The Demon Among The Knights-Chapter 43 - 39 : “Demon on the Runway”

Luci stood in silence, his eyes locked onto the radiant pool of holy water before him. The light it gave off shimmered along the walls like dancing spirits, reflecting across the metal cuffs that bound his power.

Brian, with a torch still in hand, looked up at him. His voice calm... yet firm.

"If you want me to give you the only sample of this holy water," Brian said, "so you can pour it over your chains and regain your power... then you must protect us from that threat."

Luci didn’t blink. He just tilted his head slightly.

"...Only the holy water won’t be enough."

Brian grinned knowingly, as if he’d been expecting that. "Alright," he said. "I’ll add something else."

He raised two fingers with a smirk.

"A grand banquet," Brian said. "Roasted chicken. Whole trays of them. Cooked in garlic wine sauce. Fried in demon oil. Glazed with heaven’s honey. You name it."

Luci’s eyes narrowed.

"...Say less," Luci said, his mouth twitching into a grin. "I’ll protect this earth. And your stupid castle."

Brian laughed, clapping Luci on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "Then it’s a deal."

They turned and made their way back through the secret tunnel, back toward the map room.

Back in the Map Room...

As they stepped out into the room, the torches flickered once more. The chill from the secret passage was quickly replaced by the warm glow of firelight.

Just then, a figure emerged from the hallway, footsteps like soft thunder against the stone floor.

He was tall—a wall of muscle and poise.

Black skin, smooth and striking, with eyes that burned yellow like the sun through a storm. His hair was styled into thick dreadlocks, all pulled back in tight plates, hanging just above the sharp line of his shoulder armor. A thin beard graced only his chin, trimmed to a short point.

He wore silver armor polished to a mirror shine, and etched across the left breastplate in bold letters were the words: "Legendary II."

He carried himself like a beast sleeping with one eye open. Always ready.

"Brian," the man said in a deep, calm voice. "The king has arrived. He’s looking for you."

Brian nodded. "I’ll be there shortly."

The man’s eyes slid toward Luci, pausing for a long moment.

Then, with a faint smirk, he said: "So you’re that demon... Luci."

The tension in the room thickened. Luci looked up slowly, his expression unreadable.

The air almost sizzled.

The room echoed with Christian’s laughter—a rich, almost theatrical sound that filled the stone chamber like a symphony of mockery. His silver-plated arms gleamed under the torchlight as he leaned back against a marble pillar, one boot crossed over the other, every inch of his posture exuding smug confidence. Behind him, the embroidered banners of the royal crest swayed gently from the ceiling, disturbed only by the occasional whisper of wind through the arched windows. The scent of lavender oil and polished metal filled the air.

"You’re that demon?" he chuckled, as if he still couldn’t believe it. "I thought you’d be taller... and maybe with flames for eyes. But you just look like a scrawny, angry kid."

The insult hung in the air for a moment like a sharp knife. Luci didn’t flinch. He stood still, unmoved, his chained hands at his sides, the iron ball resting beside his boot with a dull clink. His eyes, faintly glowing red, narrowed ever so slightly.

"Do I look like a joke to you?" he said, each word steady and razor-edged.

Christian smirked, eyes alight with mischief. "No. But I expected you to be more... menacing. You’re like a grumpy cat pretending to be a lion." 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Luci’s brow twitched again, the glow in his eyes deepening like a coal catching fresh air. "I’m not a kid," he growled. His voice was low, a rumble that vibrated just beneath the skin, hinting at the power wrapped tightly under the surface like a coiled beast.

Brian, ever the diplomat between chaos and order, stepped between them with a practiced air. He adjusted the cuffs of his royal navy coat, sighed like a man used to babysitting chaos incarnate, and glanced between the two with restrained weariness. "I’m going to meet the king," he said. "You two—try not to kill each other while I’m gone."

The door closed behind him with a solid thunk.

Christian turned to Luci immediately, hands clasped like he was about to perform a ritual. "So," he said, eyes glittering, "what are you wearing to the feast?"

Luci blinked. "What I have on."

Christian recoiled as if he’d been stabbed. "That tattered thing? It’s practically decaying on you! You look like you were dragged here through a battlefield—and then set on fire." He circled Luci like a tailor inspecting a model, tutting dramatically. "This is a royal event, not a sewer gathering."

Luci’s arms flexed just enough to make the chains jingle. "Why do you care so much about my clothes?"

