soft, pleading, hopeful, terrified beneath the golden-lion mask.

One hour.

One obelisk.

One vow burning in his chest like a second heart.

Shin brushed his hand along Gula's scales.

"Alright," he whispered.

"Let's go sign up."

Shin stepped forward.

One stride toward the golden obelisk.

Two strides.

Three—

Then he stopped.

He turned.

And without a word, he walked straight out of the throne room.

The hall erupted further behind him, but Shin barely heard it. The infinite chamber's doors slid shut with a soft hum, muffling the chaos inside.

Just before the doors closed completely, he caught a glimpse:

Arael's face collapsing into quiet disappointment—

Jade lifting a fan to hide her expression, though her shoulders betrayed restrained laughter—

Superbia sighing like she'd aged another three hundred years—

And Shin smirked.

Not from hesitation.

Not from fear.

Not because he'd changed his mind.

But because he understood narrative.

Because a last-minute entry wasn't just dramatic—

It was powerful.

It flavoured the tropes in his favour, tipped destiny slightly, gave him that sweet, sweet edge that only a protagonist's timing could harness.

Gula tightened around his shoulders, scales cool but emotions warm and swirling, projecting a confused rumble of sensation:

Concern. Query. Question-mark-shaped-like-emotion. Why leave? What are you doing? Why aren't you signing up?

Shin nudged back gently, shaping his aura around her coils.

Setup first. Leverage. A twist in the script. I need one more piece before entering.

Gula's emotional buzz sharpened—confusion, curiosity, a faint flicker of worry.

Shin exhaled.

He hated what he had to do next, Shin knew without a doubt that he couldn't win against any of the Sins, the oldest of his siblings.

At least, not without a trump card.

Shin turned to the chimera on his shoulder.

Then asked in a quiet pulse of intent:

Gula… would you make a contract with me?

Gula froze.

Her coils stilled.

Her long body went rigid around his shoulders.

Her head lifted, turning toward him with slow disbelief.

Then—

Confusion. Shock.

Hesitation.

Self-loathing.

A flash of bitter, ancient insecurity that tasted like cold ash:

Me? Why me? I am chimera. Ugly. Wrong. Not a partner. 9,200 years old and still untouched. No one wants a creature like me.

Shin snorted so loudly he nearly startled her off his shoulders.

"Gula," he said aloud, amused, "I'm three thousand years old and I got over taboo two millennia ago."

He stroked the scales behind her head.

"You're beautiful. In all your forms. Deadlier than most, older than most, wiser than most. I'd be an idiot not to want you."

Gula's emotions hit him like a tidal wave.

Startled joy.

Embarrassed delight.

Disbelieving warmth.

A shy, trembling hope she hadn't felt in thousands of years.

Her serpentine body practically vibrated.

Then she surged up his shoulders, sliding over his cheek, curling around his head like a crown of wriggling excitement and peppering him with rapid-fire little snake kisses.

Yesyesyesyessss.

Shin laughed breathlessly, gently pushing her back down so he could see.

"Alright, settle down," he said. "First, we need a safe space."

He headed down the corridors at a brisk pace, Gula humming in emotional ecstasy around his neck.

Within minutes, he found a side-apothecary—mostly empty, its beds neatly folded, shelves full of potions glowing in assorted colours. Shin snatched a rejuvenation elixir off the counter, popped the cap, and downed it in one go.

He hissed at the burn as it hit his stomach.

"Okay," he muttered. "This'll help me not die."

He sat on the nearest infirmary bed and bared his left arm, rolling up the sleeve to reveal his forearm.

The veins glowed faintly with Ki, pulsing like molten red-gold beneath the skin.

He looked at Gula.

Softly, with steady intent:

"I accept the contract. Do you?"

Gula lowered her head.

Her emotions steadied into a single, reverent pulse:

Yes.

The air thickened.

Gula coiled back, body winding like a spring, fangs glinting faintly with iridescent venom. The runes along her horns flickered to life—ancient, serpentine, powerful.

She struck.

Fangs sank deep into Shin's arm.

