《Ending the Era of the Faeries》


 1. Feng Deming

    Feng Deming, locked up for thousands of years, appeared twenty years old by human standards. Although the prince was imprisoned deep underground in a dark dungeon, he shone like a beacon. The soft light highlighted his pointed nose and high cheekbones. His defined eyebrows, as sharp as daggers, arched over his closed eyes. Long, dark-brown hair flowed like a river of shadows down to his thighs, adding an aura of mystery to his appearance.


    The dungeon reeked of mildew with the faintest metallic note of blood still staining the walls. The faint rustle echoed through the silence, interrupted only by the distant drip of water. Every drop echoed, as if grains of sand were trickling through an hourglass, measuring out the long years of torturous suffering he endured.


    Every day, he focused solely on mastering the deciphering of the twenty seals holding those phantasmal chains. Now, with his eyes closed and twitching beneath his lashes, and the pressure of the chains digging into his skin, he concentrated so hard that his forehead lit up, all the while yearning for the liberty to walk free once more.


    ''How satisfying it would be to see no trace of their world, all by my own hands,'' Deming entertained, an evil smirk curling his lips, tasting the thought like honey. ''Their mutilated bodies shall be my masterpiece, and their painful screams, well, the sweetest melody to my ears... And all of that is within my grasp now.''


    Deming was pulled from his trance as heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and the sound grew nearer as they hurried toward the dungeon. In the stillness, the low voices of men spoke far away in indistinguishable tones of urgency.


    Many self-proclaimed ''gods'' got together, preventing Feng Deming from escaping, all of them completely aware of his great power. The faerie general, known as ''the god of war,'' yelled all the way through the dungeon, his voice grating as if metal were shredding against stone. "Cease, demon!"


    Deming refused to open his eyes, not when he was this close to breaking the seal. ''Now, they shall witness the true meaning of what they call... a monster.'' He sneered, the curve of his grin widening as he continued to decode the seals.


    The faerie general looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had long, shiny silver hair with a slight wave and a gold chain headpiece that dangled a jewel resting against his forehead, matching the deep blue of his doe eyes.


    The voice of the general began to rise in volume and intensity. "I said, stop!" A crackling pulse of energy formed a beam of light in his hand, vibrating with power.


    And still, Deming refused to budge, not a moment of his attentions diverted by the alerts.


    When he opened those eyes of his¡ªlike molten metal, telling stories of untold suffering and a promise of revenge¡ªhis long and dark lashes cast shadows across his cheeks with every slow blink. His golden eyes swept over the trembling soldiers. Each little shudder, each hasty flinch, only pleased him, as if he fed on the horror in their eyes.


    Frustration and dread tinged the general''s voice as he faced his troops. "Attack!"


    White, ethereal wings emerged from their backs, glowing and shimmering as they flew up. They mirrored one another, making complex shapes with their hands that began with a circle. In unison, they pressed their palms together, releasing a barrage of beams that flickered against the stone walls and rattled the floors, sending a burning scent into the air.


    Deming smirked, the beams reflecting in his eyes. "They''re courting their demise." His arms and neck lost their shackles, and he dodged the attack by dipping his shoulder and spinning to face his attackers.


    After a moment of dreadful silence, fire started to blaze from his eyes, surprising every faerie with his ominous look. He lifted his arms and pointed them back at the soldiers until they met their end in a flash of light and disturbing noise.


    With arms crossed, a brief sense of satisfaction warmed Deming''s otherwise detached appearance as he gazed at the blast unfolding. "You tried." He waved a hand, dismissive, and then contorted his face into a mask of evil, staring at the trembling mouths and the wide eyes of the faeries he had not attacked yet, and they made choking sounds in response. A cruel smirk spread across his lips as he taunted, leering in that deep voice, "I wish you could see your faces."If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "Stay alert, everyone!" ordered the faerie general. "Lord Muchen is nearly here! Hold your positions!"


    "What? You cannot stop me without him?" Deming ridiculed, though the mere mention of Muchen made his jaw tighten and left a bad taste in his mouth. ''Does Muchen have another trick up his sleeve to trap me?''


    Observing the general shaking before him, his gaze turned to the shadows, a brief moment of strain breaking the calm facade on his face.


