Inside a carriage rolling toward First Prince Regan Osborne, Era watched snow fall like sifted ash and listened to the Fourth Prince’s report like a thread of cold rain.

“The Empire of Snow has twenty-eight Sacred Rank on the surface, like banners on a frozen wall,” the Fourth Prince droned, voice dull as wet clay. “In the dark, excluding those, I know of fifty-three more, like knives hidden under fur. Thirty reside in the imperial capital, like wolves circling a hearth.”

Era curled her lip, a smile like a thin blade. “You’re weak enough to blow over like frost on a leaf.”

“Yes, Master, we are very humble,” he replied, bowing like a reed smothered by ice.

“Yes, very weak,” Era chuckled, the sound like bells through fog. “Back in the days of the Demon Race, aside from a few special strains—Succubi, witches, that sort—every other tribe was born bearing Divinity, like stars born burning. You lot can’t compare to that, not even as a shadow to a mountain.”

“Yes, my Master,” he said, voice flat as dead embers.

Era tilted her mouth, a crescent like a cut moon. “Of course, I’m not belittling any branch of the Demon Race. A few Succubi and Shadow Demons served the Demon King’s side as true right hands, hawks on a wrist.”

The Fourth Prince kept his bow, respectful as a statue under snow.

Boredom pooled in Era’s chest like stagnant water, then she asked, “Want me to walk you through the pinnacle of our kind—the Supreme Demon Ruler?”

“Yes, my Master.” He nodded, the motion small as falling sleet.

“Then let me lay it out,” Era said, a smile like lacquered poison. “So you’ll serve my Demon Race with a willing heart, like a pilgrim kneeling to incense. The Supreme Demon Ruler are the Demon Race’s born leaders, the ones you mortals call demon royalty, like crowns hammered from night.”

“They’re the ones we Fallen Angels serve in true sincerity, like moths to a sacred flame. And the Demonic Lord—since the world’s first dawn to this dusk—among the Supreme Demon Ruler, holds the Demon Race’s perfect Divinity, a king and a god, like a black sun over a storm sea.”

Mad devotion flared in Era’s eyes, a wildfire licking the horizon.

“Across the river of time, the Supreme Demon Ruler evolved,” she murmured, voice smooth as oil on water. “Seven kinds—simpler to your ears as the seven deadly sins, like seven thorns on a single branch.”

“Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, lust, and gluttony,” she counted, each word a bead of frost. “The Demonic Lord should be of Pride, I think. It’s been too long; the ink’s blurred on that page.”

“In short, the Supreme Demon Ruler are monsters,” Era waved a hand, as if brushing snow from a sleeve. “Back then, if they wished to erase your so-called coalition, they wiped it out like footprints under fresh fall.”

“Master, why did the Demon King lose to the Hero?” the Fourth Prince asked then, his voice a tremor like a snapped bowstring.

Era blinked, then laughed, a crack like ice splitting a river. “Heh. A trick from that thing in the sky, that’s all. Good thing she choked on her own poison later, like a snake biting its tail.”

“Foolish deity,” she hissed, scorn and venom boiling like pitch. “The Hero’s last threat to her far outweighed the Demon Race, like a comet aimed at a temple.” At the word god, her eyes blazed with hate, and the puppet prince began to shake like a leaf in sleet.

“A monster who climbs step by step on their own, until they rival light—do you think she could control that?” Era breathed out a smoky sigh to calm herself, like wind snuffing a candle, then sneered.

“The Hero brought a divine envoy to help you,” she said, words like pebbles flicked at a window. “Otherwise, within half a year, every living thing would have trembled under Demonic Lord Pandora’s majesty, like plains bowing to thunder.”

“Speaking of Heroes, you humans should know them better than I do,” Era glanced at the numb prince, eyes like a cat’s in dusk. “The Hero’s human, after all, like a wolf born in your fold.”

“Yes, my Master,” he answered, voice empty as a hollow gourd.

“...Boring,” Era sighed. “In every sense, like chewing wax.”

“My Master, we’ve arrived at First Prince Regan’s residence,” the Fourth Prince lifted his head, words falling like cold beads.

