Reincarnated As A Demon Lord

The firelight inside her chamber cast slow-moving shadows along the walls. It should have felt warm and safe for Anubis but it didn't.

Not tonight.

Anubis stood alone, one hand pressed flat to the glass wall that looked out over the molten skyline of Hades. Her reflection shimmered back—distorted by flame, blurred by exhaustion.

She didn't recognize the face anymore.

Her skin still bore the runes from the Vault. Her body still hummed from the confrontation at the Bone River. She had uncovered a truth she couldn't unlearn:

There was something inside her. It was not a parasite nor a curse. It was a construct, waiting to be commanded.

She didn't know if she wanted to scream or sleep.

She didn't do either.

The door behind her suddenly opened—no knock, no hesitation.

Azazel.

He walked in like he had every right to.

And maybe, in this kingdom… he did.

She didn't turn around.

"You're getting too comfortable showing up uninvited."

"You didn't lock it," he said, voice low and calm.

She could hear something under the words — Restraint.

He was holding something back and so was she.

"I thought you'd be resting after what you took from the river."

"I tried."

Azazel stepped closer. The air shifted. His presence, quiet and heavy like thunder in the chest, filled the space around her.

Still, she didn't turn. Her eyes stayed on the burning skyline, her voice quiet.

"Why are you really here?"

"You were marked by Noctis," he said. "You think I wouldn't feel it?"

"I already handled it."

"You haven't even accepted it."

She turned then, sharply—face tight, her jaw clenched.

"Why are you really here?"

Azazel stopped a step away from her.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he looked at her like a man standing too close to a wildfire, unsure if he wanted to burn or run. His eyes flicked down her body—no shame, just observation.

"You're trying so hard not to break," he said softly.

"I don't break," she replied.

"You do," he said. "You just do it in private."

The words shouldn't have touched her.

But they did.

And she hated it.

She reached past him toward the glass decanter on the table, but he caught her wrist halfway.

She froze.

His hand was warm. He wasn't being too rough on her, instead, his hold on her was firm.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Let go."

"No."

That was it.

No apology. No excuse.

And suddenly she wasn't tired anymore.

She was seething.

Not at him.

At herself—for letting the world shove so much into her and feeling nothing in return. And now—this. Him. Here. Looking at her like she was breakable and dangerous all at once.

She pushed him.

He stumbled back a step but didn't fall.

She stepped toward him, fury in her eyes.

"You think you know what I'm carrying?"

"I know it's eating you alive."

"And you think this—what?You walking into my room like some self-appointed shadow prince is going to fix it?"

"No," he said. "But it might be the only thing that makes you feel something again."

She hit him.

The slap cracked across his cheek.

But he didn't move.

Just stared at her.

"Leave," she mumbled. Her voice was like a whisper but he could hear her voice screaming at him.

Yet, he didn't move.

"I didn't come here to argue with you, Anubis," he said to her. Closing the distance between them once more. "I do not mean to get you upset either. I came because..."

He paused.

Anubis raised her head, staring at him and waiting for him to say something but he just paused.

Unsure if saying his mind would make her feel more agitated or calm.

Just then, Uriel walked in. Seeing Azazel, he glared at him briefly before walking towards Anubis.

"My Lord, you are back."

"Yes," Anubis replied.

"Is there anything I should do for you?" He asked her.

Anubis didn't reply immediately. She turned and glanced at Azazel — He was staring at her.

He didn't look offended for being ignored, neither does he look impatient.

She sighed. Not because she was exhausted but because of something else.

"No," she said to Uriel. "You can leave. Stand by the entrance or take a walk around the kingdom and see where you fit in."

Uriel was quite disappointed but he didn't show it.

He didn't dare.

"Yes, my Lord," he bowed and left.

After he was gone, silence fell upon the room until Azazel decided to speak.

"Be mine, Anubis."

The space between them shrank slowly.

Azazel didn't say another word.

Anubis could still feel the shape of his voice on her skin, 'Be mine, Anubis' echoing like heat that hadn't faded.

She didn't answer him but she didn't walk away either.

He stood inches from her now, the low firelight casting warm lines across the edge of his jaw, down his collarbone, where his robe had fallen just loose enough to reveal the faint scar beneath it. A scar not from battle—but from devotion, from something older.

Her own robe was still cinched tight around her waist, drawn across her figure like silk armor. She suddenly felt it there—too tight, like it was holding something in that needed to be let out.

He looked at her—not begging, not pressing—but waiting.

And she hated him for it.

Not because he had done anything wrong.

But because he was right.

Because he saw the weight she carried, the war she waged inside herself every second of the day—and yet, he didn't try to save her.

He wanted to share it.

That… scared her more than anything.

Her fingers moved before her thoughts did.

She undid the knot of her robe—slowly and deliberately while keeping her eyes locked on his. The fabric loosened and fell from her shoulders like smoke sliding off stone, leaving her in nothing but the skin carved with flame and memory.

Azazel's breath hitched—but he didn't reach for her.

Not until she stepped forward and placed one hand at the base of his throat.

Then everything moved.

His robe was gone in seconds, pushed from his shoulders and dropped to the floor like it weighed too much to keep on. Their bodies met with a heat that wasn't rushed—just full, like the pressure of two stars nearing collapse.

Her skin burned where he touched it. Her hands trailed down his chest, over old battle-scars, familiar and unfamiliar at once. His mouth found hers with no words.

They moved together to the bed, their mouths never parting, her hand finding his, pressing it to her waist as she lowered herself onto the cool blacksilk sheets.

And when he hovered above her, holding himself there, waiting for a breath, she looked at him like he had no right to be this close.

And pulled him down anyway.

Her legs wrapped around him. His hand traced the small of her back, fingers pressing into her like they were trying to memorize something that could disappear. Their rhythm wasn't clean or rehearsed—it stuttered and surged, like instinct wrestling control.

She gasped when he buried himself fully, her hand clenched in the sheets, body arching to meet him.

She hated that it felt like surrender.

And then hated herself for liking that it wasn't.

Azazel pressed his forehead to hers as they moved—slow, deliberate, real.

She felt his breath against her lips, and for once, she didn't pull away.

Because the fire inside her—the one that devoured everything—wasn't screaming.

It was listening.

When everything ended, they didn't collapse.

They stayed where they were—her chest rising against his, one arm still around his neck, their bodies tangled, slick with heat and breath and something dangerously close to comfort.

She blinked once and her vision was clear.

Azazel began to move away, but she tightened her grip—just enough to stop him.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did she.

She turned her face away after a moment, sliding her hand off him, eyes falling half-closed.

And with her voice barely above a breath, she said, "You should go."

He hesitated.

Then rose from the bed in silence. His robe rustled as he bent to gather it.

Before he left, he turned to her one last time.

"I meant it."

She didn't look at him, she didn't need to.

The way her body stilled said everything.