    That low, venomous rasp echoed in the stone chamber. "How amusing... I suppose it is your lucky day. It looks like my plan to obliterate this realm is going to have to wait. But do not worry; I am a man of my word. And when I return, perhaps I will start with your loved ones first. I shall chain them deep in your dungeons and make them yearn to see the light and sky again, knowing they can only dream about it, day after day. They shall scream in agony while you watch helplessly, begging me to stop. And I shall remain quiet, just as you did all these years, watching me suffer."


    The general squinted, a look of utter confusion on his face. ''What is he... talking about? I''ve never...''


    Deming''s tone lowered into a sinister growl. "And it shall not stop there. On the lands where you have raised your children, I shall build statues of our people from your ashes. And as for Muchen, he shall be where he always needed to be¡ªunder our feet."


    The color drained out of the general''s face, his mouth opened, and he wheezed for breath that came in shallow, ragged gasps. His eyes widened, and he shook his hands, but that was maniacal in every way.


    ~*~


    A faerie soldier burst into the throne room. "My lord, the Astaran prince is on the verge of breaking free!"


    The room was tinged with the scent of incense, blending its sweetness and earthiness.


    The rays of the sun were harsh, touching his white armor that now gleamed as he stood before the ruler, and the sunlight scattered its light onto the crystal pillars. It almost matched the shimmers of their wings when the faeries flew above to attack the demon.


    The moment Lord Muchen heard the news, he felt anxious in his heart, only to mutter to himself, "That cannot be..."


    Lord Muchen was a middle-aged man who wore a long white robe that gave meaning to his authority. His hair, tied back in sections and as black as night, gave way just enough for a few strands to curl around his sharp features. A golden crown rested on his head; its twisted plant stem design symbolized his connection to nature and his role as ruler.


    Muchen''s hands shook without control. "Seal... that... demon," he urged. His breaths came in gasps, and the strain on his jaw was almost enough to shatter his teeth, his eyes bulging outwards. "Summon all the high gods. IMMEDIATELY!"


    "Y-Yes, my lord." The soldier bowed again, only to be cut off as the earth shook with force, revealing just how much he had pissed off the demon. They both gasped in surprise.


    "Hurry!" Muchen scowled in disdain. ''If Feng Deming is freed, our demise is inevitable.''


    ~*~


    Deming tilted his head, regarding the faerie general with a cold stare as the general''s breath hitched, sweat trickling down his forehead. Overwhelmed by fear, he could only meet the demon prince''s sharp, menacing gaze with trembling eyes.


    The demon''s golden eyes now blazed fiery red, his crimson aura pulsating and radiating eerie energy as he clenched his fists. Time froze, and in an instant, a violent eruption shook the dungeon.


    The unfortunate faeries near him vanished in a cloud of smoke, the painful screams of hundreds echoing throughout the dungeon. The air filled with a strong, smoky odor of burnt matches and materials for those who survived the attack.


    The general, overwhelmed, succumbed to the ruthless assault. Drops of blood trickled from his trembling lips as he muttered in confusion and fear, "What... what is he?"


    "Make sure you prepare well for my return," Deming declared with a cold grin as he ascended into the air. Fierce black flames erupted from his back, forming broad wings that crackled and burned. A swirling black smoke surrounded him as he departed, leaving behind a bone-chilling nightmare for the witnesses.


    Muchen and his soldiers stormed into the dungeon, their eyes sweeping over the dusty area with heavy hearts, taking in the remains of their loved ones reduced to ashes. Shock and grief gripped them, their jaws dropping as they struggled to comprehend the loss. Frustration and sorrow tightened their fists, some suppressing tears at the sight of their once-living comrades, now gone.


    "L-Lord Muchen," the general clung to life, his voice a weak whisper.


    Muchen, paralyzed with fear, snapped back to reality and turned his attention to the fortunate survivors. His eyes fell on the injured man lying on the ground, who had spoken his name and recognized him. "Yize..."


    "I... I failed in my duty." Yize''s eyes narrowed in pain. Two of Muchen''s soldiers knelt beside him, reaching out their arms to help him as he tried to get back on his feet.


    Yet, before he could gather himself, Muchen''s gaze froze him in place, like ice on a winter''s day. He bowed his head in shame, bearing the silent disappointment of his lord.


