FROST
Chapter 94: Demon’s Heir

Chapter 94: Demon’s Heir

He stood wreathed in darkness, a silent, leering specter at the edge of the cavern, waiting.

The Queen’s cries filled the chamber, echoing like a chorus of breaking glass. Caspian—The Lunar King—stood tall before her, the shimmer of a defensive spell trembling at his fingertips, ready to strike.

But in his mind, there was only one question:

How?

How did he find this place?

How did he break through the seal—twelve sorcerers had etched it in blood and stone. No one should have been able to step past it.

No one.

And yet, he had.

A flicker of disbelief crossed Caspian’s face.

That was when the demon smiled.

A slow, crooked curl of the lips, as if he had plucked the thought from the King’s very mind.

The Lunar King’s gaze swept across the chamber. His eyes fell first on Lady Lishu and Lady Lo, their still forms slumped against the stone floor.

Their once-vibrant auras had dimmed to nothing, like candles snuffed out in a violent wind. He could see the faint rise and fall of their chests—still breathing, but deeply unconscious. Then his gaze drifted to the Queen.

To her belly.

The mark.

It had deepened in color—once a faint shimmer of silver blessed by moonlight, now darkening into something bruised and unnatural.

Black veins spidered outward from the center, creeping like cracks in glass. And at its heart, the seal that once pulsed in controlled rhythm was now spinning wildly, as if two forces—one divine, one profane—were clashing inside her womb.

The mark was no longer dormant. It was threatening to collide upon itself... and break.

Then the demon moved.

No footsteps. No sound.

Only motion.

He flowed like smoke, his form shifting with no definite shape, and yet solid enough to cast a long shadow on the walls. With every step he took, the ground beneath his feet withered. Dark soot-like stains appeared, seeping into the stone as though the mountain itself recoiled from his presence.

The temperature dropped.

Mana began to surge in the King’s hands—raw, ancient, lunar energy responding to his rising fury. A luminous shield of silver mist flared into existence around him, pulsing with sacred symbols that floated in orbit. He raised his hand toward the demon, energy crackling at his fingertips.

The demon paused mid-step, cocking his head.

A low hum, almost intrigued, escaped him.

But then the Queen screamed. Her voice cut through the chamber, and Caspian’s focus shattered.

He turned to her, horror overtaking discipline. The mark had changed.

It was no longer erratic—it had taken form.

A perfect circle, etched in a black so dark it absorbed the surrounding light, had bloomed on her belly. Its edges were not lines but runes, twitching and shifting as if they were alive. Some of the markings had slithered up her chest, like a thousand black threads stitching their way toward her heart.

And then her neck.

Her face.

Dark lines crept beneath her skin, spreading like ink spilled in water.

"Elaena—!" the King called out, taking a step forward, magic still coiled in his palm.

But before he could even move another inch, shee vanished.

In a flash of warped space and distorted air, the Queen’s body disappeared from the birthing table, the soft flicker of her aura yanked violently from his reach. His heart stopped.

And reappeared, right beside the demon.

Her body was crumpled in his grasp, slumped like a broken doll, held upright only by his clawed hand gripping her shoulder. Her feet barely touched the ground. Her head lolled weakly against him, drenched in sweat, faint azure hair sticking to her skin. The child was not yet born—her agony still writhed within her, tearing her from the inside out.

The demon did not hold her cruelly. He held her... possessively. As though she belonged to him and it made Caspian’s body entirely seething in anger.

This very demon had tainted his wife, stripping her with the purity of a royalty. The Queen’s eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat, dazed and pained, but she knew exactly where she was. And who held her. She knew this touch very well, it brought too much memories, it pains her more than labor—and yet she was so weak to fight back.

Caspian’s breath caught, his magic now burning wild and uncontrolled around him, spiraling into dangerous peaks.

The demon’s lips curled into a grin, eyes glowing like twin moons eclipsed by blood.

"Do you see now, Your Highness?" the demon murmured, his voice a dark lullaby that twisted in the air like poisoned silk.

He cradled the Queen not as a captor would a hostage—but as one might hold something rare, exquisite, irreplaceable. There was reverence in his grasp, unsettling in its intimacy. "Even fate bends for my child."

His words echoed through the stone chamber, resonating with something older than time, something buried deep in the marrow of the mountain itself.

The King stood motionless, heart hammering beneath his ribs. His white robe felt suddenly too tight, suffocating, as if the weight of the crown itself had doubled in that instant.

His hands still glowed with mana, the sacred energy of the lunar gods dancing between his fingers, but he dared not strike. Not with the Queen in the demon’s grasp. Not with the child—their child—so close to birth and suspended in the razor-thin space between life and something far more terrifying.

His voice came out low, cold, wrapped in regal steel. "Get your hands off my wife."

The words echoed with authority.

But the demon... didn’t move.

In fact, he only smiled. Slowly. Like a man savoring an ancient wine, its taste steeped in memory and madness. He tightened his hold on the Queen, pulling her in closer, until her back rested fully against him, miasma hovering away, revealing his hardened chest.

She groaned, her body convulsing once more, the pain carving deep lines into her face. Her hands weakly grasped at the air, as if trying to hold onto something—anything—anchoring her to reality.

The King took a step forward.

"Ah, ah." The demon clicked his tongue, eyes flashing crimson. "I would be very careful, Your Majesty. She’s fragile right now. And so is the seal. You wouldn’t want to break anything prematurely... would you?"

