Demon Lord: Erotic Adventure in Another World

The silence after Lagun's death was unnatural.

There was no peace, or calm... it was something different and heavier.

The kind of silence that follows a eulogy spoken without words.

The kind of silence that marks the boundary between an old world and something new, raw, and cruel.

Asmodeus stood still, the last ashes of Lagun's form fluttering around him like charred feathers. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the frost in his breath curling unnaturally to the ground instead of vanishing into the air.

His eyes weren't on the fallen.

But fixed on her.

Riel.

The Demon Empress.

The cold storm-womb of this war.

She watched him without blinking, lips parted, halberd dragging slightly in her grip.

Her reflection shimmered across every crystal around the battlefield — mirrored a thousand times, staring from every angle.

But it wasn't anger that reached her first.

It was longing.

Something buried deep behind her eyes, without pupils cracked open like thin ice under bare feet.

He hadn't looked at her like that.

Not once.

Not when she killed.

Not when she stood at her best.

Not when she kissed him in the dream.

Not when she screamed for him to need her.

But now, after killing Lagun, after rising like something divine, he looked ahead with that same resolve he showed all his women.

And it never belonged to her.

"You never saw me," she whispered.

The wind didn't catch her words.

They died on her tongue.

Below her feet, the battlefield shifted.

The frost thickened, curling into jagged seams that spread like veins through the earth.

Crystals began blooming around her — tall, thin, spiralled like the bones of an ancient creature unearthed by time.

One grew beneath her, lifting her slowly into the air.

A throne, forming without her command.

She didn't sit, blink or speak. But gripped the halberd tighter.

Asmodeus took a step forward.

The black flames wrapped around his limbs. His eyes no longer glowed. They burned deep and blue like a sunken abyss, outlined in void.

His expression was calm. But his aura hissed against the crystal like acid.

Her cold met his fire.

Neither receded.

The wind, which had died, began to spiral once again — but unnaturally.

It moved in circles. Tight circles as though the battlefield itself was contracting and preparing for something cataclysmic.

From a distance, the women watched — battered, broken, but alert.

Levia, slumped against a slab of scorched stone, narrowed her eyes.

"That's… not the same woman," she muttered.

Lumina trembled slightly, dragging herself closer.

Her spider legs tapped faintly, instinct warning her even before her eyes did.

"Her skin… it's fusing with the ice…"

Asmodea didn't speak.

She simply grinned, wiping blood from her lips with the back of her wrist.

"Our darling really pissed her off..."

Vinea stood slowly, sword dragging behind her, her vision unfocused but locked on the hovering Empress.

"He's not done yet…"

Back atop her throne of ice, Riel leaned forward, tapping her cheek with a cold, emotionless face.

One foot lifted from the crystal, her form bending low like a beast about to strike.

Her voice was ice and envy all at once.

"Do you know what I hate most about you?"

"It's not your pride."

"It's not your throne."

"It's that you've never looked my way, never considered my feelings."

'Huh?'

Asmodeus narrowed his eyes.

The voice... the atmosphere differed from the demon queen—just for a moment, he could feel it.

The real Riel's complaint.

Her cheeky and jealous words, likely about Sariel... and how he always treated her like a bonus that came with Sariel.

But the current Demon Queen was irrational and unstable.

"Look at me now!"

The wind snapped like a whip.

And she leapt.

Not with grace, not like a dancer or a queen.

She fell from the sky like a lance thrown by the gods, a streak of silver-white fury framed by shattered snow and wild light.

Her halberd spun above her, ice spiralling from its edges in ragged, geometric arcs. The elegant weapon became a deadly... tool of death — made to cut, to pierce, to cleave through kings.

The impact came with a howl.

She struck low, spinning mid-air to bring the halberd down in a tight arc meant to cleave Asmodeus diagonally from shoulder to hip.

But he was already moving.

He didn't leap away.

He didn't vanish.

He stepped in.

And from behind his cloak of shadows, he lifted his weapon — a massive, two-handed axe, forged from black steel, its wicked blade glowing red at the edge like he pulled it from the forge.

The air hissed when the axe met her halberd. Sparks. Ice. Fractured light.

The blades screamed as they collided — steel and frost snarling like rabid wolves caught in each other's jaws.

For a heartbeat, neither gave.

Then—

The ice beneath them cracked.