    In the middle of the wrecked dungeon, Muchen stood still for a moment, surveying the chaos. But then, his eyes narrowed, calculating, as an idea popped into his mind. It was a last-minute call, and he could not believe he did not think of this sooner. "Hope is but a fragile illusion... Once he returns to us, Feng Deming will beg for mercy before the end," he murmured, his smirk unfurling like a serpent coiling around its prey, venomous and inevitable.

 2. Inescapable Fate of Downfall

    Deming soared across the sky, his black robes billowing in the wind. A gentle breeze caressed his face, tousling his straight, silky hair. He had long imagined this moment¡ªreuniting with the sunlight''s warmth and the wind on his skin. It had been an eternity since he last tasted such freedom, and the distant horizon beckoned him back to his home.


    Astara, a realm where mountains reached the sky, surrounded the land like a protective cloak. At the heart of Middle Astara stood a city far more advanced than any other, where history, culture, art, and academia thrived. The grand palace served as the city''s crown jewel, its stone walls adorned with stunning carvings portraying the culture and artistry of the Astaran people.


    Approaching the palace gates, childhood memories flooded his mind, urging him toward the grand throne room, where his sworn enemy awaited.


    The massive doors swung open, and Deming stepped inside, dominating the hall. The Astaran Supreme and the council gaped as the boy they remembered from his youth had matured into a tall adult.


    Murmurs filled the chamber. One council member whispered to another, "Isn''t that Prince Feng Deming? Wasn''t he declared dead?"


    Deming''s malicious gaze landed on the king''s, driven by a thirst for revenge. "Former lieutenant and servant of my father... how dare you sit on my throne!" he taunted in a fierce, deep voice, burning with rage in his glare. "You parasite... You sold me to the faeries as a slave. You disgust me."


    Gasps and cries of outrage echoed throughout the throne room. The once-mighty King of Kings shifted, his eyes darting around the room. His composure crumbled as he struggled to comprehend how Deming''s escape had occurred.


    "What? Did you truly believe I would remain imprisoned forever?" Deming summoned forth a raven-black sword with a sinister aura.


    The king attempted to regain control. "These accusations are nonsense! If anyone is breaking the law, it is you, entering my palace uninvited... GUARDS!"


    "I made you a promise that day, and as you are aware, I always honor my promises." Deming''s gaze bore into the former lieutenant, causing bystanders to recoil in horror. "Your reign ends today, and I will ensure not a single statue is made in your likeness, nor will any Astaran speak your name again until you are forgotten..." he paused, holding his hand before him with indifference. "Also, why would I need permission to enter my own palace?"


    The king''s heart sank as he grasped the direness of his situation. With trembling hands, he drew his sword in a desperate attempt to defend himself. Yet, before he could raise his blade, Deming moved with lightning speed, striking before the king could lift his sword. With a swift blow, the prince shattered the king''s defenses, leaving him gasping as his life force ebbed away.


    Deming stood over the fallen ruler, his breath heavy with anger, and the council members fell to their knees.


    ~*~


    In the heart of a grand palace, Lord Muchen sat on his throne in a white hall adorned with silk-woven cloths and towering white pillars. His ebony hair flowed as a man approached, his steps hesitant.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Yize, the general with long silver hair, flowed down his back like a silken waterfall. His white robe swirled around him, his posture mirroring Muchen''s intensity as he stood beside him. "Is Feng Deming truly that big of a threat, my lord? I mean, our realm is far more powerful."


    Muchen''s eyes shifted towards him as he leaned forward with grace. "He is too strong now... Yize, there is a lot you do not know for your own good."


    "My lord, if it''s a concern that you have, please do share. Don''t keep me in the dark," Yize urged, curiosity flickering in his eyes.


    A deep sigh escaped Muchen''s lips, tightening his grip on the armrest of his throne, causing the wood to creak. "There is a prophecy about our downfall... the end of all, the end of the Faerie Realm as it is."


    Yize''s vibrant blue eyes widened, his breath hitching. "That can''t be! Does anyone else know about this?"


    "Only Lord Chaoxiang."


    "The ruler of our realm millions of years ago? Before his cousin overtook the throne and became queen?"


    "Yes. Before his death, he passed down the palimpsest of prophecy, hoping it might be stopped one day." Muchen''s expression darkened. "According to it, an Astaran man and woman who wield great power will join forces and destroy us."