The Lunar King froze again, fury and helplessness warring in his gut. The mana in his hands shivered.

The demon’s smile widened at the tension—at the power he held, not just over the Queen, but over the King himself. Then, without warning, he dipped his head, his face dissolving into vaporous black smoke as it hovered above the Queen’s exposed shoulder. He inhaled—deeply—as though the scent of her agony pleased him. His body hummed with something dark and ancient.

The Queen cried out again, her voice cracked and hoarse.

Caspian flinched.

And then, with grotesque deliberation, the demon slid one of his clawed hands down to her exposed belly—his smoky fingers trailing across the curve of her swollen skin. His touch was gentle, almost caressing.

But the effect was violent.

The mark on the Queen’s abdomen—which had already been pulsing with unstable mana—suddenly flared like a dying fire. The runes twisted, shuddered, then began spiraling wildly, as if reacting to the demon’s proximity. The Queen arched in his arms, her scream raw and unearthly, echoing through the stone chamber with a force that cracked the nearest pillar.

Blood spilled.

From her nose. Her mouth. Her womb.

The black veins on her body writhed, spreading further up her neck and now across her cheekbones like a spider’s web inked in shadow. Her eyes fluttered open—azure irises now fractured by streaks of inky black.

The King’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to help her so bad and yet he was scared it might only bring her more pain... And to the child.

"I can feel it," the demon whispered, his gaze fixed on the mark. "The child is nearly here. So much potential. So much power. Born of moonlight and darkness. Born of war and surrender."

He looked up again, meeting Caspian’s gaze.

"There’s no room in your world for what’s coming. But in mine..." His voice dropped, velvet and cold, "it will reign."

For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath.

The only sound was the Queen’s tortured breathing and the relentless thrum of dark energy swelling from her womb. Something ancient stirred—beyond even the demon. The mountain itself groaned again, the seal in the chamber walls flickering with erratic light, unable to contain what had already been set in motion.

Then the demon whispered, as though to the child itself:

"Come now, little one. Let them hear your cry."

And the mark... shattered and the Queen’s scream echoed through the cavern.

Not the cries of a mother welcoming life into the world, but a soul-ripping wail that shook the everything to its bones. Her body arched grotesquely, the veins in her arms and neck bulging black as the unholy mark on her belly split open—not with a scalpel, not with nature’s rhythm, but with a violent rip that seared the air like tearing fabric from the fabric of reality itself.

Light bled out.

Darkness surged in.

It was not blood that flowed from her—it was mana. Thick, corrupted, ancient. The seal on her skin peeled apart like old parchment, curling at the edges, revealing flesh beneath that shimmered with spectral runes. The Queen’s back bowed so far that her shoulder blades nearly touched. Her lips tore as she screamed, her eyes rolling back until only the whites showed.

A thin, shrieking cry pierced the chaos.

A cry too sharp.

Too cold.

Too... wrong.

And there it was.

Small. Breathing.

Alive.

The demon exhaled in awe. "My perfect son..."

He knelt, gently—as if the world should pause for this moment—and reached into the haze of bloody mana. Cradled in his clawed, smoke-wreathed arms was a newborn. A child. A thing cloaked in blood and birth.

It looked human. Almost.

A head of damp, ebony-black hair clung to the infant’s crown, curling slightly at the tips. Its skin was soft, unmarked, even pale. But two smooth, obsidian horns curved gently from its temples, rising like a crown forged in the pits of the underworld. Its eyes had yet to open, but the air around the child crackled, as if the very elements bent in reverence—or fear.

The cavern trembled. Mana—both divine and damned—rippled outward in waves. The stone underfoot split, ancient symbols etched into the walls flickered and shattered like glass under thunder.

The demon’s face, still partially formless and shifting, twisted into something that could only be called joy. True joy. Unfiltered. Rabid. He held the child aloft like a king presenting an heir to a court of gods.

"My child," he whispered, reverent. "My blood. My wrath. My destiny."

And then, without warning, he flung the Queen aside.

Her body flew through the air like a discarded puppet, limp and bloodied, limbs trailing behind like torn ribbons. But before she could hit the jagged stone wall, Caspian moved—faster than thought, faster than breath—and caught her in his arms.

The force still knocked him backward, his boots dragging grooves into the stone floor. He fell to his knees, cradling her gently, brushing the blood-soaked strands from her face.

"E-Elaena," he whispered, terror lacing every syllable. "Stay with me."

Her eyes fluttered weakly. Her lips barely moved.

"Is... is he safe?"

Caspian’s gaze shot up.

The demon stood still, cradling the child now close to his chest, humming something—an ancient melody, a lullaby lost to time. The air around him shimmered with warped energy, the child nestled in his grasp, its tiny hand curled around one of the demon’s clawed fingers.

The child... smiled.

Not the innocent, reflexive smile of a newborn but something wrong—a smile that a newborn child should not have.

And its eyes opened. They were black as a void which made King’s blood ran cold.

The demon looked up, triumphant.

"This world could never hold a child like this," he said, gently rocking the newborn. "This world cannot even comprehend it. But it will learn."

And just like that, the demon vanished—dissolving into the shadows with the child in his arms, leaving behind a trail of thick, writhing miasma that hissed as it clung to the air, like a curse echoing his departure.

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