Any volunteers? I’m planning to blow up the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom—like fireworks tearing open a cold night—it’s going to be fun.

My face settles into that blurry edge between a beast baring fangs and a carefree grin, half wolf-shadow, half moonlight.

A small glow of self-satisfaction warms me, then I remember the mask over my face—like a lantern veiled by paper—so no one can see.

Hmm.

Forget it; Savior Demon King Andor can be magnanimous, like a wide river swallowing stones.

Anyone want to sign up?

Blowing up the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom is literal—like a hammer meeting glass.

I’m Head’s ally, sure, but I don’t speak for the Demon Kings, and Head doesn’t speak for the Divine Beings—parallel lines under a pale sky.

Everyone’s got their own wind. Head wants trouble for the younger ones; I won’t interfere. I’m going to the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, and I won’t ask Head’s blessing—like a hawk leaving the cliff.

Anyone planning to—fine, I’ll be straight. I don’t know if you can stack enough merit to ascend as Demon Kings, like piling stones into a tower. But if you’ve got iron guts and tour the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom with me, smash a few stars like ripe fruit, it’ll be enough.

Anyone want to gamble? Roll your dice against the storm.

The hall falls silent, white and heavy like snowfall, with only the wet slurp of brain-marrow threading the hush.

My younger siblings glance at each other like flustered sparrows in reeds, wanting to speak but afraid—idiots. What’s there to gawk at? Just ask me; dithering only makes you look worse, like mud on silk.

Negotiating with these scheming, bruised-hearted types is a pain, like walking through thornbush at dusk. I grab the cup at hand, bring it to my lips to wet my throat, catch the iron stink of blood, realize it’s human marrow. I swallow dry air and set it aside, like placing a knife back on the rack.

You calm small animals by stroking their fur; by that logic, you lower rebellion with a fist—yeah right. I need their strength, not a blade in my back like a hidden icicle.

Frustration hums like a tight bowstring. I lick my lips, sprawl over the table, rub my temples, trying to lower my mind to a crowd-pleasing warmth, to build consensus like weaving reeds into a raft, not pound it flat like a drum.

Daviya, do you have questions? Pick someone closer to me; easier to crack the door.

…No—wait, Andor. Your ideas fly too far ahead—like a kite cut loose—so I can’t even grasp what you’re saying.

At a Demon King’s banquet, everyone indulges my taste for masks. Daviya’s mask is small, covering barely brow to cheek; mine’s oversized, a lacquered moon over my face. I can see a vein bulging on his forehead like a coiled rope.

He looks like his temples are pounding drums.

You… want to blow up the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom?

I shouldn’t have to repeat it more than four times. What was unclear? Did you flunk Demonfolk Language Level Four? Fine—want me to say it in Common, Elvish, Draconic—carved on stone, sung in wind?

No, no, that’s not what I mean. He shakes his head, troubled, waving me off. We’re used to your big moves—like when you tried to fish a wraith straight out of the Ocean of Darkness back in the Demon Realm. But… the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom… sorry, I can’t accept that on the spot.

That’s why I’m sitting here hungry, patiently explaining—hunger beating like a hollow drum. In the past, even the strongest, most arrogant Demon Kings kept their plans beneath the sky’s ceiling. They wrestled with the small human world, because we all know how vast the world’s outside really is—like a sea beyond a cliff. But that doesn’t mean I don’t dare to dream.

That’s not the issue… all right, Andor. Even if you have the nerve, how do you go? That’s the “highest”—like the roof of heaven.

I speak fast, words like arrows. It’s rude to confirmed partners, but to waverers, it’s a drumbeat of resolve and a full blueprint.

I don’t know how to move hearts, but I know how to tempt the cautious greedy—like bait on a silver hook. For that, vice-captain of the Hero Squad fits me fine.

I answer before Daviya’s question lands, cutting in like a blade.

I’m building something called the Skyward Launcher—no relation to the mud-age rocket by even half a copper. If you want a look, I’ll walk you through the spellwork, show how I’ll reach that “highest” sky, runes chiming like constellations.

Even if we get into the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, won’t we—those not yet ascended—be butchered by the Divine Beings, like flowers under frost?

