Royal Bastard's Bloodstained Regression-Chapter 96: The Second Seal

The entire island was shaking.

Daemon stumbled forward, feeling the ground tremble beneath his feet. Trees cracked in the distance. The sky had turned a strange gray, like the heavens themselves were holding their breath.

The tortoise... it's sinking, Daemon thought. Is it dead?

He didn't know.

But he was sure of one thing Kama-Shima was disappearing.

They had to move. Now.

"Go," Daemon growled, taking off through the forest.

They sprinted through the jungle dodging fallen branches, prisoners fighting to the death, wild beasts stampeding through the madness. The path to the shore was chaos, smoke, and screams.

Nyxtriel guided daemon and varian to dodge pass those deadly traps by using the Prisoners as shield.

Finally, they broke through the tree line.

Ahead the sea. The boat. Freedom.

A massive wooden vessel sat at the edge of the dock, rocking violently. Explosions echoed behind them.

"RUN! We're done for!" a prisoner yelled, sprinting past them just as a plume of fire erupted in the distance.

Daemon, Nyxtriel, and Varian reached the sand, the tide crashing violently at their feet. Several guards stationed near the boat had already been overrun—blood stained the shore.

But one prisoner turned on the others in a frenzy.

CRACK!

Varian blurred forward and smashed his fist through the prisoner's skull, blood spraying across the sand. "No time for betrayal."

Daemon turned ready to board when he saw him.

William.

The boy from his cell. Small, weak, terrified.

He was crawling through the sand, trying to escape, his hand outstretched. "P-please! Help!"

Daemon froze.

When was the last time he'd seen someone beg like that?

He'd killed thousands. Men. Women. Children. He'd told himself none of it mattered anymore.

He started to look away let him die like the rest.

Then a memory flashed: the soft voice of Priest Samuel, the old man who once looked Daemon in the eyes and believed there was still something left in him.

He sighed. A low, frustrated breath.

"Damn it... I guess I'll keep that promise. Just this once."

He turned and ran back.

"My lord, what are you doing?!" Nyxtriel shouted from the dock.

Daemon didn't answer.

He plowed through two prisoners, punching one across the jaw so hard it bent backward, spine first. Another came at him with a knife—

SNAP!

Daemon twisted the man's neck without breaking stride.

William closed his eyes, expecting death when Daemon's arm suddenly grabbed him and lifted him from the ground.

"Y-you came back for me?!"

"Tch. Shut up, kid."

Daemon ran, cradling the boy in one arm, sprinting toward the boat.

But the boat was already pulling away from the dock.

"NO!" Nyxtriel turned to jump back in after him—

Then the sea exploded.

The ocean churned, water rising like a wall, and from beneath the waves—

something massive stirred.

Tentacles the size of buildings emerged from the depths, slamming into the water with enough force to send waves crashing against the cliffs.

The Kraken.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Varian shouted, eyes locked on the tentacles rising from the ocean.

Without hesitation, Daemon turned and threw William toward him.

"Catch!"

Varian stumbled but managed to grab the boy before they both hit the sand. "You could've warned me!"

From the boat, Nyxtriel's voice cracked through the air.

"My lord—please! Daemon!"

She never called him by his name like that.

He paused.

Just for a moment.

He looked at her,really looked. The fear in her eyes. The desperation in her voice. The way her hand was reaching out, trembling.

Behind him, the island was collapsing.

Timothy and the remaining mages had regrouped and were charging from the jungle. Screaming prisoners fought in the distance. The Kraken loomed in the sea, its massive tentacles crashing down, pulling debris into the depths.

It was hell.

And Daemon knew it.

There's no way out of this... unless...

He reached into his pocket.His fingers closed around the second fragment.

If I swallow this now... it might kill me.

He looked back once more at Nyxtriel, then closed his eyes and exhaled.

"I don't care."

He swallowed it.

The moment it passed his throat, Nyxtriel's scream tore through the chaos.

"NO—MY LORD!"

Her voice shattered.

Daemon staggered.

At first, nothing.

No vision. No pain.

Just—

Silence.

Then it hit.

A violent surge of pure demonic energy burst through his veins. His back arched as a shockwave of power radiated from his body, cracking the earth beneath him.

His aura ignited dark, unstable, burning with crimson light. The sky above twisted, clouds spiraling inward like a vortex.

Nyxtriel fell to her knees on the deck, hands to her mouth, trembling.

"He's... awakening."

And Daemon opened his glowing red eyes.

Daemon's eyes snapped open.

Black sclera. Red pupils. Burning.

His body convulsed as raw, ancient energy ripped through his veins. He dropped to one knee, screaming—loud, guttural, inhuman. His nails elongated into black claws, tearing through his gloves.

Then—

CRACK.

Two demonic horns burst from his skull, twisting backward like crowned blades of obsidian. Blood trickled down his temples, but he didn't flinch.

His transformation was violent. Complete.

He wasn't human anymore.

He was something else.

He was becoming Seraphiel.

Captain Timothy stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in horror.

"That energy... No. No—that's impossible! The Demon King... he had the fragment?!"

And then the realization struck.

The black hair. The red eyes. The aura of death wrapped in regal confidence.

Daemon Dominick.

"That bastard prince from Veryndor..." Timothy muttered. "I was deceived. We were all deceived!"

Only one person could have known the location of the fragment aside from the High Mages of Vaelthar. Only one person could survive swallowing it.

The reincarnation.

"It's him," Timothy whispered. "The Demon King is back."

He turned to his men in desperation. "Attack him now! Kill him before he stabilizes!"

A wall of mages began casting at once—chains of lightning, walls of fire, holy lances. Runes lit the jungle in waves.

From afar, Varian stood, jaw slack. "What the hell is happening to him?!"

Nyxtriel stood still, arms crossed, eyes cold.

"It's Lord Seraphiel," she said quietly.

Varian blinked. "Seraphiel? Wait... you mean—the Demon King?!"

She didn't answer.

Because the spells had hit.

BOOM!

An explosion rocked the coastline. Smoke filled the air—thick, choking, heavy.

Nothing could be seen.

Timothy squinted through the smoke. "Did we get him? Is he dead?"

"Maybe..." a mage said.

Timothy grinned, turning to the others. "Good. He's gone. Now we just need to—"

He stopped.

His chest hurt.

He looked down.

And saw a clawed hand sticking through his heart.

He choked, breathless, and looked up into those glowing red eyes. Black horns. Crimson pupils. That cold, indifferent face.

Daemon Dominick stood in front of him, holding Timothy's still-beating heart.

"No," Timothy gasped. "No... no..."

Daemon said nothing.

He just stared.

Then shoved Timothy backward, pulling his hand out as the blood sprayed in an arc. The man collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

Daemon turned his head slightly...

And bit into Timothy's heart.

RIP.

He swallowed it whole.

The smoke parted.

The world went silent.

Even the prisoners stopped running.

Even the guards froze.

Nyxtriel's voice was soft, reverent.

"Welcome back... my king."