Christian placed a hand on his heart and gasped, mock-offended. "Because I love fashion. It’s my art, my passion, my religion. And any fashionless fool I come across, I make them my personal project. Consider yourself lucky, demon."

"Call me fool again," Luci said, voice dropping an octave, "and I’ll pop your head off like a bottle cap."

Christian grinned wider. "Adorable. But threats don’t work on me, darling. I’m immune to ugly energy." He snapped his fingers. "Bring it in!"

The door opened, and a knight stepped inside, nervously wheeling in a golden rack that sparkled like a treasure chest. The clothes on it shimmered with enchantments, each piece tailored for royalty, hero, or god. The knight—young, armored, and visibly trembling—immediately backed away the moment Luci turned his gaze on him.

Christian cracked his knuckles. "Let’s begin the transformation."

He selected a royal navy-blue suit, embroidered with golden swirls that resembled wind currents. A diamond clasp sat at the throat of the cape like a lighthouse beacon. "Try this."

Luci gave him a glare but stepped behind the folding screen. Moments later, he emerged, stiff, shoulders hunched as if he’d just donned armor made of spiders.

"Too fancy," he grunted, tugging at the collar like it was choking him.

Christian sighed like an artist watching his masterpiece burn. "Philistines."

Next came a shimmering silver tunic with embedded mooncrystals and tight leather pants. Luci tried it on and immediately scratched his arms. "Too itchy."

Christian tilted his head. "Maybe your demon skin is just sensitive."

Luci raised one chain-bound hand slowly, with menacing intent.

"Okay, okay," Christian said quickly, chuckling. "Next."

Then came the robe—black velvet, feathered shoulders, collar so high it nearly brushed Luci’s ears. When he stepped out wearing it, Christian burst into theatrical applause.

"You look like you’re about to host a vampire fashion show!"

"I’m not wearing this," Luci declared flatly, spinning once before yanking the high collar off with distaste. "I feel like I’m going to start monologuing about revenge and wine."

Christian wiped a tear from his eye from laughing too hard. "You have no idea how close you are to my aesthetic."

Then, he reached to the very end of the rack. Dust clung to the edge of the final hanger. The outfit was darker, simpler, but radiated something deeper—something powerful. A dark red tunic with phoenix feather embroidery along the back, paired with plain but well-cut black pants. A longcoat—black, lined with crimson trim—rested beside it. A fine chain looped across the chest. Fingerless gloves tucked neatly inside the inner pocket.

"This one," Christian said, voice softer. "This one was meant for someone who walks between fire and shadow."

Luci took it. Held it. The fabric was worn, but solid. Familiar, almost. The red gleamed like blood beneath torchlight.

"I like this one," he muttered.

Christian blinked. "You actually have taste?"

Luci turned away, heading behind the screen again. "I like the color. Matches the blood of my enemies."

Christian smirked. "Of course it does."

—

Meanwhile, deep within the royal palace...

The air was different here—thicker, heavier. The scent of incense hung in the private chambers like a ghost of rituals past. Marble floors gleamed beneath the chandelier’s glow, but the grandeur was only a veil. Beyond the king’s bedchamber, hidden behind the sculpture of a golden angel, the truth pulsed in the dark.

The secret shrine opened with a mechanical click. The torchlight barely reached inside, revealing walls lined with crystal vials resting on silver shelves, each labeled with careful, archaic script.

The king—Aldren—moved like a man entranced. He approached the shrine with reverent steps, his white robe brushing the stone. His hand, elegant yet trembling, reached for the first vial: Blood of a Seraphim-Class Priest. It glowed a soft gold, its light dimming the moment it was lifted from its place.

He uncorked it slowly, savoring the moment. The liquid shimmered like sunlight trapped in a bottle.

Into a black obsidian goblet it poured.

Then, the next vial—Heaven’s Enemy. A darker crimson, thick and pulsing like a living thing. The goblet accepted it eagerly, steam rising as the two forces mixed—holy and cursed, purity and sin, heaven and hell.

"If I drink this," Aldren whispered to no one, to the shadows, to the gods he would one day defy, "if I absorb their purity and their curses alike... then nothing will stop me."

He turned to the tall mirror. For a heartbeat, he saw only himself.

Then the reflection flickered.

Behind him—wings. Not white. Not gold. But blackened, twisted things—like the feathers of a fallen angel rotted by time. They twitched with hunger.

"I will rule not just the Knights’ Kingdom," he said, raising the goblet. "The Mages... the Vikings... the heavens themselves will bow to me."

To be continued....