The Ocean of Darkness will acknowledge us—the first Demon Kings setting foot on their clean soil—and lend overwhelming aid, a tide behind our backs. You’ll ascend on the spot, grasp power like a lantern equal to theirs. At the very least, you won’t be dragged easily into a Divine Being’s domain and executed.

In the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, what can we actually do?

As I said—whether you self-detonate like a falling meteor or flood troops like an ant-swarm to shatter stars and bring down Divine Beings, it’s all allowed. The Ocean of Darkness stands for vast, boundless “evil,” taboo-free as wild water. Even if you do nothing, our authority-fields will stain their clean soil like ink on snow. That’s already a mountain of merit.

How do we come back?

Be ready to drop everything you carry, like shedding a snakeskin, and bolt through a door to the Demon Realm the moment the wind turns. If you can’t, break into fine-grained concept, scatter like sand, and reassemble in the Demon Realm. Demon Kings don’t die easily, but if you lack the resolve to die, then drift muddled for a lifetime like fog over marsh.

Divine Beings are omniscient and omnipotent. Wouldn’t your plan to storm the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom already be known—like a lantern seen from miles?

Daviya, villains always keep a few little secrets—this was agreed when the Original Accord was signed, ink dark as night. The Divine Beings are truly omniscient and omnipotent, but out of covenant and mutual respect, they’ll consciously “not know what happens during this window,” a veil drawn over sight. Ah, and if you don’t intend to join us, you’ll sign a memory-forgetting clause when you leave, fog curling through your thoughts.

… Daviya falls silent, sinking into thought like a stone in deep water.

Near-certainty makes me want a drink—not just to look cool, but to sting myself awake. My hand drifts toward a crystal cup of marrow with a tiny parasol, then I wrench it back with will, like hauling a rope.

…Vega, I miss your dinners, steam and spice like twilight clouds.

The banquet’s mood thaws a little, like spring ice cracking to reveal a running river. The younger ones murmur to each other, testing whether my plan could fly, raising practical questions like bricks laid true.

The senior retainers who were trembling now start serving dishes, silver lids lifting like sunrise, but few eyes linger on the feast.

Brother, are you really taking us to the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom? Kadula inches her chair, wood whispering like dry leaves—she and Daviya sit at my sides because no one else dares—and she leans close to whisper.

Yeah. I’m not only taking you there, I’ll be your tour guide, show you the sights—stars like gardens, palaces like frost. Don’t stray from the group, or the lodging fee’s nonrefundable. I roll my eyes, a pale moon.

She’s one of my closest allies in this plan, but what’s that supposed to mean?

I was clear: I’ll take them to the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom; how we go, what we do, how we come back—map spread like a night sky.

Why are some still tangled on “Are we really, really, really going?”—a hamster wheel of a question.

Then, Brother, what are you going to do? No—no, I know what you want us to do. I’m curious what you intend to get out of this. I bet the others wonder the same, whiskers twitching like curious cats.

She finishes and throws me a playful wink, a firefly flick.

The hall’s voices pause, wind holding its breath; every gaze points here like arrows to a target, waiting.

Ah—so that’s it. Fog lifts and shows a path.

They’re worried I’ll pull something nasty—like selling them straight to the Divine Beings. Even if that earns me nothing, I wouldn’t need such complicated revenge.

Mm.

Feels a lot like how humans treat me—strength breeds dread, shadow like a mountain at noon. Now even my own kind see me as an odd thing? That makes me feel a little…

Gloriously aloof—like a solitary peak crowned in snow.

All right, all right. These siblings—scared of my fists—want a reason. They need to know what I’m after to accept my kindness, even if it’s unnecessary, like counting rain.

Fine.

I do want something. Since I don’t eat human tissue, boredom taps me like rain on glass; I compare the length of my fingernails and say it casually: You’re right—I’m no philanthropist. I still hold a grudge for your backstabs, thorny and green.

But I need your strength—win-win, truly. I’m not shortchanging you. Ascending to Demon King on the spot? I wasn’t lying—scales balanced under starlight.

I need to go to the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom to take one thing—a pearl from the storm.

Yes. It’s my most cherished treasure, like a heart-lamp guarded by night.

It’s so very precious that no one will give it to me, and no one will trade for it. So, I’ll take it myself, like opening a locked casket under ice.

That thing is—