Normally, forced evolution would kill someone his age.
It was a brutal process, one that demons only survived after maturing into their third or forth rank, when their bodies were stable enough to endure the chaotic surge of ether coursing through their veins. The weak would be torn apart, their essence unraveling like frayed thread under the weight of such power. But Belial… didn't die.
He had survived it. Changed. Adapted. Evolved.
Now, as he soared upward on his newly strengthened wings, slicing through the thin, cold air above the jagged peaks, Belial let himself smile.
The wind roared in his ears, tugging at his dark, tattered cloak, but it couldn't drown out the thrill humming in his chest. He twisted midair, banking around the mountain's edge, his sharp eyes catching glimpses of his reflection in the glassy obsidian slopes below. One clawed hand traced the air as he flipped over onto his back, weightless for a moment, suspended in the star-strewn sky.
A laugh slipped out of him—a short, breathy thing, not of triumph, but of pure, reckless amusement.
If he stood next to Xin now… maybe he wouldn't look like a lowly servant.
Normally, next to Xin's golden aura and flawless, sculpted features, Belial felt like a stray mutt dragged in off the street.
Not ugly, per se—he knew he was decent-looking, enough to turn a few heads in a crowd with the sharp-smooth jawline and intense, sharp-purple eyes.
But next to Xin?
Xin was a god draped in mortal form, radiant and untouchable, his presence commanding reverence without effort. And Belial? He'd always felt like the hired muscle trailing behind him, or worse—a pet.
He caught himself thinking of Xin again and scowled, shoving the thought aside like a bothersome insect. Xin wasn't here. Xin wasn't relevant. Not now. Not in this moment.
Belial's demonic form was something else entirely now. He could feel the difference in every fiber of his being. His eyes had turned a sharp yellow-gold, glowing faintly in the moonlight, like twin embers in the dark. His body was more defined, the muscle lines jagged and pronounced under the scaled texture of his skin, which shimmered faintly with an obsidian sheen. Black ridges, sharp and bony, crowned his forearms and shoulders, giving him an almost regal silhouette. Purple veins of ether pulsed faintly, trailing up his chest and coiling around his eyes, their glow subtle but constant.
He found that part annoying—the veins near his eyes. They were distracting, like a faint light flickering at the edge of his vision. Still, it made him grin, baring sharp teeth.
If I went back home like this, they'd have to show me respect.
No more "late-bloomer" taunts. No more whispers about his rank, his potential, or the inevitable comparisons to his father's lineage.
And as much as he hated to admit it, no more murmurs about his mother's bloodline tainting his strength. He'd always wanted to look more like his father—tall, commanding, respectful, with an aura that silenced rooms.
Satisfied for the moment, Belial folded his wings and perched on a jagged outcrop, the stone cold against his clawed feet. He let his gaze wander over the vast, shadowed landscape below—craggy peaks, endless ravines, and the faint glow of ether-infused flora dotting the valleys.
His stomach growled, a low rumble that broke the silence. Boredom crept in, nibbling at the edges of his mind. He'd been out here for hours, maybe days. Time blurred in the wilds.
"Monster hunting it is," he muttered to himself, pushing off the outcrop and diving into the night.
He tracked one of the larger beasts—a hulking, scale-plated creature he'd struggled to even budge a month ago. Back then, it had felt like trying to move a mountain. But now, in this evolved form, it was different. He cornered the beast in a narrow ravine, its glowing red eyes narrowing as it snarled, massive claws raking the air. Belial dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. When he seized it, pinning its thrashing form to the ground, it felt lighter in his grip. Not light, but manageable. Like carrying a heavy training dummy instead of a collapsing wall.
The fight was over quickly. Too quickly. He stood over the beast's still form, chest heaving, claws dripping with dark ichor. A flicker of disappointment crossed his mind—he'd expected more of a challenge. But the thrill of his newfound strength drowned it out. He flexed his wings, stretching them wide, and took to the air again.
As he flew, his thoughts drifted to the Forge—the one the Lonely Prince had mentioned in the cryptic notebook he'd found some time ago, buried in the ruins of his work space.
