I don't know how to say this, but I'm going to my death today.
Strange thing to admit, isn't it? Most people cling to life until their last breath, but for me, that truth feels… peaceful. Almost expected. Maybe because I've known for years that this day would come.
My father—the Demon King—has finally run out of reasons to keep me alive.
He knew I was useless. I never excelled in magic, my swordsmanship was laughable, and my aura barely flickered compared to the rest of my kin. The only reason I wasn't executed years ago was because of my brother and my grandfather. They loved me—or maybe they pitied me. Either way, they stood between me and the King's wrath, their power forcing him to tolerate my existence.
But today, neither of them are here.
My brother True is on a rampage, locked in a battle with one of the summoned heroes. The clash between them has shaken the skies themselves; I can feel the shockwaves from the palace walls. My grandfather, the great Demon Sage, is in Heaven—ironic, I know—serving as a negotiator to stop the human kingdom from launching a pincer attack against our borders.
So here I am. Alone.
And the dark feeling that's haunted me all morning—cold, heavy, familiar—finally shows its face the moment I stand before the throne.
My father's throne room is a cathedral of black marble and red fire. The air trembles with pressure, and every heartbeat echoes like a drum. His gaze meets mine—two crimson eyes that have seen centuries of blood and betrayal—and I know what he's about to say before his lips even move.
"Keiko Kuriguri," he says, his voice deep enough to shake the stones beneath my feet. "You are to go to the northern front. There, you will face the army of ten thousand."
Just like that. No hesitation. No emotion.
An execution disguised as an order.
The torches around the hall dim as his killing intent fills the room. My breath catches, my body trembling not from fear, but from the overwhelming suffocation of his aura. The world darkens—the beautiful crimson halls twist into shadows—and the last warmth in my veins freezes over.
Ten thousand soldiers. Alone.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring up at him. The Demon King. My father. The man whose blood runs in my veins yet feels like poison in my body.
"So that's it," I whisper. "You've finally decided to get rid of me."
He doesn't reply. He doesn't need to.
Something inside me snaps—not in anger, not even in sadness—but in quiet understanding.
Fine. If this is how it ends, then I'll end it on my own terms.
I lift my head, meet his gaze one last time, and force the words out, steady and sharp.
"Fine then, Father. You'll get your wish."
And with that, I leave the throne room behind.
The wind outside is cold, slicing through my cloak as I rise into the sky. My telekinesis carries me high above the demon lands, over black mountains and rivers of molten flame, until the battlefield stretches before me like a painting of death.
Tens of thousands of human soldiers. Flags of every color. Magicians chanting spells, knights raising shields, archers preparing their bows.
And then, all of them stop and look up.
They see me—a lone silhouette floating against the blood-red sun.
I descend slowly, letting them watch. Letting them believe whatever they want to believe. Monster. Prince. Target. It doesn't matter.
The moment my feet touch the scorched earth, the sky explodes with magic.
Fire. Wind. Earth. Lightning. Thousands of spells rain down at once, a storm of pure destruction. I raise my hand, the ground beneath me cracking, and push.
Telekinesis.
The air bends, invisible force twisting and redirecting their attacks. Some I throw back at them; others I crush midair until they collapse into dust.
Screams fill the battlefield, but I don't hear them anymore. I can't. My mind drifts somewhere distant, quiet, detached.
I'm not fighting for glory. Not for my kingdom. Not even to survive.
I'm just tired.
Tired of being hated. Tired of being compared. Tired of existing in a world where power decides your worth.
My other skills hum to life—Magic Absorption and Magic Creation. I draw in their spells, reshape them, and send them back tenfold. Energy burns through me, and I can feel my body trembling under the strain, but I don't stop. I won't.
Minutes turn to hours—or maybe it's only seconds. Time doesn't exist on a battlefield like this. It's all motion, chaos, blood, and silence.
For a while, it feels like I'm winning.
Until the humans suddenly stop.
The front line halts. Archers lower their bows. Mages stop chanting. For the first time, I sense it—the shift in the air. Something vast and ancient crawling at the edges of reality.
Then the shadows move.
They rise from beneath my feet, swallowing light itself. The world fades, the battlefield dissolves, and I find myself trapped inside a void.
A dark box. No sound. No sky. Only the whisper of something breathing behind me.
And then—
A voice.
Soft at first. Then sharper. Clearer.
"DIE."
The word strikes like a blade through my chest.
From the darkness, a shape emerges—something that isn't human, isn't demon, isn't anything I've ever seen. Shadows twist into steel, folding over themselves until a dagger forms midair.
It lunges.
Pain flashes white, and my body is thrown backward. I hit the ground—if it even is ground—and the world tilts sideways. The darkness peels away, and suddenly I'm back on the battlefield.
But something's wrong.
Everything feels distant. My body… it's far away.
The humans are cheering. The sky is spinning. My vision tilts lower—lower—until I see what they're cheering at.
My body stands in the distance, still upright, still bleeding.And my head… isn't there.
The last thing I see before the darkness swallows me completely is my own lifeless body collapsing into the mud, painted red beneath the sun.
Then, silence.
Just like that, the story of Keiko Kuriguri—the forgotten son of the Demon King—ends.
Or so the world believed.