Asmodeus planted his heel, muscles in his shoulders tightening beneath scorched leather. He twisted his wrists and pushed upward, driving her weapon wide with sheer brute force.

Riel landed hard on both feet, her knees sinking slightly into the frost-crusted ground. The blizzard coiled around her legs like serpents trying to drag her down.

Her eyes met his — bottomless white on burning gold.

Then she moved again.

The halberd snapped forward in a flurry of jabs, ice lashing out in jagged lines behind each thrust. Riel's strikes weren't clean. They were desperate. Furious. Personal.

Asmodeus blocked the first with the haft of his axe, turned the second with a twist of his hip. The third came too fast to catch — it scored a shallow cut across his shoulder, opening a line of blood that instantly froze to his skin.

He exhaled, steam curling from his lips.

And countered.

The axe swung low, like a pendulum reaping a field.

Riel jumped — too slow.

The blade caught the edge of her thigh, carving through the crystal armour and slicing a ribbon of flesh that burst open with mist instead of blood.

She hissed and spun mid-air, sending a wheel of frozen razors outward in a wide defensive ring.

Asmodeus didn't flinch. He raised the axe vertically, letting the frost shriek and splinter against its glowing edge. When the last shard died, he was already stepping forward again, boots cracking the ice beneath him, leaving steaming footprints behind.

She wasn't retreating.

But she was falling back.

Riel's breath became dishevelled. Her heart raced too fast, not with effort.

With something uglier.

Something closer to dread.

She lunged again, high this time, using the length of her halberd to arc downward in a finishing overhead blow.

Asmodeus met it with both hands, gripping the axe mid-haft, catching the strike and holding her in place.

Their faces were close now. Inches.

She could see the outline of his scars. The heat of his breath on her cheek.

He spoke.

"You really believed…"

"That you were ever more than a shadow of her?"

Riel's pupils dilated.

She didn't understand the pain that followed — only that it wasn't from a wound.

It was a kind of grief she'd never named.

A grief born from not being chosen.

A grief born from watching someone love another, and knowing that no amount of power, no number of victories, would ever replace it.

But the greatest frustration was that she felt these feelings.

This wasn't the kind of woman, existence she was in the past... Her abilities... her power, and something was twisting and changing her from within.

The halberd in her hands pulsed once. Then twice.

Then it screamed.

The blade warped, splitting into twin edges with jagged frost erupting between them like blooming thorns.

Her body convulsed, ice exploding from her spine, her legs, her shoulders — reshaping her armour, hollowing her chestplate, narrowing her waist, widening her hips. She grew taller, sleeker, colder.

Crystals burst from her back in a frozen mantle.

Her long hair now moved like a river of mirrored threads, trailing starlight behind her.

Asmodeus suddenly jumped back, his skin tingling. A sense of danger, and extreme cold attacking him, like a shark biting into his flesh.

Riel's form changed slightly, but her aura and magic power grew massively...

Her second form had awakened, but the wind didn't howl this time.

It simply stopped.

As if afraid to speak her name, afraid to disturb her.

The world stopped breathing.

Snow, once falling like ash from a burning sky, now drifted upward.

The clouds above parted without light, forming a slow, spiralling eye around the battlefield.

A circle of silence.

Even the women, broken and bloodied, watching from the cliffs beyond — even they did not speak.

Because what stood before them now…was no longer a demon.

No longer Riel.

It was the birth of something colder.

Something ancient.

Something wrong.

Riel hovered above the shattered ice, her feet dangling, no longer touching the earth.

Beneath her, the snow spread into beautiful shapes and patterns that glowed bright blue each time she stepped closer to Asmodeus.

Her skin, as pale as the moon, both smooth and flawless, covered with faint blue veins that pulsated with immense frost power.

She wasn't just a woman anymore. She was something more. Sculpted. Divine.

Her armour had become part of her—fused into her skin, shifting like glass kissed by frost whenever she moved.Her waist was narrow, her hips full, her chest wrapped in a shell of silver crystal etched with runes that only showed when her heart beat beneath them.

But her hair—

It wasn't hair anymore.

It moved like snow given life.

Thousands of strands drifted around her, slow and weightless, like moonlight turned liquid. Each one shimmered with faint reflections—fragments of Asmodeus's face flickering across them like a curse.