Cassius, the 50th Demon King in history — a name once spoken with trembling reverence, whispered through bloodied scrolls and ruined kingdoms — now stood in the center of a creaky mortal cottage, knee-deep in something far worse than war: responsibility.
Fatherhood.
He blinked once. Then twice.
The baby blinked back.
From the crib, the infant's ash-blond hair curled in soft defiance, falling over a pair of sharp, impossibly crimson eyes. His eyes. Worse, there were two tiny horns barely breaking through the skin of his forehead, like fate had decided to just mock him outright.
"No," Cassius muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, no, no. Absolutely not. This isn't—he can't be—"
"He is," Sabine interrupted, arms crossed over her chest, looking wholly unimpressed. "And you're three weeks late."
Cassius threw her a look. Gods, she was still… annoyingly beautiful. Ashen hair that fell in waves, like moonlight drowned in ink. Eyes like rough shades of blue. Lips too inviting for someone with such a biting tongue.
This was the woman? This was the mistake that had brought him here?
Their fling had lasted two nights. Maybe three, depending on how one counted time under the influence of mortal wine and post-battle exhaustion. She'd been all fire and flirt, the kind of woman who made you forget centuries of discipline with one glance over her shoulder.
And now—
"This is ridiculous," he snapped, pacing the wooden floor. "I was careful. I never even told you my real name. You didn't even know I was—"
"The Demon King?" she offered sweetly, and his whole body stiffened.
He turned sharply. "You—"
"Oh, please. You think I wouldn't recognize the man who brought down the Nine Gates of Eldross? Who flooded the River of Souls for fun?" She tilted her head. "You're not exactly low-profile, Your Majesty."
Cassius swore under his breath. "So, you knew? And still—?!"
Sabine smirked. "Well. You were hot."
He stared at her. Openly. "You… you insufferable wench! I should've—!"
"What? Put a warning sign on your demonhood?" she shot back, shoving a rolled-up scroll into his chest. "Here. That's the list."
He caught it instinctively. "List?"
"Everything your son needs. Clothes. Bottles. Wards. A dragon-scale stroller if you can manage it. He's not some ordinary brat. He's yours. So I expect proper care."
Cassius unrolled the parchment. It kept unfurling. And unfurling. And unfurling. "This is three scrolls worth of nonsense!"
"Welcome to parenting."
He looked back at the crib like it personally offended him. The baby cooed. Coos. His son — the result of one night of mortal foolishness and forgotten wards — was cooing like he belonged here. "I want a paternity test."
Sabine raised a brow. "His eyes are literally yours. Not metaphorically. Literally. Crimson vortex of doom, remember?"
"Still," Cassius muttered, stepping closer to the crib. He studied the baby with disdain, the kind reserved for celestial pests and tax collectors. "Disgraceful. He's small. Mortals are so fragile. And those horns—ugh, they're barely an inch. He's not even symmetrical."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sabine said dryly. "Next time I'll summon a perfect heir from the womb, shall I?"
Cassius ignored her. Instead, he lifted his hand slowly — shadows coiling around his palm like a snake being stirred from slumber. The air around them dropped a degree. Then five.
Sabine's heart skipped.
"Cassius," she said, voice suddenly sharp.
"I can't allow this," he whispered, voice cold and calm and terrifying. "Something like that... it shouldn't exist."
The ball of darkness pulsed, a black sun in his palm.
Sabine screamed. "STOP IT! YOU PSYCHOTIC SON OF A—"
Cassius's eyes flashed. "I am the Demon King. I do not leave behind abominations."
And then — he unleashed it. The darkness tore through the air toward the crib with a high-pitched hiss. Sabine screamed again, lunging forward, but—BOOM!
A shockwave of purple light burst from the child, a glowing bubble exploding outward, throwing Cassius across the room like a ragdoll. He crashed into the wall, smoke curling from his coat.
"Amazing….." he groaned, stunned.
Sabine was already on him, anger in her eyes, but as she raised her hand to slap him—he simply caught it like it was nothing. He was too fast for her.
She trembled.
"How could you?" she spat.
"If he truly bore my blood," Cassius said slowly, "that wouldn't have killed him."
She shook her head. "And if he didn't?"
"Then he'd be dead," he replied coldly. "Simple."
Sabine's eyes gleamed with anger, her chest heaving. "You complete dick! That's your first response? Try to kill him?!"
Cassius, still brushing smoke off his shoulders, glanced at her with maddening calm. "He defended himself. Seems my blood's not entirely diluted." He cocked his head, expression unreadable. "Impressive. For a mistake."
Sabine nearly lunged again.
"You absolute bastard," she growled. "Do you think you can just waltz into my house, almost murder our baby, and act like you're doing me a favor?"
Cassius dusted imaginary ash off his coat, his voice far too composed for someone who'd just tried infanticide. "I came because you summoned me. I stayed because I was curious. I attacked because it was necessary."
"You're a monster."
"I'm a king," he corrected.
"And an idiot," she hissed. "A selfish, arrogant, power-drunk, emotionally-stunted man-child with delusions of grandeur!"
Cassius gave a slow, sarcastic clap. "How poetic. Have you been rehearsing that, or does motherhood make you more eloquent?"
She was this close to throwing a chair. And then—a soft wail cracked the tension. The baby. Both of them froze. The sound wasn't just a cry. It was his cry. Their son's voice, tiny, wounded, piercing through all the magic and venom in the room. A protest against war being waged over his cradle.
Sabine immediately turned toward the crib.
But Cassius... he blinked. Something flickered in his gaze. Not warmth — never warmth — but something like recognition. A flicker of... responsibility. Or maybe just guilt. He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging in reluctant defeat.
"Where's the bottle?" he said gruffly.
Sabine stopped halfway to the baby and turned back to him, eyes narrowed. "What?"
Cassius looked annoyed. "The milk. He must be hungry."
Sabine blinked at him. "You just tried to vaporize him five seconds ago."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, and clearly that didn't work. So now we move to the next step. Feeding. Unless you'd prefer he wail loud enough to summon the celestial inquisition."
Sabine stared. "You're insane."
Cassius walked over to the crib, looking down at the child like he was an ancient artifact with potentially explosive properties. He sighed again, slower this time. More drawn out. "He looks like you," he muttered under his breath. "Unfortunately."
Sabine grabbed the bottle from the nearby table and shoved it into his chest. "Here. Since you're so eager."
Cassius held it like it was a cursed relic. "I don't know how to use this."
"Figure it out, oh mighty King of the Damned," she said with a sarcastic bow.
He scowled at her, then at the bottle, then finally — reluctantly — bent down toward the crib. The baby stopped crying the moment Cassius leaned in. Just stopped. Wide crimson eyes blinked up at him, unblinking. Watching. Waiting.
"You are trouble," Cassius said darkly. "Just like your mother."
He held the bottle like a weapon, then, awkwardly, impossibly, placed it at the infant's lips.
The baby latched instantly, suckling like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just blocked a demonic death spell with a magic bubble. Cassius watched in silence for a long moment. Then, softly — too softly — he muttered, "...Still not symmetrical."
Sabine threw a pillow at him.