Chapter 57
The Demon Realm
The throne room of the Demon Realm was a nightmare carved into existence—an endless cathedral of darkness that seemed to breathe with ancient malice. Towering pillars of bone curved like clawed fingers toward a ceiling choked with swirling shadows. Flames burned along the walls, flickering black and purple, giving off no heat—only dread. Every sound echoed as though the room itself were alive and listening.
And at the very center of this cathedral of horror sat Roosevelt.
He rested on his grotesque throne sculpted entirely from skulls—demon skulls, beast skulls, humanoid skulls bleached pale by centuries of fear. His cloak pooled at his feet like spilled darkness. One clawed finger tapped slowly against the armrest, rhythmic and cold, like he was listening for a heartbeat that had long stopped.
A demon approached, trembling before speaking.
"My Lord… all the Werewolves have gathered in a single pack."
Roosevelt didn't look surprised. His lips lifted in a sharp, predatory smile.
"Oh? They have?"
"Yes, my Lord," Jyra added quickly, her voice sharp and obedient.
Roosevelt let out a dark chuckle that echoed like a dying heartbeat through the hall.
"You see… that is quite a clever move. Someone among those mutts used their brain for once."
Daksha and Devyani exchanged a glance. They had learned long ago that Roosevelt's amusement was never good news—for anyone.
Roosevelt rose slowly from the throne, his cloak dragging over the skulls with a scraping whisper.
"Well then… since they were kind enough to gather in one place, let us return the favor."
Jyra leaned in slightly. "Yes, my Lord?"
A wicked glint sparked in Roosevelt's eyes.
"We will burn the rest of their packs to the ground."
Devyani stepped forward, maintaining her disciplined posture.
"The pack they gathered in is called Red Moon… or something of that sort."
Roosevelt hummed as if savoring the name.
"Red Moon. How poetic."
Then his smile sharpened.
"Since they abandoned their homes… burn the rest."
Daksha grinned, baring rows of sharpened teeth.
"They will never expect that."
"Oh, they won't," Jyra agreed. "They'll be too focused on where and when we plan to attack."
Roosevelt waved a hand as though dismissing the very idea of suspense.
"Then we begin tonight. Burn every abandoned pack."
Daksha hesitated before asking,
"Should we burn the Red Moon Pack as well?"
Roosevelt stopped walking.
When he turned, his smile was gone—replaced by a cold, wicked hunger.
"No." His voice dropped into something dark and dangerous. "If I burn it now, there is no thrill. No fear."
He stepped down from the throne's platform, the skulls crunching faintly under his boots.
"I want fear to become their breath. I want anxiety to cling to their bones. I want them to tremble every time my name crosses their mind."
He spread his hands slightly.
"If I burn them immediately, they won't feel the terror I intend to carve into their souls."
Daksha bowed quickly. "I understand, my Lord."
"Good," Roosevelt murmured, turning away again.
As the demons prepared to leave, Roosevelt paused.
"One more thing. Casualties—the battle earlier. How many demons were lost?"
"About two thousand, my Lord," Jyra answered.
Roosevelt clicked his tongue.
"Two thousand… quite unfortunate." He tilted his head. "How many remain?"
"Eight thousand demons," Devyani replied.
Roosevelt leaned back against a pillar made of fused bones.
"Hm. Eight thousand is nothing compared to the combined races."
A slow, eerie smile crept across his face.
"But with Shadow Scale on our side, numbers hardly matter. Let them think their unity is strength."
His eyes burned crimson.
"It will only make their fall more satisfying."
The three demons nodded in agreement.
Roosevelt continued, "For this mission, only the three of you will join me. The rest of the demons will rest and regain strength. Shadow Scale and I will take care of the rest."
"Yes, my Lord," they chorused.
Daksha hesitated again, unable to contain his bloodlust.
"When will we strike them directly?"
Roosevelt turned with a slow, dangerous grace.
"Calm yourself, boy."
Daksha stiffened.
Roosevelt stepped closer until the air itself felt heavy.
"I know you thirst for battle. You want blood. But impatience…"
He tapped a claw lightly against Daksha's chest.
"…is the path of fools. If you attack recklessly, you leave cracks in your armor. And cracks give the enemy a chance to win."
Daksha bowed low, shame clear in his voice.
"Forgive my impatience, my Lord."
Roosevelt smirked.
"Learn to think, Daksha. To defeat an enemy, you must crawl into their mind. Feel their fear. Manipulate their hope."
His tone turned cold as ice.
"We will strike. But first… we burn everything they abandoned."
The demon trio bowed deeply.
"Jyra," Roosevelt commanded, "prepare Shadow Scale."
Outside the throne room, the Demon Realm sky writhed like a living storm—swirling masses of black mist and crimson lightning. Thunder rumbled, but the sound was distorted, almost sentient.
On a vast open field stood a creature of pure nightmare.
Shadow Scale.
The massive dragon towered above them, its body covered in black scales that absorbed light. Each scale shimmered like shifting shadows, alive and breathing. Its eyes glowed a deep, hellish red—radiant, intelligent, and hungry. Its wings stretched across the field like a living eclipse, blotting out what little light dared to exist in the Demon Realm.
Shadow Scale snorted, releasing a cloud of red mist that corroded the grass instantly.
Roosevelt approached with a rare softness—one he gave only to this beast.
"Shadow Scale," he said, placing a hand on the dragon's enormous head, "we're going to burn some packs tonight. Are you ready?"
The dragon rumbled so deeply the ground trembled beneath their feet.
Roosevelt smirked, stroking its scales.
"Good boy."
He faced his three demons.
"You will teleport ahead. Stay hidden until I arrive. If the wolves see only the three of you, they'll attack with their armies. But when they see me—when they see Shadow Scale—they will hesitate."
His voice darkened.
"While burning the packs, be quiet. No theatrics. No grand entrances. Fear is louder when it whispers."
"And when we are done…"
He pointed to the storming sky.
"Leave them a message."
"Yes, my Lord," they responded.
Roosevelt climbed onto Shadow Scale's back, gripping the jagged black spikes lining its spine. The dragon stretched its colossal wings, each flap sending shockwaves through the ground. Crimson lightning arced across its scales.
Roosevelt lifted his head toward the sky, inhaling the scent of approaching destruction.
"Tonight," he whispered, "fear becomes their closest companion."
A smile—cruel, eager, merciless—spread across his face.
"Let's burn their realm to the ground."
With a deafening roar that shook the Demon Realm itself, Shadow Scale launched into the air, tearing through the storm clouds like a living shadow of doom.
The night of fire had begun.