Demon Koenig

The throne room trembled with the mere presence of the King. He sat in clouds of sulfurous smoke, clad in armor forged from darkness itself—every vertebra of the armor radiated an ominous crimson light. His muscles rippled beneath the steel like steel cables, and ancient tattoos snaked across his skin like a map of the underworld, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Behind him, colossal wings spread out—black as the abyss, their membranes shimmering with stardust. They trembled slightly, raking centuries-old dust from the columns. His head was crowned not by a crown, but by two curved horns, seemingly chiseled from obsidian, between which the crown hung like a fallen sun.

But the main thing was the tail. Long, muscular, with a barbed tip, it swung from side to side, cutting through the air with a whistling sound, leaving black sparks on the marble floor. Each strike of this tail against the throne sounded like a warning.

Today, Koenig wasn't just a King. Today, he was a terror locked in a body. And judging by the way his fingers clenched on the armrests, crushing the age-old stone into sand, it was best not to get on his bad side. Especially today.