“Oh? Let’s see what kind of man the Osborne heir is,” Era waved, lazy as drifting snow. From the carriage floor, several black shapes slipped out like ink, and they oozed toward the First Prince’s manor like shadows seeking deeper shade.

Regan listened to his agent’s report in his study, then smiled, a thin arc like a drawn bow. “Alright. My fourth brother’s restless. I’ll give him a tap or two, like knocking dust from a sleeve.”

He stared at the corner’s shadow, eyes narrowed like slits of ice. “No anomalies?”

About five heartbeats later, a hoarse voice seeped from the dark like damp through stone. “None, Your Highness. They’re clean.”

Regan nodded, a small dip like a gull on a wave. “Good. Seems Iven still knows his place.”

He ordered Iven brought in and told the bright-armored guards to stand down, then placed more hidden escorts like knives behind curtains.

He set an “open-hearted” posture to receive Iven, like a host opening a warm room in winter.

Iven only curled a cold smile, thin as a needle. Regan, you smug fool, he thought, frost glittering in his gaze. In a moment, my Master will show you fear like midnight in a well.

“Brother, this is my consort. No need to stop her,” Iven said, frowning as Regan’s guards barred Era at the door like pikes before a gate.

Regan smiled, bland as warm tea. “Don’t overthink it, Fourth. My study doesn’t admit anyone without royal blood, like a shrine without shoes.”

“Brother,” Iven’s brows knotted like tangled twigs.

“Fourth, learn to separate public from private,” Regan said, tone light as falling salt.

Era stepped forward then, her bow a silk-smooth ripple like moonlight on water. “As you wish, Your Highness. I’ll heed your elder brother,” she said softly, voice like a veil drifting down.

Regan swallowed, throat clicking like ice against glass. He hadn’t looked closely before; this woman’s beauty struck like a lantern in fog. He cast a faint, hidden look of contempt at Iven clinging to a woman, like ivy on a rotten fence, then led the way in.

Era’s smile chilled, a thin frost on a blade. Little worm, she thought, centuries ago I taught fledgling Succubi how to snare hearts; back then your ancestors were still crawling in the mud.

You want to spar with big sister?

Regan took the main seat and had servants pour water, steam curling like ghosts. He cradled paperwork, eyes scanning like hawks over fields.

Iven smiled. “Brother, still so busy? I thought Third took most of it over,” he said, words like a pebble tossed at a pond.

Regan’s eyes thinned, a winter sun behind cloud. This bastard brother was slapping his face, wasn’t he? A concubine-born, yet his temper rose like smoke.

“Father ordered the transfer to Third,” he said. “I’m simply managing the handover, like guiding a cart over a hill. What, Fourth, got a thorn in your heart?”

Iven shook his head. “No, Brother. You’re right,” he answered, smooth as oiled wood.

“Heh.”

When the servants withdrew and the door clicked shut like a lid on a chest, Iven’s mouth bent into a crooked grin like a fishhook.

“What is it you came for, Fourth?” Regan asked then, voice mild as still water. “Don’t say it’s only for tea.”

“Not only,” Iven said, grin twisting like smoke. “Brother, I want to discuss something.”

Regan frowned, lines forming like cracks in ice. An alliance? With what—his scrap of troops, a broken bow in a storm? Iven couldn’t be that blind.

So what is it?

“Speak,” Regan said, palm flat on the desk like a seal.

Iven stood, then dropped to his knees with a thud like a mallet on earth. He knocked his forehead to the floor, a hollow drumbeat. “Brother, I have things I wish to do, hopes I wish to grasp. Please grant me the chance!”

Regan arched a brow, the motion sharp as a gull’s wing. What is this farce?

He couldn’t bear the sight of his brother kneeling like a dog in mud. “Fourth, get up. This isn’t proper,” he said, stepping forward to lift him, hand out like a branch.

Iven surged up instead, seized Regan’s hands, and grinned, teeth like a pale crescent. “Brother,” he whispered, breath cold as cellar air. “Join the rule of the Demon Race.”

