Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 204: Act V, Scene II: The Prince and the Monster

Bel’s big purple claw cut through the space like a knife through fog. It tore at the dream-space, the Second Layer, ripping it apart.

Behind the claw, Bel’s violet energy, impregnated with his Authority, rushed out, spreading fast like a wildfire on dry grass.

The Authority of Destruction had the property of annihilating others Authority, and the Layers were in fact Authorities themselves.

Thus, with his attack of pure Destruction, the whole place cracked and shook. The hazy walls, made of nothing but weird dream stuff, broke into bright sparks that faded away quickly.

Bel had pushed harder than ever, at least to the maximum an incomplete draconic form could do. His dragon body had turned into something different, more dragon than his normal draconic form, the real limit between the two forms.

His muscles were tight under his white scales; each cell of his body felt like a bomb he could detonate at any time. He was about to reach Belphegor; he had him, he had all the time and power to kill him in one strike.

But then... it was gone.

The pushback stopped all at once. Bel’s claw slashed only empty air. His Authority kept going, eating up the space, but there was no King left to hit.

The King’s power had slipped away too fast, too scared. Bel’s destruction chased after him, trying to catch up, but the King, in his panic, had already reached his most dangerous place, his safe Third Layer, before the ruin could get there.

But little did they know that the King’s quick run sealed his own fate.

Normally, the King would maintain his influence over each Layer, thus creating another attack on top of the previous one and masking the effect of Bel’s authority.

But when he decided to run, he never considered his influence, and without the King’s Authority to maintain the Layer, the second Layer felt like a single attack launched in the void.

The favorite prey of the Authority of Destruction.

The violet energy kept spreading, eating the Second Layer bit by bit until there was nothing left, wiping it out completely.

The bridge was gone. The path that connected the Third Layer to everything else, the real world, the attacks, all of it, was erased.

Like someone rubbed out a line in the sand with their foot, leaving no mark. Now, there was no door, no road, no way for anything to go in or out of the Third Layer.

The King was safe in his white, empty space, but he was trapped there forever because of what truly made him invincible.

The Third Layer was special, out of time and space. It didn’t follow normal rules; no clocks ticked there, no entrance or exit for anything from the outside, and even an injury wouldn’t be lethal, as the King’s state would be maintained. It was like a bubble floating outside the world, where "now" and "here" didn’t mean anything.

Going from the Third Layer to the Second one should have been instant, but really, because time literally stopped in the Third Layer, it would take what feels like forever in real time for the attack to build.

The King never noticed this before because his layers were always together, like parts of the same body. They existed at the same time, linked tightly.

His power flowed easily, without delay. He could think a cut, and it happened right away in the real world.

But now, for the first time, they were split. The King had run so fast and cut the link in panic that he left the Second Layer behind to be eaten by Bel’s power.

Without that bridge, his Third Layer was truly alone. Any try to reach out, to attack, to look, to rebuild, started but got stuck in the "forever" gap.

Like throwing a ball into a black hole: it goes in, but never comes out or hits anything. The King had no idea this could happen. He thought his safe spot was perfect, always connected. He never tested separating them like this. And now, it was too late.

In the real world, everything just... stopped. The jagged tears in the sky winked out like a candle being snuffed.

The warped air smoothed over. Half-collapsed buildings froze mid-fall. Fires choked and died, as if waking from a nightmare.

Down in the town, screams tapered into whimpers, then nothing.

For a long moment, Castella drowned in silence until murmurs rose.

The air felt ordinary again. No invisible cuts, no unnatural bends. The King’s influence had vanished completely.

But the destruction remained. Chunks of wall crumbled loose, smacking the ground with heavy thuds. Boulders rolled down ruined streets, kicking up dust that mingled with the last wisps of smoke.

The earth trembled faintly, as if it were catching its breath. Splintered beams groaned before snapping, raining from half-demolished houses.

Thick black smoke coiled upward where fires had burned, carrying the stench of charred wood and scorched stone.

The aftermath looked like a bomb had gone off. Deep gashes scarred the roads, and upturned earth lay scattered like discarded toys.

