>> “Through the darkness we born, and the darkness we will seek eternal slumber.”

In the dark banquet room lit with candelabras scattered around, a battalion of robed people gather. Standing in eerie silence, their faces hidden under their cloak.

The cold temperature of the whole area makes someone freeze out. Smokes from their breaths left, causing thick fogs scattered. Their eyes lit under their cloak; different colors glimmering.

Soft growls heard, but none of it matters to them. On their hands are arsenals customized from a veteran swordsmith. Counting their number from 600,000 arranged and divided accordingly.

At the center is a podium. A throne chair erects, but it remains empty. Small thump of footsteps heard from a distance.

None of those people dare to show their curiosity. They remain still, all while listening to the footsteps moving forward their way. Within the darkness, a figure appears in front of them.

A man, wearing a side cape on his right shoulder, covering the half of his body. Pair of horns plucked above his head. Pale skin tainted upon the candelabras.

Half of his face hid in the shadows; pair of crimson eyes glimmer like a gemstone. A young man in his prime, showing nobility to his stance.

“Stand before you now is our Marquis Paimon!” a man from the front shouted out. Everyone stomps their feet all together, causing a ground shake. Their heavy armor clanked, cracking the eerie silence of the place.

With synchronous moves, all of them kneeled down to greet the Marquis.

This is the legion of the Demon Kingdom: ‘Thousand Herd of the Fallen.’ The powerful and fearsome demon force whose willing to fight for the Demon King.

These are the soldiers depraved from their sanity. The once soldiers who fought and almost killed, only to revive using the Necromancy magic.

Marquis Paimon sits on the throne, as another person walk towards him from the shadows. Appearing from the crowd is a young woman, wearing breast plate and trousers. Chain mails clacking softly under the armor and long cape waves on the back.

Her short hair combed in middle to sideways. Pair of amber eyes, and slit shape gazes with intimidation. On her waist is a holt with long sword hanging.

“Marquis Paimon, Zepar is here for a report.” Halting herself in the middle, the woman named Zepar make a salute by placing her arms straight to her chest.

Her crimson hair blazes like a raging flame throughout the candelabras lit up. “What is it, that you learned from that mortal?” Paimon’s voice lurks over the surroundings.

“Our intel from the castle tells that mortal is summoned from another world by one of the magistrates. The girl named Beelzebub, from the House of Gula.”

Deliberating the speech with confidence, Zepar continues. “And he is indeed the next Demon King, the one who will rule this realm.”

“Ohoh, so this is a new era dawning at us. A new era, arriving to change everything around.”

His lips form a smile, but that smile show of hostility than happiness. “What will be our next move, Your Excellency?” Zepar asked.

“I think this thing can’t be helped out. It has been decided that the gear of fate is moved. We can’t let change course.”

Paimon then stands up from the throne and walks downwards the podium. “If he should ever be crowned as the next Demon King, and will be the next ruler of this Kingdom, then it is I, Marquis Paimon, will oblige him.”

Zepar twitched as she heard the retort of the Marquis. Her hands clenched tightly.

“But of course, that’ll never happen sooner.” Continuing his statement, he walked beside Zepar and squints his eyes on hers. “A demon bowing down to a mortal. Even if he is the Demon King, I will never do that.”

“Then, what’s your plan...?” she asked. Marquis Paimon grins comically as he walked forward. “I will make it sure that he is worthy to be the next Demon King.”

Each step trotted on the cobble floor; a sinister feeling arises. “.... If he’s worth to be the next Demon King, I will lend him a hand to reach the crown. I am just a mere pawn to be of use to the Kingdom.”

Zepar turns sideways to look at Paimon. “What about the Queen? Remember that she is powerful.”

“That’s the reason I must see if that mortal is fit enough to be the King. Our Queen is still young at heart. She hasn’t understood the cruel life of Demon race yet.”

At the center of the legion, he stopped and faces Zepar from the front. “Manipulating the army is my forte. Letting him dancing above my palm is easy as walk in the park.”

Paimon’s eyes squinted, his lips form a sinister smile. “I’ve seen thousands of mortals drive out to their insanity. Their agonizing feeling, their despair, their fear, ah... yes, they’re just insects.”

A small cackle breaks. “And that is my advantage to him. A mere mortal who will rule our race, what preposterous and blasphemous thing is that!”

Zepar didn’t respond, but her eyes kept gazing at Paimon. “Oh, my dear Queen Astarte. What have you been thinking? Taking a mortal in your care and declaring him as your King? Aha... ahahahaha!”

His reverberating laugh engulfed the banquet hall. “I’ll soon meet him personally, and will see how long he can stand before my power.”

Zepar sighs as she nods to the thoughts of the Marquis. “Oh, my... oh my... what kind of face will he show to me when I start break him apart? I can’t wait. I can’t wait to hear his despaired scream. His scream of weep and agony.”

His good looks turn distorted, more of a murderous intent of a man cackling from the hideous plan coming in fruition. In the succumbing tranquility of the area, only his laughed engulfed.