A shockwave tore down his nerves like wildfire.

Venom—venom nearly older than the demon realm—poured into his blood. It was not poison, not deadly, but potent beyond reason; a metaphysical hammer that rewrote his Ki roots, latching onto his soul, branding him with the bond of companionship.

Shin gasped—soundless, strangled—

—and then everything went white.

His consciousness snapped.

Like a puppet with severed strings, Shin collapsed backward onto the infirmary bed, eyes rolling up, body limp.

Gula's coils softened around him, lowering her head to his chest, her emotions a soft, protective hum:

Mine. Partner. Bonded. Forever.

Shin didn't hear.

He was already unconscious.

The contract was complete.

The rejuvenation potion did its work—mostly.

Shin's body knit itself together with sluggish, aching pulses of Ki. The contract venom still burned like wildfire under his skin, leaving him feverish and lightheaded, but alive.

Barely.

He groaned, blinking as the ceiling of the apothecary swam into focus.

A cool snout nudged his cheek.

Gula's emotions washed over him in a soft, insistent wave:

WakewakewakeyShinNOWhurrytimerunninglow

Shin sat up too quickly.

Pain lanced through his head; the room tilted; his vision doubled.

"Ugh… gods," he muttered. "Your venom hasn't gone easy on me since the Jade Forest incident."

Gula flicked her tongue in guilty embarrassment, but her emotions pulsed insistently:

Time-short-forty minutes-twenty-ten-

then a mental slap that felt like a chimera equivalent of HURRY UP, FOOL.

Shin stumbled off the bed, steadying himself on Gula's coils.

"Alright, alright."

He rolled his sleeve down, wincing. "Let's go win a destiny."

They left the apothecary together, moving through twisting palace halls at a brisk pace. Gula slithered in loose coils around his neck and shoulder, their minds linked just enough now to exchange rapid impressions.

Battle plans.

Positioning.

Support strategies.

Bonds.

Predator instincts.

Narrative leverage.

Shin smirked at her excitement.

"You're already talking like a general," he teased.

Gula pulsed a bashful-flattered-happy ripple across his mind.

Your bond-makes thinking-clearer. Focus-better. Plans-easier.

He squeezed her gently. "Good. I'll need your help."

They rounded the final corridor, arriving before the massive double doors of the throne room.

Only a couple of minutes remained.

The hourglass floating overhead bled its final grains of shimmering sand.

Shin exhaled once, steadying his shaking limbs. He turned to Gula.

"You coming in with me? Do you want to fight together right away?"

Gula froze.

Emotion twisted-conflicted-warm-trembling.

Then:

No.

Shin blinked. "…No?"

Gula lifted her head, scales shifting iridescently. Her eyes shone with centuries worth of hope and terror.

I go to Father, she said in emotion-sense. Tell him… finally found partner. Tell him… I am not alone anymore.

Shin's breath caught.

He stepped closer, cupping the underside of her jaw where her scales were softest.

"Then good luck," he murmured.

He pressed a kiss to her jaw—light, careful, but full of promise.

Her whole body shivered with delighted shock.

"And," Shin added dryly, "I hope Father doesn't kill you."

Gula made an emotional sound that equated roughly to:

HA! If he tries, I'll bite him. Hard.

Her scales shimmered, shifting like a living rainbow across her long serpentine body as she slithered away down the hall—body growing legs, into a full Chimera-like form now, majestic and vivid. She paused once at the corner, looking back with a flood of affection—

Then vanished around the bend.

Shin inhaled.

Squared his shoulders.

Let his fury and resolve rise like a tide of molten iron.

And he slammed both hands into the throne room doors.

They exploded inward with a thunderclap.

Gasps rippled through the gathered demons and celestials.

Shin stepped into the hall—skin pale from venom, hair dishevelled, clothes slightly torn, eyes glinting under shadowed bangs like a predator pulled straight from a myth.

Every gaze snapped to him.

Arael's in particular.

