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Chapter Text

Oni Homelands
Castle of Hidetsugu, the Oni King

7 days since the Demonic Emergence

Things had changed. That much Ryuka knew.

Though the Oni Homelands lay far to the east, news of the wider world's struggles still found its way across the mountains and rivers. After the Council's war against the Royal Knights, and the world's war against the Horned God, her father—Lord Hidetsugu, the Oni King—had grown determined to keep his people informed. Scouts, spies, and emissaries were dispatched beyond the Homelands to track shifting powers and rumors alike.

For a time, Saga had been quiet. But in the last month, disturbing whispers had trickled in. The gods of the Council had been slain by the Horned One—the Howl Beneath the Roots of Creation. And soon after, even the Starborn themselves had vanished.

Her people, the Oni Clan, had never held an easy relationship with their gods. Reverence and rebellion both marked their history in equal measure. Sometimes the divine were worshiped, other times cursed and cast down. The Starborn Ones fared little better—exalted in one breath, reviled in the next.

Her father's reign had been defined by this cycle. He had alternated between worship and open war for as long as she could remember, dragging the whole clan along with him in that endless dance of defiance and devotion.

But now, with no gods left to appease or antagonize, her father seemed adrift. His attention turned instead to her—his eldest child and only daughter. The search for a suitor grew more fevered by the week. Lords, warriors, and vagabond heroes were summoned from every corner of the Oni Homelands to win her hand.

Ryuka wanted none of them. And those who overstayed their welcome were promptly removed—often by force—thanks to her towering younger brother, Kuon.

He loved that job.

"Stay out!" Kuon roared one afternoon, hurling a would-be courtier clear across the courtyard. The unfortunate Yasyamon landed in a heap, armor clattering, before stumbling upright again.

"Ryuka has no use for weak little men!" Kuon thundered, crossing his plated arms smugly.

The Yasyamon scowled, considering a fight, then shook his head and spat. "Tch. Not worth it."

"Will you do this to every one of my suitors?" Ryuka asked, leaning against the heavy iron club she'd planted into the dirt. Her voice carried more amusement than irritation. "I can take care of myself, you know."

Kuon glanced down at her, grinning. He was enormous—larger even than their father—silver-plated, with a single horn jutting skyward. The sole Ginkakumon of their bloodline, his form came from their mother's side.

"Isn't it a brother's duty to protect his sister's virtue and honor?" he asked, arms folded smugly.

"An elder brother's duty, perhaps," Ryuka replied with a sly smile. The smugness wavered instantly, and she savored it. Pressing Kuon's buttons was far too easy.

She brushed a hand through her vivid green hair. Like Kuon, she bore their mother's bloodline—in her case, down to the very species. A Kinkakumon: sharp-eyed, gold-armored, radiant in stature. She often thanked the Ancestors she hadn't inherited their father's brutish Xingtianmon visage. She would not look half so spectacular.

"B–but you have no elder brothers!" Kuon blurted, flailing so wildly he nearly smashed the head off a statue of their long-dead grandfather. For one so massive, he was still painfully young.

"Then perhaps a father's duty," Ryuka countered, hefting her club back onto her shoulder as she strode toward the castle.

"Father's the one calling these brigands and lechers to bed you!" Kuon bellowed—for the entire castle to hear.

Ryuka spun, scowling. "By the Ancestors, could you shout any louder?" she hissed, sending her hulking brother into a sheepish crouch. "Not all of Father's choices are bad. This last one was actually a fairly honorable swordsman."

"Then why'd you hit him?" Kuon asked, scratching his brow.

"I don't know!" Ryuka admitted, slumping. "I just—I…he said I was beautiful."

"And?" Kuon blinked. "You are. Is it a crime to say so?"

"No, but…I didn't know what to do!"

"So you hit him."

"Yes!"

"Because he complimented you?"

"I was nervous!" she snapped, socking him in the arm. Kuon yelped, clutching the dented plate. "And you, Father, everyone was staring at me! I panicked, and now I've only made things worse."

Kuon frowned, glancing toward the retreating swordsman. "Then…should I bring him back?"

"Heavens, no," Ryuka said, a rueful laugh slipping out. "Charming as he seemed, he was dull as mud. But I do wish you and Father would let me choose my suitors myself."