The dragons were sprawled across rooftops and streets, their massive bodies rising and falling with labored breaths. Their torn scales knit back together under faint purple light, wounds closing slowly but steadily, Bel’s link at work.

A wyvern perched crookedly on a shattered roof, one wing hanging limp, until the ragged tear stitched itself shut with a soft crackling sound.

Another lay in the road, groaning as the gaping slash on its side sealed up, leaving smooth scales where blood had pooled. Their nostrils flared, hot steam mingling with the drifting smoke.

Novaria had it worst. She lay curled in the town square, her enormous body marred by deep gashes across her chest, back, tail, and wings. Dark purple blood seeped beneath her, but her breathing stayed steady.

Her half-lidded eyes watched the sky as her wounds closed one by one, edges pulling together like woven thread.

Purple light flickered along the cuts, sealing them with a quiet hiss. She let out a low, rumbling sigh, pain easing into relief as her tail twitched weakly.

If she’d stayed in her human form, those slashes would have killed her. Being huge had its perks.

Bel pulled his claw back from the shrinking rift. It sealed behind him with a soft, airy noise, like a deflating ball.

He stepped onto solid ground and shook his head, his tail flicking once in irritation.

"What the hell just... happened?"

His body began shrinking back to human form. White scales melted into skin. His horns receded until they vanished. His wings folded inward and disappeared.

He grew shorter, returning to his usual size. The purple blood staining his clothes dried and flaked away, swallowed by the Mantle of Ruin. He squinted at the sky, clear now, but something felt off.

"Did I even hit him?" he muttered.

He flexed the hand that had reached through the rift, fingers curling and uncurling.

"I didn’t feel anything. Maybe he’s so weak now that he just... dissolved?" But then, his frown deepened. "No. Can’t assume that. I’ve seen no body. And I’d know if he was dead."

He scanned the wreckage, jaw tight.

"Then where is he?"

The lack of experience gained told him one thing: the King was still alive.

Somewhere. Which meant this wasn’t over yet.

Bel exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

Fine. If the bastard wanted to play dead, he’d dig him out. He turned back toward the town, stepping over fallen debris without a glance.

The second he moved, the air changed. Something familiar prickled at the edge of his senses, almost gone, but not quite.

Bel tilted his head to the side. His eyes locked onto a figure standing where the wreckage ended.

Regulus.

He looked like mist caught in the last light of dusk. His fingers were fading first, turning into smoke. His legs blurred below the knees, vanishing into nothing.

With every second, more of him flickered, patches of his chest disappearing, showing glimpses of the ruined square behind him.

Regulus lifted his hands, examining them with a bitter, crooked smile, watching himself disappear.

"I suppose it won’t be a flawless victory," Bel said flatly.

Regulus lowered his hands, but the smile stayed, just softer now, showing his resignation. His eyes were still sharp, even as his body dimmed.

"Yeah. My spell... My power... It’s running out. This was just borrowed time... enough to settle things. But now... the clock’s up. My leftover energy’s all that’s keeping me here."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by distant shouts, people calling names, shifting wreckage with grunts and clanks.

Bel didn’t move, arms crossed, face blank. Regulus shifted his weight, or tried to, waiting. Talking to Bel was like talking to a wall, no reactions, no warmth. It made the air feel heavy.

"You performed admirably," Regulus said eventually, breaking the quiet with a nod of genuine respect. His voice held a warmth that contrasted with Bel’s chill. "Taking down the Slumbering King... with that kind of domination. You defeated one of the eight just with your... fists? That was impressive."

Bel’s eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced up at the sky, like he expected to see a slash mark in the blue.

"Even you? I’m still not convinced it’s over. We have no corpse, so there’s no proof he’s gone. My attacks might’ve missed."

Regulus flickered again, shoulders turning see-through like thin glass. He tilted his head, a dry laugh in his voice.

"Always the pragmatist, aren’t you? But trust me on this, I’ve tangled with powerful monsters before. His essence... it vanished. There’s no lingering trace. He disappeared after your attack, so victory’s yours. It’s as simple as that."

Another pause settled between them, longer this time. A warm breeze kicked up dust at their feet, carrying the sharp smell of smoke from buildings still burning in the distance.