His father's golden eyes widened—shock, then worry, then a flicker of fury that someone had dared hurt his son—

Beside him, the Jade Emperor froze mid-fan, staring hard enough to pierce stone—then, slowly started to fan herself once again, with a little interest.

Shin ignored them both.

Ignored the whispers.

Ignored the chaos.

He walked unsteadily but unyieldingly to the golden obelisk just as the final grains of sand slipped toward the bottom of the hourglass.

He placed his palm to the surface.

His name burned onto the stone:

{SHIN – 69}

The last grain of sand dropped.

Gasps echoed.

Several siblings swore.

One celestial scribe fainted for the third time today.

Shin stepped back.

Rigid, feverish, but standing.

He scanned the other names, noting something quietly:

Not many of the siblings above #70 had joined.

Good.

They were the youngest.

The least experienced.

And Shin didn't want to traumatize them.

He turned and walked toward the gathered competitors.

The whispers began instantly.

"Did you see—?"

"He broke the doors—"

"Why does he look half-dead?"

"What happened to his aura—?"

"Is he glowing or is he sick—?"

"Did he leave with Gula? Where is she?"

"Bet it was dramatic—"

Shin pushed into the line of competitors, dishevelled hair shadowing his eyes.

Under that shadow—

He grinned.

His Dao stirred like a war drum.

His blood simmered.

Heat coiled beneath his skin like a rising sun.

This was it.

The beginning of the tournament.

The stage he would dominate.

The fate he would carve.

The child he would protect.

No matter what.

The tournament's obelisk began to glow.

Arael raised one hand.

The hall fell silent.

The expanded arena—cosmic, boundless, shimmering with the energy of countless Daos—waited like a hungry beast.

"Round One," Arael intoned. "Participants will be selected at random."

A sphere of golden light spun above the throne, orbiting like a miniature sun. Names flickered inside—dozens, then hundreds, then all ninety-nine siblings plus the outsiders and affiliated demons who had signed up.

Shin didn't bother looking.

He already knew.

The ball slowed.

Slowed.

Stopped.

A single name glowed across the celestial display:

{SHIN 69}

Shin exhaled through his nose.

Of course. First up. Standard protagonist bullshit.

His siblings whispered excitedly.

"Shin's fighting?"

"Finally!"

"I've literally never seen him go all out—"

"Does he even have a proper Dao?"

"What does 'trope' even mean?"

Shin ignored them.

Arael smiled faintly.

The Jade Emperor watched with interest, fan half-lowered.

The sphere spun again—faster this time—names flashing like lightning.

Shin crossed his arms.

He counted down in his head.

Three… two… one…

The sphere clanged to a halt.

A name blazed across the arena sky.

{ACCEL 92}

Shin swore.

Out loud.

"Seriously? Out of everyone, I get the fucking speed gremlin?"

The crowd erupted into laughter. Half of them agreed. The other half began exchanging bets with manic glee.

Because Accel—Ninety-Two—was already vibrating with excitement.

She shot forward from the competitors' line like a fired arrow, nearly skidding into Shin before bouncing backward at the last second.

Her hair—white as lightning—stood up in spiky static. Her grin stretched from ear to ear. Her hands clenched and unclenched with the nervous energy of a child who had drunk fourteen shots of espresso.

Accel's Dao was Speed.

Pure speed.

Untethered velocity.

Physical mastery of movement to the point she could break sound barriers with a sneeze.

But…

There were weaknesses.

Her energy consumption is ridiculous, Shin thought.

Her endurance is paper thin.

And she's young. Too young to fully control her momentum.

A straight fight would be suicide.

So, Shin sighed.

"I'm gonna have to pull an Emiya."

His Dao flickered a subtitle at the edge of his vision:

["Pull an Emiya"] — Requires smugness. Excessive smugness.

Shin grinned.

Perfect.

The arena shimmered.

Platforms dissolved into stardust as the duel space formed—a vast, flat plain of mirror-dark stone stretching into infinity.

Accel and Shin walked toward the centre.

She bounced.

He strolled.

The audience roared.