"You shouldn't have to choose," Kuon muttered, kicking at stones. "Father shouldn't be pressuring you. We have each other. That's enough."

"Enough for you, maybe. But Father?" She shrugged. "That's a different matter."

"And you?"

Ryuka sighed, gazing up at the bright sky. "Oh, how wonderful it would be to fall in love. Truly in love. To be longed for as the earth longs for the sun. To be the shining light of someone's life."

Kuon raised an eyebrow. "You're weird when you talk like that. Sounds like one of your books. Besides, you have me. You don't need some…someone else."

Ryuka rolled her eyes, smiling faintly. He really didn't understand—but he was still her little brother, no matter how big he grew.

"So," she asked at last, tone playful again, "how many days do you think it'll be before Father calls another suitor for you to throw out?"

Chapter Text

Oni Homelands
Castle of Hidetsugu, the Oni King

14 days since the Demonic Emergence

"An Ogremon!?" Ryuka demanded, her voice sharp. She jabbed a gloved finger toward the offending suitor, fire in her emerald eyes. "This crude, insipid little thing!?"

"Ey, I's right here, ya' know!" the brute bellowed, puffing up his chest and jabbing a thumb at himself. His voice boomed across the hall, rattling the stone floors and echoing off the walls.

"Seizan is heir to the Eastern Mountains," her father, Hidetsugu, growled. He was a Xingtianmon, massive and imposing, every muscle coiled beneath tawny fur. As was typical for that species, he spoke through the face etched into his armor, though in moments of fury she often saw a face appear in the flames that floated above his shoulders. She thought it promising that at the moment it remained unseen.

Hidetsugu gestured graciously at the Oni before them. "His father's clan rivals our own in power. Warriors feared across the land. His ancestors forged the club he wields from devils bones—and with it, they fought the Starborn Bishamonten to a standstill!"

Seizan grinned, leaning forward like a predator circling prey. "Hear 'dat? Yer dad likes my bone club," he sneered. "I gots another bone you might like."

"You beast!" Ryuka snapped. Muscles tensed, eyes narrowed. She spun on her heel, planting her feet and gripping her hammer-club tight. With a roar, she swung with everything she had. Seizan's club raised up to block—but Ryuka's strike split it down the middle. Splinters flew like deadly arrows, raining across the hall.

"Ryuka!" Hidetsugu shouted, his voice reverberating like thunder.

She only smirked, chest heaving, and lifted her club over her shoulder. "Some weapon," she said, letting her voice drip with amusement. "Shattered like a toy. And this is the weapon that made Bishamonten cower?"

Seizan lunged, teeth bared. "Why you—"

Before he could take a step, a massive silver shoulder slammed into him. Kuon's armor rang, the force sending Seizan sprawling across the floor. Dust and splinters drifted in the air like falling ash.

"I'd say we're finished here. Wouldn't you agree, Father?" Ryuka asked, amusement glinting in her eyes. Hidetsugu shook his head, frowning deeply, and she rolled her eyes. "If only you'd let me choose my own suitors," she added, tilting her head, voice sweet but challenging.

"You'd brand them over the head at the first compliment, silly girl," her father chided.

She looked away, biting her lip to suppress a laugh.

He sighed, a heavy, troubled sound. "Ryuka, the world is changing—has changed. Into what, I cannot say. But I fear for us if we do not prepare, forge alliances, and bind ourselves to other peoples."

"You would trade my future for 'ties,' Father?" Her voice was sharp, demanding, defiant.

"I am your father. Your future is not yours alone!" Hidetsugu slammed a fist into his throne. Flames erupted with the impact, licking the walls, and the echoes made Ryuka's teeth rattle. "It belongs to the clan, to your family, to me!"

"So I am but a possession?" she spat back, standing taller, chest forward, jaw set.

"You are my daughter," he said, low and steady.

"That's not an answer," she snapped.

"I do not answer to you!" Hidetsugu roared, rising to his feet, horns glinting in the firelight. Every step forward shook the floor. "I answer to the Ancestors. My duty is to them—as much as it is yours—to preserve our line, to ensure our people's survival!"

"And what of your duty to me, Father?" Ryuka cried, voice cracking, but she refused to step back.

"My duty to you is to make you strong. To protect you," he growled, moving closer, each footfall like a drumbeat. Kuon shifted uneasily behind her, armor scraping, hands twitching. "A duty I cannot fulfill if you strike down every suitor that comes!"

