Sabine growled under her breath.
The baby whimpered softly in her arms, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were too loud.
"Who the hell does he think he is…" she muttered, pacing the small nursery with fire burning in her eyes. "Barging in here like he pays rent. Like he's been changing diapers. Bossing me around."
She stuffed a few tiny clothes into a worn-out duffel bag, grabbing the child's blanket and a flask of formula with practiced hands. Her jaw was tight, her expression fiercer than usual. The nightgown she wore clung to her body, the slit of her thigh visible as she knelt, muscles taut. She stood up again, marched over to the full-length mirror.
And paused.
Despite the exhaustion, the long nights, and the weight of secrecy — she was still hot. High cheekbones, full lips, that wild mane of ashen hair curling at the ends. She slid a hand down her side, fixing the strap of her top with a determined smirk. "Still got it," she muttered, tightening her ponytail and turning sideways. "Even with baby puke on me."
She was strapping the bag when she heard a sound. Knock. Knock. It was sharp and deliberate. The sound was so calm, it made the hairs on her neck rise.
The baby began to cry again. She pulled him into her arms, pressing a hand to his back as she walked to the door. Whoever it was, they had to have a proper reason for waking up this little guy.
But there was another knock.
Slower this time.
Sabine's hand hesitated at the handle. Something wasn't right. And when she opened the door—her insides tightened.
He stood tall.
Impossibly tall.
Broad-shouldered, dressed in regal black clothes that seemed to shimmer with their own shade of night. His skin was polished bronze, flawless. And his horns—damn, his horns—curled from his head like a ram's, elegant and terrifying. His smile was slow. Almost… apologetic.
Sabine's heart leapt. Her first instinct was to slam the door—But with a casual flick of two fingers, a gust of wind blasted the door open. She staggered back, catching herself against the wall as the baby cried louder.
He stepped inside.
And in his palm… he conjured it. A ball of black light. A sun made of void. Everything around him turned to shimmering silver, as if the world paused to watch.
"You don't have to be rude," he said smoothly, voice like velvet soaked in poison. "I'm here on business."
"Get the hell out," Sabine hissed, holding the child tighter. She wasn't sure if he was one of the enemies Cassius had spoken about before he left. But if he was, she just wished he'd come back earlier from wherever he went.
The man bowed theatrically, horns gleaming.
"Asmodeus," he said, lips curled. "I've come for a conversation. Nothing more." He looked at her like she was a question he already knew the answer to. "And you are…?"
Sabine said nothing. She didn't trust him.
His smile faded slightly.
"If you comply," he added, "I won't have to hurt anyone. Especially not that child."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. He took a step forward.
"I'm here to confirm a rumor," he said, admiring the crying child. "That the heir to the throne—the next Demon King—has human blood."
She retreated, jaw clenched. "Oh? And what if it's true?"
"Then I'm afraid things will become... complicated." He reached toward her but Sabine moved fast.
She twisted, her hand yanking down a panel on the wall to reveal a crossbow—sleek, modified, and ready. Before he could react, she fired.
The bolt hissed through the air. But Asmodeus only laughed and flung the black sun forward. The two collided.
BOOM.
The explosion knocked her back, crashing her into the kitchen counter as smoke and sparks filled the cottage. Fire licked at the ceiling. The baby shrieked in her arms as she scrambled to her feet, dazed, clutching him to her chest.
Asmodeus stepped through the swirling smoke, coat unburnt, the silver shimmer in his eyes like lightning. "Cute trick," he said coldly. "But I'm not here to play, mortal."
He raised his hand and another black sun formed. It was larger and heavier than the one before. He threw it at her with a sneer and then the world erupted into a scream of light.
Purple. Pure. Primal.
The child glowed in her arms—glowed—and from his tiny chest, a shockwave burst outward. Light poured through every crack, every broken window. The black sun disintegrated mid-air, screaming as it vanished. Asmodeus was launched backwards, crashing through the wooden wall and tumbling across the dirt like a broken doll.
Sabine shielded her eyes as the light soared into the sky, forming a star—a literal star—that hung above the ruins of the cottage, burning bright and furious. Asmodeus groaned, blood on his lips, eyes wide. "What... was that?"
The baby's cries stopped.
The star above flickered once—then slowly dimmed. Sabine stared down at the child in her arms, still glowing faintly, his tiny hands balled into fists. She looked up toward the place where Asmodeus had fallen.
Her voice was sharp as steel. "You messed with the wrong mama."
Sabine stared down at her child, her arms trembling. He was still curled in her arms, fists clenched tight. But now—now his skin was glowing.
Not with heat, but with something deeper. An outline of raw magic traced his small frame, shimmering violet. His cries rose again—louder, sharper—splitting the air like a scream from the heavens themselves. And then—Lightning.
It didn't crackle. It tore.
Purple bolts exploded from the child's body like snakes made of light, slithering across the room, seeking—finding. One lanced across the ground and struck Asmodeus, who had just begun to rise. He barely had time to flinch before the bolt hit—throwing him backward again with a shout of pain, smoke rising from his shoulder, the flesh seared beneath his robes.
Another bolt struck the roof, slicing through the wood like paper. And then another, and another—faster, wilder, extending outwards.
The sky lit up.
A nearby tree burst into flames.
A house three doors down erupted in a crack of wood and fire, its windows shattering from the force. Screams filled through the night as villagers stumbled out of their homes, faces panicked, blinded by purple light and confusion.
The ground shook.
The baby wailed louder.
Sabine clutched him tighter, shielding his body with her own as lightning carved across the village. A well exploded into steam. A wooden sign caught fire. And all she could do was hold him. She was just terrified.
Asmodeus lay crumpled against a scorched tree, coughing violently, one eye barely open as he watched the sky flicker with the impossible.
"This," he breathed out, lips bloody, "is amazing."