"Lord Zarin..."
A guard approached Zarin immediately upon his entrance, taking his coat.
"Lord Zarin."
Another appeared, walking at his side.
"Send word around the castle. A meeting will be held in the next thirty minutes. Notify every member of the Roundtable."
"Shall I notify the King of your return?"
"Immediately."
The guard bowed before disappearing.
The castle was enormous.
Different lodges, wings and compartments stretched in every direction, connected by long corridors and enormous archways.
There was little to no colour.
The walls were made of dark stone, decorated with almost nothing. Tall windows allowed thin rays of moonlight to seep into the corridors, barely illuminating the endless halls.
There were no paintings.
No flowers.
No unnecessary decorations.
Nothing that made the castle feel warm.
Aside from the King, there were eleven other important people residing within this castle.
Zarin made his way towards the East Wing.
His wing of the castle.
A trail of about five servants followed behind him.
"Lord Zarin, should the Kingdom be notified as well?"
"Not necessary."
Zarin stopped.
"You're all dismissed."
They disappeared almost instantly.
All except one.
Standing before the door of his room, the female servant opened it.
Beyond the slim opening was a dark and almost empty room.
Zarin glanced at Eric.
"Get this idiot a room."
He walked inside.
The door shut behind him.
He looked down the corridor.
Even the air felt different here.
Walking deeper into the castle felt like walking deeper into the gates of hell.
After a bend around the corner, they finally stopped.
"This is where you'll stay."
Eric glanced at the female servant.
"...Well."
The female servant turned around.
Eric recognized her immediately.
Nyvera.
"It's been a long time, Nyvera."
She didn't answer.
She simply turned and walked away.
Eric watched her disappear around the corner.
I guess it's to be expected.
Nyvera was just like me.
But unlike me...
She actually enjoyed being a demon.
And she served Zarin directly.
Eric sighed.
"I left without saying goodbye..."
He looked down the empty corridor.
"And now I suddenly spawned back out of thin air."
He walked into his new room.
It was small.
A bed.
A wooden table.
A chair.
A basin.
A wardrobe.
That was it.
Eric dropped beside the bed.
He stared at the basin for a moment.
Maybe freshening up wouldn't be a bad idea.
He washed his face and looked into the small mirror hanging against the wall.
For a moment, he didn't recognize the person staring back at him.
Human.
Demon.
Traitor.
Survivor.
He didn't know what he was supposed to call himself anymore.
He looked away.
He had spent years trying to escape this place.
And now...
He was back.
Exactly thirty minutes later, Eric trailed behind Zarin as they approached the throne room.
"Do I have to come along?"
No response.
"I'd honestly prefer staying in my room."
Nothing.
Eric sighed.
The perforating eyes of everyone else in the castle had been haunting him since he arrived.
He could feel them following him.
Judging him.
Remembering him.
The doors to the throne room suddenly flung open.
Eric stopped.
The throne room stretched across an enormous distance.
Tall pillars lined both sides of the chamber, disappearing into the darkness above.
A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, its dim light casting pale reflections across the polished black floor.
The walls were carved with strange patterns Eric couldn't recognize.
Some resembled claws.
Others looked like ancient symbols.
At the far end of the chamber was an elevated platform.
And upon it...
Was the throne of the Demon King.
It was enormous.
Dark stone twisted around its back like horns, reaching towards the ceiling.
But the throne was empty.
The King had not arrived yet.
Eric's eyes moved away from it.
In the middle of the room, directly beneath the chandelier, sat a large crescent-shaped table which faced the throne.
Its surface was made from dark stone.
Carved into the center was a strange symbol.
A large symmetrical sigil formed from interlocking rings, sharp spires and thorn-like curves.
Several circular bands surrounded a small star-like mark at its center.
The entire symbol looked less like decoration...
And more like a warning.
Nine people were already seated around the table.
Eric's eyes slowly moved across them.
002 — Kaine.