"Then let me choose my own suitors!" she shot back, stepping forward, tilting her chin up. Their bodies almost collided, a storm of tension in the space between them.

"And who would you choose? Your oaf of a Tyrannomon? Ally with the dinosaurs?" Hidetsugu scoffed, spitting contempt at ancient enemies.

"It was your idea!" she shouted, stepping closer, almost pressing her forehead to his face. "You asked me to find a suitor among them! To bury old grudges!"

"A 'respectable suitor' were my words!" he barked, voice cracking like stone. "Not the third-born bastard of a second-born gimp! Every night I thank the Ancestors he died in battle and your future became free!"

Ryuka gasped, silence filling the room like a physical weight. Her shoulders slumped, the blow hitting her chest like a cannon shot. "How dare you."

"Ryuka, please. I only meant—"

"I know full well what you meant," she hissed, fighting tears, forcing her eyes to meet his, burning green against molten silver.

"He was nothing," Hidetsugu said evenly, deliberately, without malice.

"I loved him," she whispered, voice quivering but steady.

"And he was still nothing," he said, voice like stone. "Love does not make one more. It is fleeting. Dangerous. It is irrelevant in the face of survival."

"I lo—"

"Loved him, yes," he interrupted, unblinking, unyielding. "The world is dangerous for those like us. Isolated, alone. Unity and strength are survival. Do we wait while the lizards claw at our borders? Or the apes?"

"You would give your heart to every suitor who comes calling? Throw yourself at them, profess undying love?"

"And?" Ryuka choked, heart hammering.

"And you would end up a worthless woman, spitting on the Ancestors, raising your mongrel children, lying with your low-bred husband each night!" Flames licked higher around him, his arms flung wide, voice shaking the walls. "How can I allow such folly?!"

"Don't you have faith in me?" Ryuka sniffled, wiping her tears viciously, refusing to show weakness. "Do you not trust me?"

"I do not trust a silly little girl with notions of flowers and weddings in her head; with dreams of a charming prince whisking her from hardship. That is not life, Ryuka!" His roar shook the rafters, the stone trembling beneath her feet.

She struck him. Hard. But he responded with a thunderous and immediate backhand, sparks of anger flaring in the air. She flew backward, sprawling across the floor. Kuon was immediately at her side, lifting her to her feet, silver armor scraping, hands firm and steady.

"You will do as I say, my daughter," Hidetsugu said, voice now calm, measured, almost serene—but still filled with power. A face appeared in the flames above his armor, snarling and furious.

Ryuka understood then why so many whispered his name: Heartless Hidetsugu.

Chapter Text

Oni Homelands
Castle of Hidetsugu, the Oni King

21 days since the Demonic Emergence

Hidetsugu had summoned her once again. That could only mean one thing: another suitor. Ryuka pressed her fingers against the faint mark on her cheek. A week had passed, the bruise nearly gone—but the sting of insult lingered like a knife beneath her skin.

She hadn't spoken to her father since that last disastrous meeting. Not a word.

She would show him. She would deal with this one herself. She had promised Kuon as much, and he had laughed, odd and gleeful, like the chaos amused him.

"What if you like him?" Kuon asked as they approached the throne room, his armored steps echoing hers.

Ryuka rolled her eyes, smirking. "I'll remember what Father said about 'fleeting emotions.'" She tilted her head, challenging. "And I'll throw him out just the same."

Kuon chuckled, musical and unbothered. "Let's see how this one fares, then. Shall I get the door for you, dear sister?"

"No, dear brother," Ryuka said, her voice equally saccharine, eyes glinting with mischief. She paused at the grand doors of the throne room, and even the guards straightened beneath her gaze. "Allow me." Then, she drew back her leg, planted her heel, and kicked with perfect precision.

The doors exploded inward with a splintering crash, announcing her royal presence. Her emerald gaze swept the room with calculated force. Much to her irritation, her father remained unperturbed.

"Welcome, Onihime," Hidetsugu said, voice low, a growl restrained by unusual self-control. He rose from his throne and gestured to the guest standing tall before him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing, their Boutmon guest was every bit the image of a warrior. Muscles corded beneath his skin, a black-and-purple cape flowing like shadow behind him. His long white hair fell like a mane, catching the torchlight, and gold-and-ruby ornaments traced patterns across his chest and arms.