“What!” Regan’s eyes widened, round as moons in black water.

Iven’s eyes rolled back until only whites showed, like shells turned to sky. His whole body shook, a fish on frozen bank.

Regan jerked free, tossed Iven aside like a bundle. “Damn you, Iven Osborne! What are you doing!” he roared, voice like thunder trapped in a room.

Then he saw it: where Iven had grabbed him, iron circlets had formed, cuffs tightening like snakes around his wrists. He strained, veins rising like cables, but the shackles bit deeper. “What is this?” he snarled, shock slamming like a door.

Iven sprawled on the floor, curled around his legs like a spider, laughing and laughing, a saw through bone.

“Shadows!” Regan barked. “Kill this lunatic for me!” His voice cut like a whip.

Silence pooled, heavy as snow on a roof.

Regan blinked, then roared again, breath steaming like a warhorse. “Shadows! Where the hell are you? Damn you all!”

Era stepped from the darkness then, light catching her like silk on a blade, several Black Demons flowing behind her like tar. She smiled lightly. “Ah, Your Highness. My apologies,” she cooed, voice like honey over ice. “My pets treat shadows as home.”

Regan stared, shock and fury flickering like wildfire, then glanced at the twitching Iven on the floor. He kicked Iven hard, the motion sharp as a scythe. “Trash!” he bellowed, the word ringing like steel.

He turned to Era. “What did you do to my men?” he demanded, eyes hard as flint.

“They’re staying in my pets’ house,” Era said, shrugging like a cat. “And I haven’t fed my pets for days. Humans are their favorite meat, like berries in snow. So—” She spread her hands, palms pale as milk.

“You—what are you!” Regan shouted, voice a thrown spear.

“Ah-la, you’re a fool too,” Era sighed, a breeze over a grave. “Didn’t your brother tell you? He joined the great rule of the Demon Race, like a moth joining fire.”

“You’re… Demon Race!” Regan spat, the word a spark in dry straw.

“Not quite,” she sang, tilting her head like a raven. “Mmm, guess. Get it right and I’ll kill you later, like dusk delayed by a cloud.”

“You, you—” Words snagged in his throat like thorns.

“Enough,” Era said, boredom heavy as lead. “No sense of humor. First Prince, take your foolish ambition and turn to fertilizer for our rise, like bodies feeding a black forest.”

Purple light bloomed in her pupils, twin candles in a crypt. The glow unfurled as a pair of hands, and they drifted toward Regan like pale eels in deep water. Regan saw them and kicked at Iven in a frenzy, boots thudding like hammers, but Iven didn’t seem to feel pain at all; he simply held tight, pinning Regan like roots around a stone.

“How is this possible?” Regan whispered, disbelief cracking like ice. He was a seventh-level Battle Aura warrior, a blade honed by storms—yet he couldn’t budge a pampered dandy?

“Don’t worry. You’ll come to like this,” Era said, folding her arms, smiling like a crescent blade.

The violet hands coiled around Regan, loops tightening like vines. They gripped his head, and then drew something out toward Era, silk slowly unwinding from a cocoon.

Regan trembled, nerves shrieking like winter birds. Instinct howled that if he didn’t stop her, death would land on him like a falling mountain.

But sensation surged through his flesh and soul, a tide of pleasure crashing like warm surf on frozen shore. His eyes rolled up like moons clouding over; his whole body shuddered like a harp in storm.

If one looked down, the First Prince’s body betrayed him; he was hard under his robe, a tent rising like a snapped sail, as if some unseen current teased him from within.

At last, Era tugged a transparent human-shaped form free of his flesh, a ghost peeled like skin from fruit.

She parted her lips and swallowed it, delicate as tasting snow.

Then she flexed the First Prince’s empty body, fingers testing like a puppeteer’s, and laughed, a low purr like velvet over fangs. “My strength is finally coming back, isn’t it? Mmm. Unlike your poor brother, you didn’t have to be gnawed by raw pain. Having an Angel draw your soul out is bliss, a once-in-a-life sweetness—guaranteed satisfaction,” she cooed, giggling, a chime in a dark hall.