Bel didn’t react; his dragon blood kept his face blank, unreadable.

He turned the facts over in his head. No EXP points increase, a new skill or power that confirmed the King’s death, but explaining that to Regulus would reveal too much about how he worked.

And with no clues left, no fresh cuts in the air, no strange ripples, maybe it was time to call it.

For now, at least. Until evidence proved otherwise, the King could be considered neutralized, dead in effect, if not in fact.

"Fine," Bel said at last. He rubbed his thumb against his ear absently. "If he’s really gone... then for now, I’ll say he’s dead."

Regulus’s fading eyes brightened for a second, a grin on his half-seen mouth.

"That’s more like it. A win’s a win, even if it doesn’t taste great."

Silence again. Regulus’s body was disappearing faster now, his arms barely visible, his chest flickering like heat haze.

Somewhere behind them, a kid cried out, and the cause, wings beat overhead.

Novaria growled low as she landed nearby, waiting for her Lord.

Bel watched without saying anything. It never crossed his mind, but could Regulus be visible to others?

The King’s attacks never reached him, and his general showed no reaction at all.

"You fought well," Bel admitted, "Your naming trick was admirable, and without you, maybe it’d have been harder."

Regulus tilted his head like he’d just heard something funny.

"It’s weird hearing praise from you. A Demon Lord, saying I did well? Surprisingly, I would have sworn it would be right before my death," He chuckled, then took a small breath. "But you... Your power is terrifying. That raw strength of yours, and your speed... Honestly, I don’t see any of us beating you."

His legs started dissolving into glowing threads.

"And to be real.. If you ever turn on humanity with that power? We’d be screwed."

"I already answered that."

"Yeah," Regulus sighed, smile fading. "I suppose."

Another pause. Regulus was nearly gone now, just his face and shoulders left, the rest fading fast. Bel watched, arms crossed.

"Are you satisfied with this outcome?" Bel asked suddenly.

Regulus’s ghost of a smile softened.

"Satisfied? In a way, yes. My life as a hero... it was never about longevity. Heroes don’t live long anyway. We run straight into the worst fate, knowing it’ll kill us. All the heroes of the previous era were legends, but in the end, only two have survived. This is our fate," He let out a breath, looking at the full moon. "Being born a Sacred means that you’ll have the fastest evolution. But it also means that you’ll have the fastest life. But taking down one Demon Lord? That’s worth it. Makes all the deaths mean something."

His eyes met Bel’s

"And I can rest in peace... because now, I know you better, and I know you won’t stop after just one Demon Lord. In the end, my dream can still be achieved."

The silence after that was so deep it felt like the whole world had stopped breathing. Regulus was barely there anymore, just a ghostly shape, his face almost see-through, but his eyes still sharp and clear even through the haze.

Bel looked at him without any emotion showing, his dragon nature keeping everything locked down tight.

But somewhere in that calm, there was something else, a sort of recognition.

"You’re smarter than most people I’ve met," Bel said. "A real natural when it comes to strategy and willpower. It’s a shame, seeing someone with that much talent burn out so fast."

Regulus’s fading face softened a little, his mouth curling at the edges like he found this funny.

"Another compliment? I think it means that I really did well, right? That’s the best parting gift I could get. Thanks, Demon Lord."

Bel nodded.

"Strength deserves respect. The Sacred are... interesting. You fought really well, considering your state. Not many can say they stood their ground against a monster and did something. Watching you hold on through all that chaos, it wasn’t for nothing."

Regulus let out a weak laugh, the sound thin and airless.

"Trice now. Keep talking like that, and my head’s gonna get too big."

The wind kicked up dust at their feet. Regulus’s outline flickered again, his edges blurring like smoke in the rain.

The sounds of the town around them felt far away, like they were standing in their own little pocket.

Then, Bel lifted his hand slowly. A single claw slid out from his fingertip, sharp, with a violet gleam along the edge.

He pointed it right at Regulus’s forehead.

Regulus stiffened on instinct, even though he barely had a body left to react with.

"What are you—"

Bel tried to touch him, and to his surprise, the claw made contact.