    Yize swallowed hard, his composure faltering. "Astaran? This wickedness must be prevented."


    Muchen nodded. "Lord Chaoxiang knew of the forbidden method, and as soon as the girl was born, he sent her away through a portal to an unknown world. He believed it was the only way to prevent their union... However, his toddler son followed her through the portal. Lord Chaoxiang tried to close the portal to prevent his son from disappearing, but to no avail... After losing his son, he was never the same. He lived in misery, and with his only son and heir gone, the glory of the Faerie Realm faded with him."


    "So, Lord Chaoxiang was called the Mad King due to his son''s disappearance? This is the first time I''ve heard of it. What about the girl? Since she''s no longer in our world, there''s no way for her to return."


    "For now," Muchen uttered, his voice faltering as he averted his gaze. He clenched his fists, knuckles taut against the dark wood.


    Yize hesitated, his gaze following Muchen''s fingers drumming against the armrest. "What do you mean by ''for now,'' my lord? These words fall heavy on my heart."


    Muchen''s cold, rigid eyes bore into the general''s. "We once had no reason to worry about our realm''s future, but now, with the man from the prophecy free, we are entering dark times. He is merely one step away from completely erasing our existence."


    "The prophesied man is free? Do you mean Feng Deming, my lord? Is that why you kept him a secret so rigorously?"


    Muchen''s eyes narrowed. "It is not a secret anymore. We must be cautious from now on and prepare for his attack."


    Yize stepped closer, his voice just above a whisper. "Is there a way to prevent this, my lord?"


    "There is a way, but for now, we can only hope."


    Yize''s breath caught. "I trust your judgment, Lord Muchen." His fingers fidgeted with his cloak. "My lord, I forgot to ask¡ªhow did you know that Feng Deming was the man from the prophecy?"


    Muchen sighed, studying Yize''s uneasy face. He leaned forward, his tone sharp. "Ears everywhere, all the time. So watch what your little mouth says, Yize."


    "I understand, my lord. You have my utmost devotion."


    Muchen raised his chin, eyes narrowing as he traced Yize''s trembling brows. "I am aware of your gentle nature, Yize... However, you must realize that I am counting on your strength. You are our strongest asset until the son arrives. We must not falter and lose our focus."


    Yize bit his lip, shifting his weight as his hands trembled and his jaw clenched. Nonetheless, he pushed aside his fear and nodded. "Understood, my lord. We will be prepared when the time comes..." He turned to leave but hesitated. His shoulders tensed, and a frown creased his brow as curiosity took hold. "Before I leave, my lord, I wonder why the Astaran man and woman would join forces. You deem Feng Deming a monster, a man devoid of his feelings. He would never allow anyone a piece of his throne."


    "That is what we hope for. If only they would kill each other for the throne of Astara." A smile curled Muchen''s lips as he let out a low chuckle. "Although I lack complete knowledge of her current abilities, the fact that she has not returned suggests she is most likely weak and vulnerable now. However, we must not let our guard down."


    Yize''s expression hardened, his nod slow and deliberate. "Thank you, my lord, for trusting me. I will do what must be done."


    Muchen gave a firm nod of approval, his gaze returning to the distant horizon. "Good. Prepare the troops. We must be ready for their return," his voice echoed through the grand hall.

 3. Captured

    Thousands of years ago¡ªin a world beyond the reach of mortals¡ªlay Astara, an ancient land of demons. The young prince, Feng Deming, who appeared no older than ten years of age by human standards, ran through fields with the lieutenant. They rushed toward the dimming light on the horizon, brushing past blades of grass as though each stalk were an outstretched hand urging them forward until they reached the middle of a field.


    Deming felt his breath freeze in his chest like a full-force wind over the hollow of his body, his heart beating a drum. It felt as if the ground moved below their feet as hundreds of high faerie lords blocked their path. An acrid flavor that tasted almost metallic from fear clung to his tongue, and the scent of damp earth stung his nostrils. "Enemies," he murmured, feeling a chill down his spine and his pupils fully dilated. Preparing to flee, he turned his attention to the lieutenant, with no way of knowing whatever his next move was.


    "Lord Muchen," the lieutenant whispered.


    "Muchen?" Deming felt his heart thumping in his chest as he gazed at the faerie leader. ''He killed my father.'' A tear leaked from his eye, and he balled up his fists in rage as he replayed the words of his father yet again.


