Leon followed behind Sylviana, his eyes inevitably drawn to the hypnotic sway of her hips.
Her succubus figure was sinful, her tight dress barely containing the generous bounce of her backside as she walked. Every step made it jiggle just the right amount, her tail flicking side to side, only adding to the mesmerizing effect.
Leon licked his lips unconsciously. 'Damn succubi… Do they move like this on purpose?'
Sylviana, as if sensing his gaze, glanced over her shoulder with a knowing smirk. "Enjoying the view, Master?"
Leon snapped out of it and coughed into his fist. "Just watching my surroundings."
She giggled. "Of course you are~"
Leon rolled his eyes. 'This woman is going to be the death of me.'
As they approached the royal court, the sound of voices filled the hall.
The remnants of the demon nobility were already in discussion, their tones serious, their words sharp.
But the moment Leon stepped inside, the room fell into silence.
Every single pair of eyes turned toward him.
The weight of their gazes was heavy, filled with expectation, skepticism, and lingering grief.
Leon scanned the room, his inherited memories confirming their identities.
The room was a wreck—cracked walls, a chipped stone table, and a throne that looked more like a punishment than a prize. But the figures in it? They were something else. Leon's borrowed memories clicked into place, naming them one by one.
Front and center was Gorran, a goddamn tank of a minotaur demon. Tall as hell, muscles bulging under patchy fur, bovine ears twitching. One horn was snapped off, the other curved and wicked. His tail lashed behind him, and his glare said he'd snap Leon in half if he felt like it. Commander of what was left of the army—barely a dozen soldiers now.
Next to him stood Brugos, an oni with a chiseled face and a dignified scowl. Red skin, short black horns, and a vibe that screamed "I'm smarter than you." Strategist, supposedly. Looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Then Brahmir, a shadow demon—thin, pale, with black eyes that didn't blink. Hooded cloak, fingers twitching like he was itching to vanish. Used to run a whole network of spies, but now it was just him, skulking solo.
Kaedor the goblin hunched near the table, short and wiry, green skin gleaming with sweat. Long ears, jagged teeth, and beady eyes that darted around. Treasurer of a kingdom with no coin—ironic as fuck.
Elvera leaned against the wall, a dark elf with curves that could stop a war. Mature, busty, her tight leather top straining against her chest. Silver hair spilled over her shoulders, and her amber eyes flicked over Leon with cool disdain. Voice of the dark elves here, whatever that meant anymore.
Last was Lyzara, young and slinky, a demoness with jet-black hair and a body built for sin. Skimpy outfit, all legs and cleavage, smirking like she knew something he didn't. No clue what she did, but she looked dangerous in her own way.
Ten of them total—Leon, Selene, Sylviana, Zorath, and this ragtag council.
Gorran broke the silence, voice like gravel. "So, the pup's finally here. Took your sweet time."
Leon squared his shoulders, ignoring the jab. "Yeah, I'm here. Let's get this over with."
Sylviana chuckled, sliding closer to him. "Oh, don't mind Gorran, master. He's just mad his soldiers are eating dirt instead of meat."
"Shut it, succubus," Gorran snarled, nostrils flaring.
Brugos raised a hand, calm but firm. "Enough. We're not here to bicker. The prince—king—needs to be crowned. Then we talk survival."
Leon shot him a look. "Survival's all I care about. This crown shit's just noise."
Kaedor cackled, a high, grating sound. "Noise that keeps the rabble in line, boy. No king, no order. They'll slit each other's throats for the last scrap."
Elvera's lips curled, voice smooth and cutting. "He's not wrong. Weak as you look, you're still Vaelgrim blood. That matters."
Here's the scene—sharp, raw, and keeping the tension tight. No fluff, just the dirty grind of Leon stepping into something he doesn't fully grasp.
"Enough bickering!" Zorath's voice boomed, his clawed foot slamming the stone floor. The crack echoed, shutting every mouth in the room. Gorran's snort died mid-breath, and even Sylviana's smirk faltered.
"Let's not waste any more fucking time and get this over with," the old lizard growled, golden eyes sweeping the council like a whip.
"Yeah, I'm with him," Leon said, scowling. "I can't wait for this shit to end. Tell me what I need to do." He crossed his arms, the spiked circlet digging into his skull. "Give me the crown so I can go back to figuring out how we don't all starve."
"Crown?" Sylviana's laugh was a low, mocking purr. "You really are clueless, master. There's no crown."
Leon's head snapped to her. "What? Then what's all this coronation bullshit about?"
Zorath's tail lashed once, impatient. "You're supposed to go through the ancient ritual and pass the test to become king."
"There's something like that?" Leon's brows shot up, half-annoyed, half-curious.
"Yes," Zorath said, flat and final.
"What's the test?"
"Only the king knows what the test is."
Leon stared at him, jaw tight. "You're shitting me. The king's dead, asshole. How the hell am I supposed to know?"
Zorath didn't flinch. "The ritual reveals it. Pass, and you're king. Fail, and…" He trailed off, letting the silence hang like a blade.
"Great. Real helpful." Leon rubbed his face, muttering, "Fucking demons and their cryptic crap." He straightened, glaring at the room. "Okay, fine. What are you all waiting for? Start whatever this ritual is."
Zorath nodded, turning with a grunt. "Please follow me, Your Highness." The title dripped with formality, but his tone said move your ass.