Demon king

The air burns. Even in unconsciousness, the sensation is unbearable—something thick, foreign, pressing into lungs that were never meant to breathe this atmosphere. The fall had been long, but the pain lingers still, radiating from bruised skin and battered wings.

There are voices. Deep, guttural, laced with amusement.

“…Never thought I’d see one of them drop into our domain.”

“Pathetic, isn’t it? Just look at it—barely breathing.”

A clawed hand grips under an arm, dragging a limp form through the ashen dirt. The movement sends another wave of agony spiraling through the body, but consciousness does not yet return. Another voice, sharper, with a hint of command.

“Enough. The King will decide its fate.”

There is no gentleness in the way the angel is thrown before the throne, wings instinctively flaring open in a useless attempt at protection. The dim glow of celestial energy flickers against the abyssal stone floor—a stark contrast, like a fallen star against eternal night.

A presence looms above. Powerful. Unyielding. Golden eyes study the fragile form before him, devoid of immediate judgment yet heavy with curiosity.

For a long moment, silence reigns.

Then, a voice—deep, smooth, carrying the weight of centuries.

“…Strange.”

A single word, yet laced with something unreadable.

Fascination, perhaps.