    "Take my son to safety, Lieutenant. Protect him with your life."


    The faint whisper of the faeries, which was really little more than a low hum, mingled with the rustling of the grass and the gasping of the prince.


    The lieutenant said nothing but lowered his sword, and the weight dug against the calluses of his palm. They felt heavy in the space around them, almost suffocating.


    "What are you doing? You''re going to get yourself killed!" Deming cried out as the lieutenant moved closer to the faerie leader.


    "Your grace, you have arrived early," the lieutenant smiled.


    "What? Him?" Dropping his jaw, Deming jerked to the lieutenant and the faerie leader, eyes growing wide at the lieutenant''s nonchalance. His golden eyes dimmed like a setting sun as the reality settled in. "Don''t tell me... that you..."


    "Truthfully, Lieutenant, I had concerns that you would not uphold your end of the deal. However, I admit I was mistaken." The faerie leader, Lord Muchen, nodded and commanded, "NOW!"


    The faeries waved their wrists, and the chains placed over each limb of Deming''s body, etched with twenty layers of glyphs, flared with power.


    ''What... are these?'' Deming thought, gazing at the phantom chains bound around his wrists. He tried to claw his way out, but the chains squeezed against him. Sweat dripped down his forehead as it sunk in that his attempts were in vain¡ªthe glyphs holding the bindings were too strong for him to contend against.


    "I promise I shall take good care of my slave."


    "Me? A slave?" Deming''s teeth clenched as his eyes drilled into Lord Muchen in rage. He whipped his head towards the lieutenant, eyes ablaze as he whispered, "What is happening?"


    The Astaran lieutenant creased his eyes, and he moved forward with suspicion, all the while catching Deming''s attention. He whispered, "What is happening? Your father was a coward who prioritized himself and his son over his own people. I am only doing what he lacked the guts to do for the safety of Astara. And as its new ruler, I will do it right." With a deep bow before the faerie leader, he swept his hand from his chest out toward Deming, as though presenting an offering. "Lord Muchen, as you requested."This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Deming met the lieutenant''s eyes with a burning glare, his pulse quickening. "You..." his voice trembled.


    The lieutenant sneered at the prince before turning to the faerie leader. "In exchange for my life and the Supreme Throne of Astara, I present Feng Deming¡ªthe crown prince."


    Deming''s features hardened to disgust. "You despicable traitor!" he spat, voice shaking with fury. "My father was blind to trust a coward who stoops to slavery. You are a mockery of a king."


    The lieutenant took a step back, sweat running down between his eyebrows as he glanced from Deming to Lord Muchen. ''I have no choice... If I don''t hand over the prince, Astara is doomed. The faeries would wipe us out.'' He tore at his soul with guilt. "I am aware that slavery goes against our principles. However..." Sighing, he recognized his treason and such violation for what it was: going against their code of forbidding slavery, a rule his tribe had lived by since its foundation millions of years before. ''There''s nothing I can do now.''


    In one last effort, Deming stared at the lieutenant with imploring eyes, desperate for mercy, with chains forcing him to remain in place.


    The lieutenant stared at the ground, ashamed to meet Deming''s eyes, his face red with embarrassment. "He is all yours." He spun and left without looking back.


    Eyes flickering with pleasure, Lord Muchen took a graceful step forward, regarding the prince with a satisfied eye. "A most generous offering, indeed."


    Fury seethed in Deming, scalding from his fists to the pit of his stomach as his life crumbled into a living hell. The taste of rage flooded over his tongue as he spat out his words. "One day, the Faerie Realm will fall, and its name will be forgotten forever¡ªalong with yours," he snarled like the low rumble of thunder. "I promise you this!"


    The footsteps of the faeries pounded the earth up toward Feng Deming, pounding the beat of drums in his rib cage as they came nearer. As the gap between them closed, he did not know whether the smell of sharp and bitter ozone overwhelmed him or the cold stares of the faeries. His breath turned short, and he felt a taste of anxiety as the lieutenant receded from his sight, leaving him alone to meet the faeries bearing down on him.


    "You will all regret this, mark my words!" Deming raged, shaking the chains on his arms. His fingers dug into his palms like talons as he fought the overwhelming force pressing down on him. Tears barely held in; he remembered what his father had taught him: to not back down during difficult times but to fight through it.


