All eyes turned as a tall man stepped onto the podium. He wore a sleek black suit, perfectly tailored, his presence commanding the room's full attention.
He cleared his throat and fixed a piercing gaze on the crowd before speaking, his voice rich and sharp, laced with a biting edge.
"Welcome, all ye scums of the earth," he began, voice echoing through the hall. "Each and every one of you, criminals, murderers, marked by a fellow demon, dragged into this place like the rest of us. You ain't no different from me. I was once like you, lost, desperate, crawling through filth on Earth. But that was long ago. Devil only knows how long."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"I am Yurokane Omekro, Grade 5 demon and president of the Lesser Demon Association."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
"Tonight, I officially welcome you to your new identities, demons of Hell. Some of you may still cling to memories of loved ones, families you wish to see again. As demons, we hold the power to resurrect, yes. But that power comes only with mastery. That mastery? It only comes when you reach Grade 9."
His voice softened for a moment, almost wistful.
"I too dream of rising through the ranks, to see my people once more. Just like you, I began as a Grade 1 demon, filled with hope."
The tone snapped back sharp.
"But don't kid yourselves. Some of you? You ain't got a soul left to see. Maybe you've murdered every last one of your kin. Maybe Earth itself prays the ground will swallow you whole. Some of you are here for revenge, some for power, some for nothing but the chaos you left behind."
He leaned forward, voice lowering to a harsh whisper.
"Whatever your reason. use it. Fuel it. Let that fire push you to ascend these ranks. Hell's not a place for the weak or the hopeless."
He straightened, voice booming once more.
"When you arrived, each of you received two things, a phone and an ID card. Your ID shows your name and your grade. That card grants you access to most demon-related places. And your phone? Your lifeline. It holds your contract info, power level, earnings, your contract points, and mark points."
The crowd listened intently.
"Every one of you starts with 500 mark points and a power overall of 75. Consider it your welcome reward for reaching Grade 1. The higher you climb, the greater the rewards. Contract points? You earn those only during your contract budget and at your contract reward ceremonies."
He smirked, voice thick with disdain.
"Now, some of you might be wondering, what the hell is a contract? What's a mark? A power overall? Don't worry, you pitiful dirt, I'll break it down for you."
He paced the stage slowly.
"As demons, our purpose is to control souls. But not just any souls. The most valuable are those with divine protection, souls that fight back, that resist. Those are the ones we must capture."
He stopped, eyes burning into the crowd.
"Your grade contract assigns you a soul to claim. Success earns you contract points, which in return will boost your grade level and increase your power overall once you ascend. But don't get it twisted, this ain't a walk in the park. This ain't like pickin' pockets or snatchin' kids back on Earth. No. This is Hell's own battlefield. A training phase, like the real deal back on Earth. Full of trials, rivals, and dangers you can't even imagine."
He spread his hands.
"All that will be explained in detail at your contract signing day, which is tomorrow. That's when you'll get a full breakdown of your power levels and access to the demon store."
Then his gaze shifted sharply.
"Now for the last topic I must touch on. Each of you belongs to a royal devil lineage. That's your mark, your family name, your bloodline. Names like Omekro, Korav, Rimein, Velzira, Damaruk, Yakzur… and then, there's the deceased lineage: Ezraphor."
He pointed deliberately at Renny.
"That one," he said, shaking his head with pity. "For reasons even I don't understand, was made an Ezraphor. A lone wolf with no pack."
He tilted his head, feigning concern.
"Listen, I told you to fuel your dreams and desires. But all that means jack without the backing of your family. Without them, you're just a stray, weak, easy to break."
His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, thick with warning.
"Some fools among you might be thinking, 'I'm already dead. What does it matter if I rise or fail?' You're wrong. Dead wrong."
He slammed a fist into his palm.
"Every human you see roaming the streets, driving cars, living their little lives? They're slaves here. Souls trapped in endless torment, tools for our training, pawns for our mastery."
His eyes locked on each listener.
"When a demon dies, their mark is revoked. Their soul joins the rest, lost, broken, trapped forever in Hell's endless cycle."
He stepped back, voice cold and final.
"So rise up. Or rot forever."