Shin could practically feel their excitement. Because truly—nobody knew what he was capable of. Not really. His Dao wasn't elemental, or physical, or mystical. It was narrative.

And narrative was terrifying when abused correctly.

They reached the centre circle.

Shin turned away and walked ten paces.

Accel mirrored him, jittery as a wind-up toy ready to snap.

They paused at opposite ends.

The crowd hushed.

Shin rolled his shoulders, smoothing back his dishevelled hair with one slow, deliberate gesture—projecting dominance, confidence, absolute smug bastard energy.

His Dao responded instantly.

["Preening and Control"] — You just pulled an Aizen on your younger sister. You dick- head.

Shin smirked.

Accel's nervous bouncing became frantic.

Perfect.

Let her burn energy.

Let her exhaust her Ki just trying to stay still.

The gong's mallet rose.

Shin planted his feet into a wide, open stance.

Hips forward.

Chest exposed.

Guard deliberately lowered.

A stance so full of holes any sensible fighter would faint.

But Accel wasn't sensible.

And Shin was baiting her with weaponized obviousness.

The crowd noise spooled into near-silence.

The gong fell—

GONGGGG—

Accel…

Hesitated.

Mid-bounce.

Her foot hovered an inch off the ground.

Her pupils dilated.

She didn't move.

Because Shin—pale, feverish, still bruised from venom, hair wild, stance loose—radiated a confidence so absolute it felt like a trap carved into reality.

Shin tilted his head slightly.

"Come on," he said, voice soft, sharp. "I'm wide open. First strike's free."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the arena.

Accel swallowed.

Her whole body trembled.

Not from fear—

But because even she—a speed demon—felt the hook waiting for her in every inch of Shin's posture.

Shin's smirk deepened.

This was going to be fun.

The silence after Shin's invitation was a living thing—

thick, thrumming, taut as a string pulled to breaking.

Accel trembled on the edge of motion.

Not fear.

Not doubt.

Velocity.

Her body was a bowstring; Shin had offered the bullseye.

And Accel—sweet, manic, literal speed-demon Accel—couldn't resist a perfect opening.

Shin felt it the moment she committed—

the slight shift of weight,

the flicker of Ki,

the quiver of her Dao screaming NOW.

His own Dao pulsed.

["One Free Hit"] — Allow the enemy a full, unguarded strike. Gain narrative advantage.

Shin smiled.

Accel vanished.

KRAK—

A sonic boom ripped the arena open as she launched herself—

not fast,

not quick—

but detonated off the ground like a living missile.

She didn't aim for his face or heart.

No.

She went for his core—the front of his stomach—because even gremlins knew you ended a fight fast or risked losing the momentum forever.

Her fist glowed white-hot.

She dumped half her reserves into it.

Fifty percent of all the Ki she owned exploded into her arm.

She hit him.

And the world went white.

BOOOOOOM—

Wind screamed outward.

Shin's coat disintegrated into fluttering red rags.

The stone arena cratered beneath their feet.

The crowd roared—

then fell silent—

as the dust settled.

And what they saw—

Was not blood.

Not bruising.

But jade.

Perfect, glossy, obsidian-black jade flesh from collar to waist—

shimmering like carved stone under moonlight.

Shin didn't budge.

He didn't even sway.

The kinetic force had been swallowed whole.

Accel stumbled back, panting, eyes wide, arm shaking from recoil.

"…what…?" she whispered.

Shin looked down at his ripped coat, sighed, and brushed the dust off his perfectly intact chest.

The jade began to retract—

shrinking, draining away,

sliding beneath his skin like ink returning to a pen.

Black faded to pale white.

Shin rolled his shoulders.

Then—

He grinned.

"Oh, that?" he said casually. "Nanomachines, sis."

A beat.

He spread his arms, baring his completely uninjured torso to the shrieking crowd.

"They harden in response to physical trauma."

The crowd went feral.

A wave of screeches, cheers, bets, and someone in the back yelling, "TAKE IT ALL OFF!" erupted like a riot.

Shin wasn't done.

"You can't hurt me, Accel."

