Page 67 of Bargain with the Demon King
The temperature plummets. Not Kaine's ice—something else. Something that makes the air itself crystallize, each breath becoming visible, each exhale forming frost that hangs suspended. The soul-stones in the walls don't just pulse—they shriek, frequencies that pierce through bone.
"Well," I observe conversationally, though my teeth chatter, "someone's pissed."
The massive throne room doors—ancient wood bound with metal that's never known rust—begin to smoke. Not burn. Smoke. The metal runs liquid while the wood stays solid, an impossibility that makes my good eye water trying to track it.
"That's new," Vex whispers, all four shadows pulling tight against his body.
A sound cuts through the frozen air. Not a roar. Not a scream. Something that exists in frequencies that make my bones ache and my teeth taste lightning. The twilight necklace burns against my throat—not warning but recognition. It knows what approaches.
"Still think I don't matter?" Red drips from my split lip as I grin. "That sound? That's what happens when you touch what's his."
The doors explode inward. Not break—explode. Wood becomes splinters becomes dust in the space of a heartbeat. Metal turns to vapor that burns lung tissue just to breathe near. Through the destruction steps something that might once have been Azzaron but is now consequence given form.
His beast form fills the throne room without trying. Horns that scrape the ceiling, leaving gouges in stone that's stood for millennia. Skin that shifts between solid and shadow, unable to decide which state contains more threat. Claws that don't just extend—they exist in defiance of physics, too long, too sharp, bending light around their edges. His eyes burn gold-black, and looking directly at them makes my brain try to flee my skull.
"Your Majesty," Raziel attempts, though his voice shakes. "The mortal attacked us. We were defending—"
Azzaron moves. No—moves implies motion between points. He exists at Raziel, and then Raziel exists in pieces. The violence happens too fast to track, just Raziel whole, then Raziel in segments, black ichor painting arcs across ancient stone.
"Tidy," I breathe. "Very tidy."
The beast turns those impossible eyes on me, cataloging damage. Every bruise, every cut, every place they touched what's his. A sound rumbles from him that makes the remaining demons step back—not a growl but the promise of ending, the sound reality makes before it tears.
"Wait." Kaine raises both hands, ice cascading from his fingers in sheets. "She's not even yours anymore."
The words land wrong. The beast-thing that is Azzaron goes still—not calm but the pause before cataclysm.
"We found it," Sithara says quickly, sensing advantage. "In your chambers. The dust. Fine, white, glittering. Still warm."
My brain stutters. Dust? What dust could matter enough to—
"Her soul-stone," Vex's shadows whisper in unison. "Crushed. Destroyed. The ultimate crime for a demon king."
The throne room spins, or maybe I do. My soul-stone. Crushed. But that means—
"She has no debt," Kaine continues, frost climbing the walls as his confidence grows. "No chain binding her here. She's been free. You destroyed her soul-stone and kept her anyway."
My lungs forget their purpose. My heart stutters, skips. The throne room holds its breath.
Free. I've been free.
The memories crash through me—each one shifting, showing its true shape. The way he asked if I wanted to see the library, never commanded. How he brought his dinner to my room instead of ordering me to his. The boundary surveys that were really just attempts to pull me from depression. Every "would you like to" instead of "you will." The market, where he bought me things just because they made me smile, not because he owned me and could. The way he never forced me to stay when I threw things at servants, never commanded me to eat, never used the power he didn't have.
He crushed my soul. Set me free. Then spent weeks tentatively trying to heal what Chad broke, not as my owner but as someone who simply couldn't bear to see my light extinguished.
"She'll run now," Sithara laughs, the sound sharp as her claws. "Back to her pathetic mortal world. Back to the coward she sold everything for."
The irony is so thick I can taste it through the blood. My soul is free, but my body is still in chains.
Kaine gestures, and my chains shatter, ice making metal brittle enough to break. I fall forward, catch myself on hands that barely work. My palms hit stone, and I feel every bone inmy fingers protest. Life leaks from my wrists onto the floor, joining the elaborate patterns already there.
"Go on then," Lord Vex says, his shadows dancing with anticipation. "Run. The door's right there. Freedom. Your precious mortal world. Maybe even your Chad, though he's probably balls-deep in someone else right now."
I push to my feet. The first attempt fails—legs too weak, everything spinning. The second attempt, I make it to my knees. The third, finally standing, though the room tilts dangerously. The twilight necklace pulses against my throat—warm for the first time since the betrayal, almost alive with possibility.
One foot in front of the other. I take a step. My legs threaten to buckle, but I lock my knees, stay upright through pure spite.
The demons smirk, satisfied. Azzaron's beast form makes a sound that might be breaking.