"Allow me to introduce Shimatsu," Hidetsugu said. "First son of his Kha. Keeper of laws. Enforcer of oaths." He reclined slightly on his throne, watching Ryuka's reaction.

Shimatsu bowed, a subtle nod that almost grazed the floor. "The pleasure is mine, Onihime." He took her hand, pressing a soft, respectful kiss to her knuckles. His touch was warm, deliberate, measured—not overbearing, yet commanding attention.

For a heartbeat, Ryuka thought she glimpsed something in his amber eyes—a flicker, darker than shadow, like a storm restrained behind a calm surface. She dismissed it, telling herself it was simply the seriousness of a disciplined warrior.

"Had the tales of your beauty been less than true, I would have presented myself appropriately," he said. 

Ryuka's chest warmed. She pulled her hand back with a small flourish, spinning her hammer-club in a casual twirl. "Flattery," she murmured, smirking. "Do all suitors begin with lies?"

Shimatsu's lips curved slightly—just a twitch, barely noticeable. Not a smile, not amusement, but something sharper, unreadable. She assumed it was confidence, if he was indeed the warrior her father claimed. Then again, perhaps her father was growing more desperate with each suitor she rejected. 

"Words often fail us; fail to convey the sincerity of a warrior's spirit," he said, his voice had a rough edge to it, as if he'd been traveling hard for many days. "Your father tells me you are hesitant to accept any proposal of marriage," Shimatsu continued, voice smoothing, glancing at Hidetsugu before returning his gaze to her. "In truth, I am hesitant as well. If not for my own father's insistence…"

"Oh, you too?" Ryuka said, tilting her head. She pivoted on her heel, club twirling in her hand, moving in a half-circle that kept him in her peripheral vision. "My father has been relentless, month after month. You should have seen the buffoons he attempted to—"

"To sell you to?" Shimatsu finished, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "All of them empty-headed and petulant. With no regard for your happiness, or feelings, or thoughts on the matter?"

"Yes!" she snapped, stepping closer, almost circling him, letting her hammer-club brush against his armor with the gentlest of taps. "Exactly!"

Shimatsu's smile deepened, patience and respect mingling. There was something subtle in the way he shifted his weight—a ripple of shadow trailing him as he moved, imperceptible but there; an expression of grace, skill, and poise. 

"Of course I understand the importance of alliances, of ties between peoples. But is it wrong to want more than that? To be more than a piece of barter?" A look of deep contemplation crossed his face as his gaze bore into her, his eyes hard and fiery.

Ryuka jabbed her chin upward, stepping closer, testing him—a mock thrust with the tip of her club. He did not flinch, but leaned just enough to avoid it, his movement fluid, precise, almost preternaturally so. His amber gaze met hers unwaveringly, yet she felt a subtle chill brush her spine. A thrill of excitement shivered down her whole body.

"But times are difficult now," Shimatsu said, voice steady, shifting his stance to face her fully. "More than ever. Forces rise in the west, powerful beyond measure. They seek these lands—yours and ours. Alone, we do not stand a chance."

Ryuka paused, lowering her club, eyes narrowing. "And marriage…will suddenly protect us?" She spun lightly, hammer-club balanced across her shoulder. "You make it sound like a battlefield maneuver."

"It is," he said softly, voice controlled, almost whispering. "Binding our peoples through strength. Honor. Oaths. Alliances forged in the eyes of one's Ancestors are harder to break than any blade."

Ryuka studied him, circling once more, swinging her club in a teasing arc, letting him gauge her reach and strength. A dance of warriors and equals. Every movement he made was calm, perfect, measured beyond natural skill. Again, she felt that slight unease, the subtle shadow at the edges of his presence. She dismissed it; he was a warrior—disciplined, skilled, honorable—who had seen violence and bloodshed that she had not. It was to be expected. 

"You would offer your hand, your life, for survival?" she asked, stopping inches from him, gaze sharp.

"Only if it was freely, willingly given," he replied, eyes unwavering, voice quiet but firm. "Only if it meant protecting what we hold dear."

A slow smile spread across her face. The flash of respect and the possibility of trust warmed her chest. The weight of the world pressed down on her, yet this man—strong, capable, patient—felt like a shield in living form.