A broad-shouldered man with short dark hair and a heavy expression.
His number was tattooed beneath his right collarbone.
003 — Odrak.
A tall, lean man with sharp features.
His number was marked along the left side of his neck.
004 — Seraphine.
A woman with long silver-black hair and an unreadable expression.
Her number was tattooed across her right wrist.
005 — Vask.
A heavily built man with a crooked smile.
His number was marked across the back of his left hand.
006 — Maevra.
A woman with dark hair tied behind her head.
Her number rested just beneath her left ear.
007 — Rook.
A quiet man with a rough appearance and tired eyes.
His number was tattooed across his right shoulder.
008 — Soren.
A slim man with neatly kept hair and a calm expression.
His number was tattooed along his ribs, mostly hidden beneath his clothes.
009 — Theron.
A tall, pale-looking man with long fingers resting against the table.
His number was marked above his left hip.
010 — Isolde.
A woman with long dark hair and a composed expression.
Her number was tattooed across the back of her neck.
Eric swallowed.
Every demon carried a number.
Every number had its place.
And every placement seemed deliberate.
These were the Demon King's elites.
The Roundtable.
Ten Upper Phase demons who had proven their loyalty, strength and grit to the King.
The lower the number...
The more terrifying the demon.
Eric looked around the table again.
Only one seat was empty.
001.
Zarin's eyes lingered on it.
"Mordren said he'll be late."
Vask leaned back in his chair.
"He's on his way."
Mordren.
A major thorn in Zarin's side.
Eric had heard enough about him to know that the name alone wasn't one to take lightly.
The Demon Realm had its own order.
A person became King by defeating the current King in a death match.
Whoever won inherited the throne.
And the previous King's council?
It ended with him.
Everyone involved.
That was the law.
The hatred towards Zarin had ignited from the moment the Demon King decided to keep him.
Because everyone knew what that meant.
The King acknowledged Zarin.
And some demons couldn't stand it.
The throne remained empty.
The meeting hadn't officially begun.
Then—
BANG!
The doors flung open once more.
Every head turned.
A man walked into the room with both hands in his pockets.
Mordren.
He had a large, slightly bulky stature.
Yet there was nothing slow about him.
His face was bright.
Almost friendly.
Almost.
Across his left eye, directly above his cheekbone, was his number.
001.
He stopped a few feet away.
A huge smile spread across his face.
"Zarin..."
Zarin stared at him.
"Mordren."
"It's good to have you home."
Despite the friendliness in the air...
The atmosphere remained cold.
Zarin's eyes narrowed.
"I believe I informed everyone to be here in thirty minutes."
Mordren shrugged.
"What's a few minutes between friends?"
Silence.
Mordren's smile widened.
"After all..."
He pulled one hand from his pocket.
"It's not like you hold any actual power here."
Eric's eyes widened.
The room became completely silent.
Mordren had just challenged Zarin.
Publicly.
Eric looked around the table.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Zarin usually ignored Mordren like everyone else.
But this time...
He didn't.
Zarin stepped forward.
Mordren's smile disappeared.
The distance between them vanished.
Mordren moved first.
His fist shot towards Zarin.
Zarin leaned aside.
The punch missed.
Zarin answered with an uppercut.
Mordren blocked.
The force still sent him sliding backwards.
Mordren planted his foot.
He launched himself forward.
Faster.
His fist came from the side.
Zarin ducked.
A second strike followed immediately.
Zarin blocked.
A third.
Blocked.
A fourth.
Zarin caught his wrist.
Mordren grinned.
"Got you."
His knee came upward.
Zarin released him just before it connected.
Mordren twisted in the air and brought his heel down.
Zarin crossed both arms.
BOOM!
The floor beneath them cracked.
Zarin slid backwards.
Mordren didn't give him time to recover.
He charged.
Zarin raised his sword.
Steel suddenly materialized in his hand.
Mordren drew his own.
CLANG!
Their swords collided.
