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While nobles trembled and kings plotted behind gilded walls, the Demon Lord's territory grew—not just in land, but in something far more dangerous:
Devotion.
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In the ruined land of Varell Hollow—a place once condemned as cursed—Malveth stood tall upon a black throne of obsidian bone, watching the courtyard below.
Children trained with wooden blades. Others meditated, learning to control cursed mana under the moonlight.
They wore rags.
Scars.
Eyes that had seen too much.
But they had shelter now. Food. Purpose.
And they all looked to him—their masked god of shadows.
---
Once, they had been beggars. War orphans. Slave runaways.
Now?
> "We are the ones the world cast away," Malveth said, voice echoing through the hollow. "But we will rise… not as humans. Not as monsters. As something greater."
> "You are my shadows—my Children of the Abyss."
---
He did not lie to them.
He told them they would one day die on battlefields.
That the world would call them demons.
But they would never be alone again.
---
Each night, he personally trained the strongest.
He taught them how to break bones, not just with strength—but by finding weakness.
How to harness pain as power.
How to speak in silence.
How to kill without mercy, and protect without hesitation.
They were children.
But they were also soldiers.
---
One boy, barely eleven, knelt before him after a sparring match.
"Demon Lord…" he whispered, voice trembling, "If you hadn't found me, I'd be dead. I won't let you down."
Malveth reached out, resting a clawed hand on the boy's head.
> "Live long enough," he said coldly, "and make the world regret abandoning you."
The boy smiled for the first time in months.
---
Far away, Serian gave blessings in temples, cheered by thousands.
But in the shadows?
Malveth was building an army the world would never see coming.
Not with fear.
But with loyalty.
And Kael—watching through his clones—smiled darkly.
> "Let the light shine on its puppet… while my shadow grows deep enough to swallow it whole."
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