She straightened fully, emerald eyes bright and steady. "Lord Shimatsu," she said, voice clear and firm. "If you would have me, I would be honored to accept you as my husband."

Shimatsu bowed once, acknowledging her declaration, but his eyes—steady and unreadable—lingered on hers a heartbeat too long. For an instant, something vast and cold seemed to ripple beneath the surface, a whisper of a storm behind calm waters. Ryuka, certain she had won the exchange, let the unease slip past her unnoticed.

Chapter Text

Oni Homelands
Castle of Hidetsugu, the Oni King

28 days since the Demonic Emergence

The wedding had been arranged with unsettling haste. Shimatsu, it seemed, was eager for the business of marriage to be finished quickly, the ceremony no more than a formality to secure their alliance. He allowed his and her father's advisors to handle the details—with her approval, of course, though her opinion felt more like ornamentation than necessity.

"Is this truly what you want?" her brother Kuon had asked her more than once, the last time on the morning of the wedding itself. His hand had lingered protectively at her elbow. "I could make them all leave. We don't need this. You and I could protect our people. Together."

Kuon and his endless protectiveness—it was infuriating and endearing all at once. But her decision had already been made.

Delegates from the Oni Clans and the Beast Tribes arrived by the dozens on the wedding day, bringing blessings, gifts, and promises of peace. The feast was one to mark the ages, the air filled with laughter, song, and enough sake to drown a river. Kuon never strayed far from her side, his watchful eyes shadowing her every move.

Then Shimatsu carried her away to their wedding night. She remembered her cheeks burning as he undressed her, all the stories she had devoured in secret flooding back—tales of couples hopelessly, passionately in love, unable to keep their hands from each other. She had expected fire. She had expected devotion.

What she received instead was awkward, rough, and fleeting. There were no whispered vows, no gentle hands, no fervent declarations—no matter how hard she tried to coax them out of him.

Perhaps it was her fault, she thought. Perhaps she was clumsy, unskilled. But who could she ask? She was the only daughter among nine sons; her mother had been long in the grave; and she was far too mortified at failing in her wifely duties to confide in anyone else. So she swallowed her shame and hoped that, in time, familiarity would soften him.

But night after night proved the same. Shimatsu showed little interest in her beyond fulfilling his claim. And worse—he never stayed. He would rise before dawn or leave in the middle of the night, wandering the halls until morning, as though the marriage bed were a cage he could not bear.

One night, she finally asked: "Why do you always leave?" She knelt before him to help unfasten his armor, though he hardly seemed to notice. He pushed her toward the bed, his eyes distant. "You never even speak to me. I hardly see you."

"Shhh," he whispered, pressing her down against the mattress.

"Are you meeting with my father?" she pressed, even as his hands tugged impatiently at her robes. "Are you discussing treaties? Planning strategies?"

"Shhh." His rough hands roamed her body, too heavy, too harsh. Bruises blossomed beneath his fingers.

Ryuka shoved him back, dragging the sheets up around her chest. "Stop. Answer me."

Shimatsu laughed—a dry, mirthless sound. "It's none of your concern."

"I am your wife. I am Onihime to these people," she snarled, the old fire flaring in her blood. "You will tell me where you've been going."

"You're neither," Shimatsu said flatly. "And I will tell you nothing."

"What do you mean?" she demanded. She rose to her feet, clutching the blankets around her nakedness, wishing desperately for her armor and her hammer.

"You're my property, that's all," Shimatsu said, as if it were the simplest fact in the world. "At least until I tire of you."

He seized the sheets and yanked. Ryuka held tight, but his strength ripped them free, pulling her off balance. She crashed to the floor, catching herself on her hands before she struck. Naked, crouched, feral—she glared up at her so-called husband with eyes gone sharp as blades.

"So everything you told my father—everything you told me—was what, a lie?"

"Not a lie," Shimatsu corrected, grinning. "Embellishments, perhaps, with certain omissions. But the warnings of danger? The admiration of your beauty? The promise of conquest? All true." His grin widened, wolfish. "I always get what I want."