The sound echoed through the throne room.
Mordren swung again.
Zarin parried.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Their blades moved faster with every exchange.
Mordren forced Zarin backwards.
One strike.
Two.
Three.
Zarin blocked each one.
Mordren suddenly changed direction.
His blade swept across.
Zarin leaned backwards.
The sword passed dangerously close.
Mordren followed with a kick.
Zarin caught it.
Mordren twisted his body and broke free.
He kicked Zarin away.
Zarin slid across the floor.
Eric stared.
Mordren wasn't weak.
He wasn't reckless.
He was terrifying.
This was 001.
The strongest member of the Roundtable.
Mordren charged again.
Zarin met him head-on.
Their blades collided.
CLANG!
A shockwave travelled across the room.
The chandelier above them trembled.
Cracks spread further across the stone floor.
Mordren pushed harder.
Zarin pushed back.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Zarin disappeared.
Mordren's eyes widened.
Zarin appeared behind him.
Mordren turned just in time to block the strike.
The impact sent him crashing into one of the pillars.
The room shook.
Dust fell from above.
Mordren stepped out of the rubble.
Still standing.
Still smiling.
"Now that's more like it."
Zarin stared at him.
Mordren charged again.
The battle became a blur.
Fists.
Kicks.
Steel.
Neither gave the other room to breathe.
Mordren landed several blows.
Zarin answered with several of his own.
The longer the battle continued...
The calmer Zarin became.
Mordren was fighting to prove something.
Zarin was fighting because he didn't need to prove anything.
Mordren swung.
Zarin caught his arm.
He twisted.
Mordren dropped his sword.
Zarin kicked it away.
Mordren immediately tackled him.
Both crashed onto the floor.
Mordren tried to pin him.
Zarin drove an elbow into his chest.
Mordren staggered.
Zarin rose.
Mordren charged again.
Zarin stepped aside.
Mordren missed.
Zarin grabbed him.
And slammed him into the floor.
The entire room fell silent.
Mordren tried to rise.
Zarin stepped forward.
Mordren pushed himself onto one knee.
Zarin struck him down.
Eric's breath caught.
No...
He knew what was about to happen.
Mordren was 001.
The strongest member of the Roundtable.
But Zarin was 000.
He wasn't part of the Roundtable.
He stood above it.
Mordren had broken the order.
And in this place...
There was always a price for that.
Mordren tried to move.
Zarin stepped forward.
His foot came down against Mordren's head.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The sound echoed through the throne room.
Eric froze.
Zarin kept going.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until Mordren stopped moving.
Nobody at the table reacted.
Not one of them.
Eric slowly looked at the others.
They weren't shocked.
They weren't afraid.
They simply watched.
Because this wasn't a battle anymore.
It was punishment.
Zarin finally stopped.
He grabbed Mordren by the collar and dragged him across the floor.
A dark trail followed behind him.
He lifted Mordren's body towards the table.
"Is there anyone else in this room who wants to challenge my authority?"
Silence.
Zarin's eyes moved from one demon to another.
"Would anyone here want to look like your friend 001?"
Nobody answered.
The remaining nine and Zarin stared at each other.
The coldest eyes Eric had ever seen.
"There should be a limit to your stupidity..."
Zarin tossed Mordren towards the table.
"Now sit."
Isolde immediately stood.
She walked over and picked up Mordren.
Without saying a word, she placed him in his assigned seat.
Zarin returned to the head of the table.
The throne in front of him remained empty.
The King still hadn't arrived.
But nobody needed him to remind them of the order.
The Roundtable was made up of ten elite demons.
010 to 001.
The lower the number...
The more terrifying the demon.
But Zarin?
He wasn't a member of the Roundtable.
He was their leader.
A pure Upper Phase demon.
000.
Zarin looked around the table.
"We have a meeting to commence."
The doors closed behind them.
And Eric finally understood.
He hadn't returned home.
He had returned to hell.