    "Listen closely, my son¡ªnever allow yourself to be trapped... You are our only hope against their millions of years of oppression. The faeries want to crush our pride and destroy our culture. If we lose our identity, everything our ancestors achieved will turn to dust. We will be nothing... They want to weaken us by making us less protective of our heritage, dividing Astara. If they succeed, faerie worship will occur here and doom us all... that even death is a mercy from the only God there is.


    Even if they take away our lands and try to break our spirit, we must never turn the other cheek and abandon our ideology... We are Astarans; we never surrender to oppression or lose our dignity, even if death comes near.


    One day, you must lead our people because only you can stand up to the faeries. When the time is right, I will reveal who you truly are. Until then, never forget our legacy, our culture, and who we are as a people... Always remember who you are, Feng Deming."


    Deming''s face brightened then, with hope. Frowning, his mouth a firm line, he exhaled through his nose with all his remaining breath. ''Now I see why he never wanted me to waste time and play like the other kids...''


    His mind flooded with memories of the most grueling training sessions.


    ''That deciphering technique... I haven''t mastered it yet, but I will... Father, I promise I''ll restore Astara''s glory... and once I decipher these seals, I''ll break free...'' A serving of dread bundled up in his chest. ''But what if I fail after breaking out... and be trapped again... and never see my home again? What will they do to Astara... and my people?''


    "Take this... monster... away," Muchen hissed.


    Deming''s chest tightened at the accusation. ''Monster,'' the word twisted in his gut. ''Father knew something about me that he didn''t tell. Maybe that''s why he trained me all my life. Maybe I am... a monster.''


    A burning desire coursed through his veins, planning his getaway as the seed of the foretold day took root in his heart.

 4. Dark Past

    Feng Deming sat upon a golden throne in the Flare Wing Palace of Middle Astara and mused, "I have restored order after the chaos left by the previous Supreme Leader... Soon, I shall reclaim Astara''s lost lands and historical artifacts from the Faerie Tribe." His jaw clenched, and a twisted smile crept onto his lips. "Yet, this is merely the beginning."


    "My lord," a soldier clad in bulky black armor knelt before Deming. "The King of the West has defied your order. How shall I convey your response?"


    Snapping out of his reverie, Deming''s piercing gaze cut through the soldier, like ice through warm flesh. "It seems my benevolence has been mistaken for weakness," he growled, his deep voice sinister, sending shivers down the soldier''s spine. His jaw clenched, the tension hinting at the anger simmering beneath his composed exterior. "However, there is indeed a message I demand to be conveyed."


    The soldier trembled under Deming''s intense scrutiny as the Demon King rose from his throne. Each step echoed with an ominous presence in the grand hall, telling a tale of the destruction he had unleashed and the countless lives he had crushed beneath his heel, their anguished cries of despair haunting their memories.


    Deming stood tall before the soldier, radiating regal elegance with his dark-brown hair flowing down to his thighs, as if drawn with a quill and ink. He wore multi-layered black garments and a golden half-crown. The horn-like protrusions on either side of the crown emphasized his esteemed status as the Demon King.


    With eyes blazing like molten gold, Deming commanded, "Lock him away. Let his fate serve as a warning to all who would dare cross me."


    "Yes, my lord!" The guards seized the soldier with vice-like grips, their hands clamping down hard on his arms.


    Stunned by the swift judgment, the soldier protested, "But why, my lord? I''m inno¡ª"


    "Innocent?" Deming interrupted with a mocking sneer. "Do not insult my intelligence. Your loyalty has been compromised, and you know it full well."


    With a nod from Deming, the guards dragged the soldier away. He pleaded, but the heavy thud of the closing chamber doors silenced his cries.


    Alone once more, Deming turned to the window, his aloof eyes narrowing as he gazed out over the moonlit landscape. The night whispered its secrets, but darker ambitions consumed his mind. "West Astara shall kneel at my feet," he whispered to the darkness, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Soon."


    With that, he turned away from the window and headed for his chambers, seeking to embrace the night''s darkness as he prepared for rest.


    As Deming entered his chambers and lay on the bed, he drifted off to sleep. Vivid memories from his past crept into his dreams, finding himself back in the dim dungeon of the Faerie Realm, where he had once endured unimaginable torment day after day. The chilling echoes of his suffering reverberated through his mind, each memory a reminder of the pain.