He tilted his head, voice dropping into the exact cadence of a smirking villain who absolutely read ahead in the script.

"Not with that level of output."

Accel's pupils shrank.

"Y—you—!"

"Hold that thought."

Shin punted her.

One clean, dismissive kick—

the kind that said you are not a threat, merely an inconvenience.

His leg blurred into jade-black from hip to toe—

the pants shredding up the seam—

and the black jade, the moment the strike ended, started to slowly recede.

Accel went airborne.

She flipped backwards—

once, twice, eight times—

hit the ground, skidded in a trail of sparks,

and slammed into a distant pillar.

The watching siblings collectively lost their minds.

"HE KICKED HER LIKE A SOCCER BALL—"

"WHY IS HIS SKIN DOING THAT—"

"IS THAT HIS REAL POWER?!"

"I DIDN'T EVEN SEE HIM MOVE—"

"THE SIXTY-NINTH IS TERRIFYING—"

Accel staggered to her feet.

She stared at Shin's leg—

the one that sent her flying.

Black jade finally fading back to unblemished skin.

Smooth.

Perfect.

Untouched.

Her jaw dropped.

"You— You mocking bastard."

Shin placed a hand on his hip, leaned forward slightly, and spoke in a voice dripping with provocative, infuriating condescension, reminiscent of a blonde english vampire:

"What's wrong, speedster?

You're jittering like a toddler off her sugar high."

The audience howled.

Shin flicked his hair back.

"You spent half your reserves on that 'big punch'?

Cute. Really.

Adorable, even."

He tapped his stomach where she'd hit him.

"This spot isn't even warm."

The arena exploded with laughter and screams.

Someone fainted.

Someone else wrote a poem.

Superbia covered her face with her veil.

Arael bit his knuckle to stop from giggling.

The Jade Emperor sighed into her fan.

Accel's aura rippled like a storm.

"You— I'M GOING TO—!"

Shin wagged a finger.

"Nope.

Don't think—just run, little gremlin."

His Dao hummed like a drum.

["Taunt the Speedster Until She Becomes Predictable"] — Optimal Strategy Confirmed.

Shin smirked wider.

"Let's see if you've got enough speed left to make this fun."

Accel's pupils shrank to slits.

Her aura crackled.

Shin saw it happen—the telltale shiver of a demon losing the thin thread of rationality, slipping straight into the instinctual depth of their true form.

All demons had one.

The shape beneath the shape.

The core they were born from.

Fathers were endless.

Shin had… something he preferred not to unleash casually.

His jade skin could attest to that.

A flash of pain lanced his abdomen—

right where Accel's railgun punch had hit him.

He rubbed the spot.

Yeah. Still hurts. Jade or not, I am definitely feeling that tomorrow.

A ring of lightning erupted around Accel.

Her outline blurred—

bones warping, fur rippling through skin, tails splitting—

until a towering nekomata hybrid stood on digitigrade legs.

Tall.

Lightning-striped.

Twin tails lashing like hooked whips.

Eyes glowing bright blue.

Her lips peeled back from sharp teeth.

A rumbling snarl filled the arena.

Shin exhaled.

"True form, huh? Alright then."

He slid into a stance—

low, open, deliberately vulnerable.

His Dao chimed like a lazy commentator.

["Cornered Beast Predictability"] — Behavior Set Loaded.

["Pulling an Emyia"] — Trace on, don't die.

Accel prowled.

Each step made the arena spark.

The hair along her spine bristled in fury.

Her claws left glowing trails in the black stone.

She was pure instinct.

Pure hunger.

Pure speed.

And then—

She vanished.

A streak of light flickered around Shin.

Air pressure buckled.

Claws scraped his skin—

too shallow to wound,

too manic to land meaningfully.

Shin left another blatant hole in his guard.

She took it.

Missed the follow-through.

Again.

And again.

And again.

A minute passed in a blur of impossible velocity, dust clouds, blurred limbs, sonic cracks, and Accel's mounting frustration.

The crowd went wild.

"WHY CAN'T SHE TOUCH HIM—?!"