Her chest clenched, a pressure that hollowed her breath. Where was his sincerity? His honesty? Where was the noble warrior she thought she'd glimpsed in him—the steadfast ally, the kindred spirit who might stand beside her against the gathering storms? Had he ever existed outside the fragile mirror of her hopes, or had she conjured him from desperation, weaving honor into shadows where none truly lay? The thought struck her heart, a cold thunderbolt: what if she had misjudged the measure of this man, what if his warrior's spirit was just a lie she told herself to make her feel better about her own ineptitude?

She forced herself to stand, to meet his sneer with her fury. "And what is it you want?" she demanded, stalling for time, trying to find anything in the room that might be used a weapon...or clothing.

Shimatsu just chuckled. He seemed more amused by her naked defiance than by her threatening posture and intent. It just made her angrier. "What I want? Everything. Whatever catches my eye: your people, your lands, you. The entire world."

Her eyes widened. The brutal honesty of his words hit like a cold stone hurled into a still pool. What was he?

"I want everything, Ryuka," Shimatsu growled with a sneer. "Even you and this dumpy little land you call a kingdom."

"Bastard!" Ryuka spat, fury eclipsing every shred of decorum. She lunged forward, naked and feral, abandoning any pretense of restraint. All that mattered was the shape of his throat under her fingers; the fire that had been promised to her in stories and songs. She reached for him with hands that would not be denied.

He seized her wrist with one iron hand and twisted, wrenching her arm aside. She hissed, teeth bared, and flattened her face with pride instead of letting him see the sting. It was a cruel, practiced move—one he had already seen every time she faltered. He'd already watched her at her most exposed; the shame held no power he'd not already claimed.

"It's pronounced 'husband,' my darling wife," Shimatsu said with a patronizing softness. In the same motion he hauled her off the floor by that wrist, lifting her so easily she felt weightless and humiliated all at once. He was monstrously strong, and he used it with casual contempt.

Ryuka twisted, taking his grip and using it against him. She hooked her leg up and drove a knee hard into his jaw, the motion a desperate, practiced strike. He barely flinched—only the smallest shift—and his expression did not change.

She kicked again, fury and naked terror fueling her; he caught her ankle as if catching a stray kitten and flung her across the chamber like a rag. Her shoulder struck the floor; the boards cracked beneath her, splinters biting into flesh. Wind ripped from her lungs; her scream became a rough, useless sound.

"Stop embarrassing yourself," Shimatsu said, voice cool as a tomb, as he flipped her onto her back with a motion that brooked no argument. "The pacts have already been sealed. You have guaranteed your people a future; they will be spared when we take this pitiful realm of yours—so long as they swear complete and utter fealty to me."

We? Ryuka thought, lungs burning as she crawled for purchase. Who was the "we" he spoke of? "Who is 'we'? Who. Are. You?" she spat, launching herself at him again. Her fingers clenched for a strike; again he caught her fist easily, then seized her throat and hoisted her bodily into the air.

Shimatsu sighed, as if lifting her were an inconvenience at best. He ignored her flailing and the ragged sound of her breath. "Well," he said, measured and almost bored, "I suppose this little disguise has served me long enough. It was fun while it lasted."

Her blood ran cold. "What? You're—Who are…?"

"What I always was," he rasped—and then his form rippled, shimmering like water disturbed by stone. His body warped and stretched, bones elongating, armor melting away into violet-black robes etched with symbols that writhed like living things. White hair spilled in a wild mane about a gaunt, death's-head visage. His jewels glared with avarice, his claws gleamed like obsidian knives, and the staff in his hand drank the light itself, its skull-topped crown pulsing like a heartbeat.

Most terrifying were his eyes: no longer dark and solemn but burning red pits of hunger and malice. His grin spread wide, jagged teeth glinting, as the air soured with his presence.

Ryuka writhed frantically in his grip, horror knotting in her gut. She had never seen a Digimon like him.

"What are you?" she choked from beneath his hold.

"I am Barbatos Mammon, of the Seven Great Demon Lords," he declared, savoring every word.

She froze, her mind stumbling over the title. The Seven what?

"Ah," he mused with mock thoughtfulness, "you call us something different here. What was it? You'll have to forgive me, we have collected many names." He sneered. "Ah, yes. I am Nanadaimaou."

The name hit her like a hammer. Her breath caught; her body froze. Nanadaimaou—the abyssal tyrants whose very names were warnings, whose power once split heavens and earth. Monsters spoken of in hushed tales, sealed and forgotten…until now. Terror gnawed her bones, yet still she lashed out again in defiance, fighting violently, futilely against his grip.