He flew higher, eyes scanning the jagged peaks for anything unusual. The moonlight cast long, eerie shadows, and the air grew thinner, colder. Then he saw it—a break in the mountain's stone. A circular opening, nearly his size, carved into the sheer cliff face. Moonlight filtered through it in a soft silver shaft, beckoning him closer.
Curiosity tugged at him, sharp and insistent. He folded his wings and glided toward the opening, passing through with a faint rustle of air. He stopped midair, breath catching in his throat.
Below him stretched a vast chasm, open and circular, its walls vanishing into darkness. Giant stone fragments floated slowly through the void like asteroids, suspended in unnatural motion. The gravity here felt wrong...not weaker, not stronger, just… alien. Things moved with a strange drag, like underwater, but slower still, as if time itself had thickened.
Belial's wings beat softly, keeping him aloft as he wove through the floating stones, his eyes wide with awe. Each platform gleamed faintly, etched with runes that pulsed with a soft, blue-white glow. He'd never seen anything like this, not in Oasis, not in the wilds, not even in the ancient ruins his people revered as sacred.
Then he saw them. Structures. Crystalline ones, their surfaces transparent and faintly luminescent, like glass spun from moonlight. They didn't look like any forge he'd imagined—more like machines, humming softly, surrounded by floating sigils that danced in lazy orbits. Levers, knobs, and glowing spheres dotted their surfaces, their purpose incomprehensible but undeniably advanced. This wasn't the crude tech of Oasis, cobbled together from scavenged parts. This was something else entirely.
He approached cautiously, his clawed feet brushing against a floating platform. The moonlight up above was coming from a strange hole almost seemed manmade...He took mental notes on that, cataloging every detail—the sigils, the crystalline structures, the faint vibrations in the air. He didn't understand it, but he would. Eventually.
And then he saw her.
A girl.
She was still as a statue, seated in the center of one of the floating platforms, her head bowed, long black hair draped over her face like a curtain. Her figure was clad in strange gear—jean-like combat pants, black boots, and a sleeveless black crop top, all reinforced with armored patches that looked both proper and tactical. Her presence was jarring, an anomaly in this surreal place.
Belial's heart skipped. He wasn't supposed to have company. Wasn't he the first to make it this far? The Lonely Prince's notebook had implied the Forge was untouched, a secret lost to time. plus its a little difficult to get to So who was she?
Instinctively, he retracted his demonic form. The ether lines faded, his claws softened into human hands, and his wings vanished into his back with a soft pop of energy. In seconds, he was just Belial again—messy amythist hair, plain ragged clothes, ordinary purple eyes.
Unthreatening. Approachable.
He floated down slowly, landing lightly on the platform. What is she doing here? he wondered, his pulse quickening. He took a cautious step forward, then another, his boots silent against the smooth crystal. He reached out a hand to tap her shoulder, hesitant but curious.
Before his fingers could brush her, something hit him—hard.
An invisible force slammed into his chest, hurling him backward. He crashed into the crystal wall behind him with a painful crunch, the impact reverberating through his bones. He crumpled to the ground, gasping, pain throbbing in his back and shoulders.
Belial blinked, vision swimming. He looked up.
She was awake.
Standing now, towering above him, her presence commanding and cold. A gun—sleek, silver, and humming with energy—was pointed directly at his head. Her expression was blank, calculating, her brown eyes glowing faintly through the curtain of her bangs, reflective like polished obsidian.
Belial didn't move. Didn't breathe. Not out of fear, but out of sheer shock.
Who the hell is this…?
Her gaze didn't waver, the barrel of her weapon steady. The air between them crackled with tension, the hum of the crystalline machines growing louder, as if the Forge itself was watching.
Belial's mind raced. He'd survived forced evolution, hunted beasts that could crush lesser demons, and found a place no one else had. But this girl—this stranger—had just knocked him flat without breaking a sweat. And now she was staring at him like he was prey.
He forced a crooked grin, raising his hands slowly. "Okay," he said, voice steady despite the ache in his ribs. "Let's talk about this..."
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't lower the gun.