"HE'S NOT EVEN MOVING!"

"What is Shin doing?!"

"THAT'S NOT A MARTIAL ART, THAT'S BULLSHIT—!"

Shin smirked.

"Here kitty kitty—"

Lightning detonated around him.

Accel screeched in animal fury at the insult.

Her tails bristled, standing straight like twin lightning rods.

Her final shred of caution snapped.

Her defence collapsed entirely.

Shin felt the tropes align like tumblers in a lock.

["Lowered Defense"] — Hesitation is defeat.

["Predictable Beast Charge"] — Really now, Accel?

["Leading the Fight's Rhythm"] — Shin, you bastard.

["Crowd Favorite Buff"] — Fanservice for the win!

["Final Attack Moment"] — Here's the climax, no not that one you perverts.

All equated to.

["Guaranteed Counter"] — ROYAL GUARD!

Accel lunged—

both claws forward,

lightning wreathing her limbs,

a hurricane of fangs and wrath.

Shin's grin widened.

"Got you."

He pivoted on one heel—

dipped his shoulder—

caught her momentum—

and flipped the massive nekomata clean over his hip.

KRAAASH—

She slammed onto her back hard enough to crack the battlefield and break her spine.

Before she could recover—

before even instinct could fire—

Shin tapped her throat with one finger.

A killing strike.

A gentle one.

But still a killing strike.

And the arena's failsafe triggered instantly.

FLASH—

Accel vanished in a burst of soft, golden light and reappeared somewhere safe.

Teleportation to the infirmary.

Match over.

The silence before the roar lasted half a breath.

Then the crowd detonated.

"SHIN WINS!"

"THAT WASN'T A FIGHT, THAT WAS A LESSON—"

"THE 69TH IS A MENACE—"

"I WANT HIM TO STEP ON ME—"

"WE'RE NOT RELATED, SO I'M ALLOWED TO SAY THAT—"

Shin waved lazily at them—

hair wild, coat shredded, stance relaxed—

before teleportation magic whisked him away.

Shins sight cleared of the teleportation magic and saw the results of his actions.

Accel lay sprawled across a healing bed, twitching.

"Ugggghhhhhh—I hate you—" she groaned, clutching her throat despite it being fully restored.

Her tails flicked weakly.

Shin walked over.

Still shirtless.

Still dust-covered.

Still annoyingly smug.

He rested a warm hand atop her head.

The nekomata froze.

"…strong bastard," she muttered. "Teach me that shit. All of it. I want to bully people like that too."

Shin chuckled quietly.

"We'll do lessons later."

Accel surged with pride—only to wince as her ribs and spine complained.

"Ow—fuck—you see what you did to me??"

"What, blow your back out?" Shin asked, wiggling his eyebrows like the absolute shit-head he was. "I'm quite good at that, aren't I?"

Accel hissed in pained laughter. Before quieting down, trying to relax.

Shin sat down on the bed behind her.

"Come here."

Accel blinked.

"Lap pillow?"

Shin shrugged. "Unless you prefer lying on your face in pain."

She growled once—

a low, embarrassed sound—

then crawled backward into his lap and dropped her head onto his thigh with a heavy plop.

Shin's fingers slid into her white lightning-charged hair, gently combing, detangling, soothing.

Static danced between her ears and his fingertips.

Accel's tails curled instinctively, brushing lightly against his hip.

A soft, involuntary purr rumbled out of the lightning cat.

Shin answered with one of his own—

deep, steady, comforting.

Her tense muscles melted.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her breaths slowed.

The room filled with quiet, harmonic purring.

A lullaby of siblings and survival.

Shin continued grooming her hair—each stroke patient, affectionate.

Her lightning faded to a soft glow.

By the time she drifted asleep, there was a faint, pleased smile on her muzzle.

Shin leaned back, still stroking her hair, his own purr gentle and steady.

He closed his eyes.

For a rare moment, everything was quiet.

Two demons, bruised and content, curled together in a peaceful corner of hell.

The perfect end to a perfect first round.

 

[Ano.ex]

Good soup!