"Ah, so now you recognize me."

"Release me!" she ordered, much to his amusement.

Barbatos laughed. "Release you? No, little bride. I own you. I have owned you since the day you and your father bound yourselves to me."

Her mind reeled. "My father—?"

"Never knew," Barbatos sneered. "Too blinded by his 'duty' to his ancestors. Too easy to deceive. But worth it, for the prize I've taken." His gaze raked across her body, and bile rose in her throat.

"Why me?" she demanded, voice shaking but steady, desperate to buy even a moment.

"Because you exist," he said, voice like a knife. "You exist and therefore you are mine."

He took her by the throat and hurled her like a ragdoll across the chamber. She struck the wall with bone-rattling force, wood splintering around her. Splinters tore into her bare skin; her cry was more rage than anguish. Pain lanced through her body, sharp and raw, but she forced herself to move, to drag air into her lungs.

Barbatos laughed, low and hungry. "You cannot imagine what it means to own another being. To possess them utterly—body, heart, and soul. Now imagine owning not one, but a kingdom. A continent. An entire world."

"You're mad," she spat, blood flecking her lips.

"No, my dear," Barbatos sneered, lifting his staff. "I am your god." Power crackled at its crown, and a jagged arc of scarlet slammed into her. Her body convulsed violently, muscles locking as agony ripped through her. Darkness clawed at the edges of her vision, threatening to swallow her whole. Still, she screamed.

The chamber doors burst open.

"Ryuka!" Kuon's voice thundered as he charged in, flanked by half a dozen of her other brothers and a contingent of guards flooding behind him. The sight that met them—their sister naked, limp and smoking at a Demon's mercy—froze them in place.

But Barbatos did not hesitate. His laughter curdled the air as he unleashed a wave of raw annihilation. The first ranks of guards vanished, atomized in an instant. Kuon threw up his defenses, light blazing from his armor, but the others were torn apart before they could even cry out.

"Kuon—!" Ryuka tried to shout, but her voice broke on a gasp.

Her brother didn't falter. Through the storm of power, through the smoke and ruin, Kuon surged forward. Not at Barbatos—no. At her. He ducked low, scooped her limp body into his arms, and leapt. With a roar, he drove his shoulder into the wall beside the window. Stone and wood splintered under the force, the barrier exploding outward in a hail of shards. Together they crashed into the night, fragments of glass and masonry cascading around them.

The ground rose fast. Kuon twisted midair and landed hard in the courtyard, stone cracking beneath his boots. He shielded her with his body, rolling to absorb the impact. His roar echoed through the night.

"Demon!" Kuon bellowed, voice raw with rage and terror. "Demon in the castle! To arms! To arms!"

The cry rippled through the castle grounds. Guards stumbled from their posts; servants screamed. Panic spread like wildfire.

Above them, Barbatos stepped from the shattered window, his robes billowing as if carried by a storm only he commanded. Darkness gathered around him, coalescing into wings of shadow and flame. With a guttural roar, he rained fire down upon the city. Towers ignited. Streets erupted. Screams rose like a dirge.

Ryuka clung to consciousness against Kuon's chest. She could barely feel her body, but she could feel her people dying. Their terror was a knife twisting inside her.

"Kuon," she rasped, her lips raw, "we have to save them."

Her brother ducked into a narrow alley as rubble rained from above. His face was grim, his arms shaking from the fear that gripped even his warrior's heart. Still, his hold on her was iron, unyielding. "We can't," he rasped. "He's too much. Too strong."

Ryuka followed his gaze skyward. Barbatos hovered like a god of ruin, bolts of searing energy tearing through the castle, through the city. Flames devoured Hidetsugu's halls. Her home. Her people.

Her father…

Her throat closed, and she could not breathe.

Barbatos's voice split the night. "I will find you again, Onihime!" His laughter boomed as cold wind swept the burning streets. "I will find you—and when I do, I will burn your entire world to ash!"

Kuon ducked deeper into shadow, shielding her from the light of falling fire. His question came ragged, urgent: "Sister—what do we do?"

Her vision swam. Pain screamed in every nerve. And yet, as her world crumbled around her, her voice held steady.

"We fight back," she whispered.