Chapter 2: The Demon's Price
The chamber was a cavern of shadows, lit only by red flames that danced in iron sconces bolted to the stone walls. Rolex Night lounged on his throne-like chair, its carved arms worn smooth from centuries of use. His sharp eyes, cold as steel, watched the demon women swaying before him. Their movements were slow, deliberate, their tight dresses catching the firelight as they tried to please him. Their laughter was soft, almost nervous, because everyone knew Rolex was no ordinary man. He was the demon king—ancient, heartless, and feared by even the darkest creatures of the underworld. One wrong move, and he could make you disappear with a flick of his wrist.
Rolex leaned forward, his black suit crisp, his silver rings glinting as he rested his chin on his hand. The women glanced at him, hoping for a reaction, but his face stayed blank. Humans, demons—it didn't matter. They were all beneath him, tools to be used or tossed aside. He'd ruled this hidden world for too long to care about their games.
The heavy iron doors groaned open, cutting through the music. The women froze, their eyes darting to the figure striding in. Droko, Rolex's Shade—his most loyal enforcer—moved with purpose, his black coat brushing the floor. His eyes glowed a faint red, and his face was set, serious. He stopped a few feet from Rolex and bowed low, his head nearly touching the ground.
Rolex raised a hand, and the air seemed to tighten. The music died. The flames flickered, creating a jagged shadows. The demon women stopped dancing, their laughter gone. They bowed in unison, their heads lowered, and hurried out, their heels clicking on the stone floor. The doors shut behind them with a dull thud, leaving only silence. Just Rolex and Droko now, in a room that felt too big, too empty.
Rolex leaned back, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. "Speak, Droko," he said, his voice low but heavy, like a storm waiting to break. "What news do you bring?"
Droko straightened, his hands clasped behind his back. "It's the old man, my lord," he said, his tone steady but cautious. "The old man still hasn't paid his debts. He's been dodging us for weeks, making excuses. Says he'll have the money soon, but it's the same story every time. What do you want me to do? Should I send a demon to take his life?" Droko's lip curled slightly, his disdain for the old man was clear. A "Demon" in their world meant a silent killer, a demon who left no trace.
Rolex's laugh was sharp, slicing through the quiet like a blade. "The old man is a fool," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A pathetic, drunken fool who thinks he can outrun me." He stood, his tall frame commanding the room. His boots clicked on the stone as he paced, his movements slow, deliberate. "Killing him would be a mercy. Too quick. Let him drown in his own misery. That's punishment enough."
Droko tilted his head, his red eyes glinting. "Then what, my lord? He's got nothing left to give. The man's a wreck."
Rolex stopped pacing, his lips curling into a cold smile. "Nothing?" he said, his voice soft but dangerous. "I hear he has a son. A boy. If he can't pay what he owes, he'll give me the boy instead."
Droko's eyes narrowed, but he didn't question it. "The son's name is Akin," he said. "Nineteen. Works nights at some corner store. Lives with him in a ratty apartment. I'll have him brought to you by tomorrow."
Rolex nodded, his smile fading. "Good. Make it quick. I want the old man to feel it—losing the only thing he's got left." His voice was ice, but there was a flicker of something else in his chest, something he didn't name. He dismissed it, turning away. "Go."
Droko bowed again, sharp and precise. "It's done, my lord." He turned, his coat flaring as he strode out, the doors groaning shut behind him.
Rolex stood alone now, the silence pressing in. He crossed the chamber to a tall mirror against the far wall, its frame etched with runes that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. The glass wasn't ordinary—it was ancient, older than the city above, forged in the fires of the underworld. Rolex stopped in front of it, his hands clenched at his sides. He didn't see himself in the reflection. Instead, a beast stared back—his true form, the demon caged inside him. Its eyes burned red, its horns jagged, its massive frame barely contained. It growled, its voice echoing in his mind, low and guttural.
*When will we find our soul bond?* it demanded, its words clawing at Rolex's thoughts. *Centuries we've waited. Where is the one who completes us?*
Rolex's jaw tightened. A soul bond—a fated mate—was a myth he'd never believed in. He was the demon king, above such nonsense. The idea of being tied to someone, made his skin crawl. He'd spent lifetimes alone, crushing anyone who dared to challenge him. He didn't need anyone. Never had.
"Quiet," he muttered, his voice barely audible. The beast snarled louder, its power surging inside him, hot and wild. Rolex closed his eyes, fighting it, forcing it back. His hands shook, his rings digging into his palms. The air grew heavy, the runes on the mirror glowing brighter. He could feel the beast pushing, clawing, desperate to break free.
He opened his eyes, and they were no longer human—solid black, like endless voids. The reflection flickered, man and monster blurring together. Rolex's breath was steady, but his chest ached, the beast's longing bleeding into him. He hated it, hated the weakness it stirred. But the words came anyway, low and certain, as if something deeper was speaking through him.
"Soon," he said, his voice a vow. "Very soon, our other half will be with us."