Demon Maze, the palace of Azazel.
The Seventh Demon Lord sat on his throne, lost in thought.
Lesser and greater demons carefully massaged his shoulders and back, and a Demon Lord, wanting to curry favor, presented him with his favorite sweet melons stolen from the elves.
But now, the once crisp and sweet melon tasted like wax in his mouth.
Thinking of Samael's words before being thrown into the palace to endure the elves' torment, his mood grew increasingly irritable.
The entire palace was filled with a low-pressure atmosphere, silencing every demon, instilling a fear to speak.
Yet this atmosphere only made Azazel more irritable.
Especially since Samael spoke those words, the looks the other demons gave him, despite their best efforts to conceal it, had ultimately changed...
Confusion, flickering, excitement, complexity, delight, schadenfreude...
Those looks made Azazel wish he could gouge their eyes out!
He hadn't fallen yet!