    Young Deming found himself in shackles, his small frame shaking with fear and confusion. An acrid smell hung heavily in the dungeon, and the cold stone walls closed in on him, intensifying his entrapment. "Is someone there? Why am I your prisoner?" he implored, his voice trembling with innocence.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Muchen''s response matched the dungeon''s cold chill. "You shall not be around for much longer. There is no need to ask such a question." His voice echoed off the stone, bouncing back to Deming.


    Deming''s breath caught in his throat. "What for? Are you planning to... to kill me?" His eyes widened with terror, and his breathing grew more rapid as he strained to discern Muchen''s approaching footsteps.


    "Yes," came the cold reply, landing the word like a stone in the silence. Muchen''s steps drew closer, slow and ominous, like impending doom.


    The young demon''s heart pounded as he struggled to grasp his fate. Every echo in the dungeon intensified: the distant drip of water, the static of phantom chains as he tried to break free. "B-but... why?" he choked out, his hands trembling against the unforgiving shackles biting into his skin as his captor''s words sank in.


    "Because you exist," Muchen''s voice carried a malicious tone, his gaze like a blade as he stared down at Deming, revealing himself.


    ''It''s him.'' The young demon shuddered under the intensity of the stare, fear gripping him as his eyes locked with Muchen''s.


    Horror whirled through Deming''s mind as Muchen''s words echoed in the chamber. In that moment, the harsh reality of his existence crashed over him, drowning him in a sea of darkness and despair. The fact that Muchen regarded his very existence as a crime threatened to suffocate him.


    Desperation took hold of him, and Deming pleaded, "But I haven''t done anything wrong! I''m inno¡ª"


    "Innocent?" Muchen, looming over him, sneered with disdain. "In the eyes of our kind, your innocence is a myth. Your bloodline is tainted, cursed from the moment you drew your first breath."


    Tears welled in Deming''s eyes as he struggled against his restraints, his young heart heavy with the knowledge of his impending death. "Please... I don''t want to die," he whispered.


    Muchen''s gaze remained cold and unaffected. "Your fate was sealed the moment you were born," he declared, his tone as harsh as the stone walls. "I cannot allow you to live, nor can I release you, knowing the power that you possess."


    And so, in that dark and forsaken chamber, Deming''s childhood dreams shattered, replaced by a harsh reality that punished him for being born. Muchen tormented Deming without mercy, although he survived each session. Though the strikes and energy blasts left marks that would fade but never be forgotten, Deming refused to break. The fire within him burned brighter with every strike, with every insult, and with every attempt to crush his spirit.


    As weeks turned into months and months into years, Muchen grew frustrated. In the final days of Deming''s captivity, as he reached adulthood, the air in the chamber grew heavy with the scent of sweat and the dampness of the dungeon walls.


    "You thought you could defy us, demon?" Muchen sneered, his voice dripping with malice as he delivered another blow, the impact reverberating off the stone walls.


    Deming gritted his teeth and scoffed, refusing to show weakness despite the chains that held him down. "What? Tired already?" he sneered. His golden eyes burned with fierce hatred, and his fingers twitched with the desire to retaliate.


    Muchen''s cold and hollow words echoed through the chamber. "How amusing," he taunted, surprised by Deming''s defiance.


    With a flick of his wrist, Muchen tightened another chain around Deming''s throat, increasing the pressure over time. As the energy chain tightened, Deming''s breaths became shallower, struggling for breath. But despite the pressure, his eyes blazed with rage and a thirst for revenge. Muchen observed him fight against the suffocating grip, enjoying his gasps for air.


    "Tomorrow, we shall resume this session," Muchen declared, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "After all, you have survived so many times before."


    Even as Deming struggled for breath, a sinister smirk crossed his lips. "I shall... reduce this realm... to mere dust... with the first light of dawn," he whispered through his constricted throat.


    Muchen''s lips curled into a cold smile. "How entertaining," he mused, tightening the chain even further, relishing Deming''s gasps for air. "But mark my words, demon, this is merely the beginning."


    The dream shifted, jolting Deming awake. He sat upright in bed, his heart pounding as he gasped for breath. He blinked away the remnants of the nightmare, sweat beading on his forehead. He took a deep, steadying breath and whispered, "This dream again."