Somewhere deep within the folds of the multiverse—beyond the knowledge of Earth's mystics and the reach of gods—a world howled.
The Demon Realm was not just made of chaos.
It was chaos.
Mountains floated mid-air, torn from the crust and held in place by endless geysers of crimson flame. The sky bled storms of ash and molten wind. Rivers flowed not with water, but with a thick, black ichor that sizzled the moment it touched flesh.
Creatures beyond human imagination prowled the lands: beasts with mouths in their chests, horned leviathans dragging fortress-sized chains, and winged horrors that fed on the screams of war.
This world didn't bend to logic or kindness.
Only power.
And in the heart of it—upon a throne forged from the skulls of the last four demon emperors—sat a figure, cloaked in silence.
He had not moved in eons.
But now, something had changed.
The Zix Core had opened the first gate.
And the name echoed across the burning winds like thunder laced with prophecy:
> Kaalkrit.
His body was vast.
Eight feet of crimson muscle, each line of his form etched with ancient glyphs that pulsed faintly beneath his skin. Two great horns curved from his forehead, obsidian black with molten cracks that shimmered in the dark. His eyes remained shut, but the world around him trembled.
He was not asleep.
He was waiting.
Waiting for a master worthy of his strength.
Waiting for the summon link.
And now—it had begun.
A flicker of golden light ran through the glyphs on his chest.
A heartbeat.
A name whispered across dimensions: Rudra.
His golden eyes opened.
Everything around him stopped.
The fire froze.
The wind silenced.
The demons below the throne groveled, clawing at the obsidian stone floor.
Kaalkrit rose.
The chains wrapped around his limbs snapped apart like dried vines. His breath alone made the pillars of his throne room tremble.
Demons fell to their knees.
A few wept.
A few burned alive.
And one—bold and mad enough to speak—stepped forward.
She was tall. Slender. Bare-skinned.
Not due to shame.
But to taunt.
Her body was carved to perfection, each curve radiant with unnatural allure. Skin as smooth as moonlight over still water, a faint pink glow dancing across her bare chest and stomach. Her hips swayed with every step, her smile wicked and teasing.
A succubus.
One of the oldest. One of the cruelest.
"Kaalkrit," she whispered, circling him. "So, you finally wake. You smell… different. Touched by something divine, perhaps?"
He didn't look at her.
She moved closer, pressing her breasts against his side, tongue flicking the edge of his shoulder.
"And still… you refuse to take me?" she teased. "I am naked before you, and you deny me each century. Is it fear, Demon King? Or is it… desire?"
Kaalkrit turned.
His golden gaze pinned her in place like a blade.
"You forget your place, Ratri," he said, voice deep and coarse like stone grinding against fire.
She giggled, even as every other demon in the room pressed their heads deeper into the floor.
"I only remind you of what is already yours," she purred.
His eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, and the floor beneath him cracked with each step.
"I belong to someone now," he said.
Her smile faltered.
"…Someone?" she repeated, softly.
His back burned—an invisible thread pulling his soul toward the link that was only just forming on the other side of existence.
"He awakened me," Kaalkrit whispered. "A soul of silence… but destined to rule."
He clenched his fist.
Veins lit up across his arms like flowing magma.
"Rudra," he said, tasting the name like fire on his tongue. "My sovereign."
The flames across the Demon Realm surged upward into the skies.
Lightning cracked.
And far above, in a different realm, Rudra jolted upright in bed, a phantom heat surging through his chest.
He didn't know the name Kaalkrit.
Not yet.
But the first connection had taken root.
And the demon king had begun to walk.
---
Back on Earth…
The next day passed quietly.
Too quietly.
Rudra walked the halls of school with his usual mask — the unreadable face, the sleepy eyes, the slouched shoulders. No one noticed that something ancient stirred behind his gaze. No one noticed that his heartbeat now synced with a rhythm that echoed across worlds.
He kept his eyes on the ground.
His ears open.
Listening.
Waiting.
---
In class, Avni's seat was empty.
No mention of her.
No note.
No memory.
It was as if she had never existed.
But Rudra knew the truth.
He could still feel the phantom of her smile in his room at night. Her whisper. Her shard. The Zix Core nested beneath his skin like a breathing, dreaming god.
And Kaalkrit?
He wasn't just alive.
He was watching.
Waiting for his call.