The ritual circle was older than war.
It lay buried beneath layers of obsidian and bone, carved into the bedrock of the demon realm long before Sereth took the throne—before his kind learned to name themselves rulers. Ancient sigils glowed faintly as blood seeped into their grooves, each symbol humming with restrained hunger.
Sereth stood at the center.
The throne room above had been abandoned. Cracked. Unstable. He wanted witnesses to what came next, but not ones who could flee.
Azaroth Nimbus Roal knelt at the edge of the circle, one arm still stiff from wounds that had not fully healed. He said nothing. His silence was obedience sharpened by fear.
Sereth raised his hands.
The air screamed.
Power poured from him—not wild, not frenzied, but precise. Controlled. The kind of power that had practiced patience for centuries. The sigils ignited one by one, crimson light tearing through the darkness as the floor split open.
Deep below, something moved.
"Wake," Sereth commanded.
The ground collapsed inward.
From the abyss rose stone coffins the size of towers, dragged upward by chains forged from screaming souls. The chains shattered as the coffins struck the surface, cracking open under their own weight.
The first hand emerged.
Blackened, armored in fused bone and steel, its fingers tipped with claws that dripped molten shadow. The demon pulled itself free, towering, horned, eyes burning with ancient intelligence.
Another followed.
And another.
Five in total.
Each radiated a pressure that bent reality, their presence suffocating, their existence an offense to the natural order.
Azaroth swallowed.
"These are… legends," he said carefully. "The Old Lords."
Sereth smiled.
"They were kings," he corrected. "Before gods learned fear."
One stepped forward, its voice like grinding continents. "Who summons us from death?"
Sereth met its gaze without flinching. "Your ruler."
The demon's eyes narrowed. "We kneel to no—"
Sereth released a fraction of his power.
The circle flared.
All five demon lords dropped to one knee as if struck by the weight of the world itself, the sigils blazing with dominance. The bedrock cracked beneath them.
"I did not resurrect you," Sereth said calmly. "I reclaimed you."
Silence followed. Then, slowly, the ancient demon bowed its head.
"Command us."
Sereth turned toward the void beyond the chamber, toward a world he could not yet reach—but soon would.
"There is a boy," he said. "A silver flame that fractures fate. You will hunt his hope, burn his allies, and break his spirit."
His eyes darkened.
"And if fate itself interferes again…"
The Old Lords grinned—terrible, eager smiles.
"Then we will remind reality," one rumbled, "that even destiny can bleed."
Far away, Kael jolted awake from a dream he couldn't remember, heart pounding.
Lira sat beside him instantly, hand gripping his.
Something had changed.
Something ancient had opened its eyes.