His eyes widened.

He felt it, actual pressure against ghostly skin that should’ve let it pass right through. Warmth. Real weight, the faint pulse of living flesh under where the claw touched.

At the same time, impossibly, he felt untouchable, like the rest of the world couldn’t reach him anymore.

Bel tilted his head slightly, studying where they connected.

"Looks like I can touch you."

Regulus let out a shaky breath, the sound more like an echo than real air.

"I... Yes... I feel it. What is... It’s... It’s so weird."

"So? What’s your real condition here? Are you intangible or not?" Bel said.

Regulus tried to swallow, or at least the ghost of the motion. Why? How could he explain that? He had put a spell on himself that would only activate after his death. How could he explain all the details?

He never died before after all...

Yet, he felt the urge to give an answer, and so, he focused.

"Before... when you used your power on me, back when Hypnos killed me... it... Since your power is special, it may have tied me to you. I mean, I feel you, but not the rest of the world around. Your power must have grabbed onto whatever was left of me. I think that’s why we’re still linked. But I’ve never... um... died before. So I’ve never seen what happens when the last bit of magic runs out. I don’t know how this works."

Bel pulled the claw back slightly, but didn’t break contact. Now this, this moment was an opportunity he didn’t expect.

To him, his situation was still at the experimental stage, and for his future goals, he needed something important. And that thing was right in front of him: a powerful living being.

Bel watched without blinking, his face like stone. Inside, though, his mind was working fast. Regulus wasn’t just some fighter; he’d broken the King’s defenses and found a way to pass through the Layers.

A real prodigy, you could say. And now, with death on his neck, Bel saw a chance.

His army needed strong, loyal soldiers to crush the remaining Lords. Regulus could be that, if he chose it. Forcing him would be annoying for Bel. There would probably have been no consequence; the sole problem was with himself.

After this battle, he developed respect for the Sacred, who embraced death so much that he set a spell just to keep fighting even after death.

No, Bel had to guide him, make him see the choice for himself. And considering how powerful Sienna had become, if he could make it happen with a Sacred...

Well, there were no two options there.

"You said you’d keep fighting," Bel repeated, voice calm, like planting a seed. "No matter what. All the way."

Regulus coughed.

"I meant it. Every word. If I had anything left in me... I’d be back in the fight already."

Bel’s claw hovered, the tip just brushing Regulus’s forehead. He could feel the man’s life slipping away through that touch, flickering, stubborn, but fading fast.

What a waste. This guy had torn through dimensions, turned the King’s own power against him.

Letting that just vanish? Stupid. Bel’s dragon nature hated waste. Power was meant to be kept, shaped, and used. Regulus was raw material, a sword waiting to be reforged.

But pride was a problem. Bel couldn’t make it sound like an obligation. It had to sound like stepping forward.

"You talk about finishing what you started," Bel said, picking his words carefully. "Honoring the dead, carving out some justice. But dying here? That’s giving up. You’ll never see them pay."

Regulus’s ghostly face twisted. His body was dissolving faster now, shoulders turning to mist, legs barely there. He looked down at himself, then back at Bel.

"What’s your point? I’m out of time. This is it."

To Regulus, it was a strange thing to say. In times like this, you’d comfort the warrior dying, making him believe his death was meaningful. What was the Ravager’s deal, trying to make him regret his fate?

Bel’s mind raced. Close. So close. Push too hard, and Regulus would rather die than bend. But if he played to that hero’s heart... maybe he’d take the hand. Bel could see it, Regulus as a dragon, stronger than Novaria, stronger than Vauldron. A weapon against the Lords. Proof of his growing strength.

"There’s still a way," Bel said. "The Lords are still out there. Six of them, plotting future massacres. People will die again in the future, but you could end them. Not as a ghost. As something stronger."

Regulus frowned. Now Bel sounded really weird.

"Stronger? How? I’m not like you. I don’t just... come back. I’m dying here, and I can’t help it."

Bel let the silence stretch, watching him wrestle with it. The hook was set. Regulus wanted to live, to fight. Time to lay it out.

"Then, let me save you. Regulus, become one of mine. A dragon under my command."