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Or will he be suffocated by the one who loves?

Two outcomes shall come, both just and sound

A King will rise again

But will it be the fearing demon, or the soaring gift?

What shall happen to the losing part?

The winner shall decide.”

“I know the scriptures.” Melchom pretended to be bored, even though he was anything but. “How’s my human’s friend? To your liking?”

“Turns out he’s part of a satanic cult.” Astra scoffed. He’d never been a fan of those. “One with some wild ideas about the gift and what your ruling means.”

Melchom didn’t bother asking. It was always either getting in his favor to get all sorts of materialistic prizes—usually money and land, although sometimes they asked for women too… or an idea that he’d conquer their realm and rule over them all.

Westerners always thought every civilization, or realm, in this case, had a hunger for conquering.

The job of a rightful king went beyond all those petty games.

“Still doesn’t make the prophecy right, or about Dove.” Melchom cursed. He realized he’d run his mouth the instant before he noted the way Astra’s eyes widened for a quick second.

“Dove, huh?” Astra leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “Are you fucking him already, brother?”

“Have you ever had a human you haven’t fucked?”

Astra grinned, shifting his position so his chin was resting against his intertwined hands. “No, but I’ve never let one steal my crown, either.”

Melchom growled. “That’s the thing, though. Even if the human is the one in the scriptures… What can possibly happen? I’m already dethroned, nothing but the minions’ paymaster.”

“You could die.”

The warning didn’t instill him with the fear it should.

It made him curious, though. “That wouldn’t please you, brother?”

“You know the answer to that.”

Melchom didn’t have a chance for a retort. The doors opened, and more princes showed up to find their seats around the table. Even though he’d spend the rest of the meeting mulling over Astaroth’s words and attitude, he was a prince whose loyalty Melchom didn’t question. They might not tolerate each other, but Astaroth had respected him as King—and was tired of all the fights and pissing contests to hold the title.

Not quite an ally, but Melchom didn’t think such a figure had ever existed in Hell.

CHAPTER 9

DAVE

If he’d had the ability to do so, Dave would’ve argued that reading wasn’t his strongest suit, let alone a hobby of his. When he didn’t get impossibly bored, he enjoyed it for a short span of time and developed a migraine afterward. Even when he paced himself and the book held his interest, there was the matter of growing paranoia that his brain would use the content in the book to fuel his next episode. It was the same reason he was wary about watching shows that went further than a romcom with their plot and special effects.

He’d seen too many warning stories in the wards.

He figured that didn’t matter now, though. He was in Hell, after all, and apparently, it wasn’t a Hell his brain had fabricated. So what if he lost touch with reality even more? And he’d just been thinking about how he wished there were books he could read on demonic life.

Nothing wrong with trying, he guessed.

The books looked heavy as fuck, though. Hadn’t Hell heard of e-readers? Maybe comics or graphic novels? Simplified text? Both books resembled ancient Bibles—like the one his father used to have locked in a glass safe because he had airs of grandeur and thought their house belonged in a museum or something.

Dave had found it distasteful then, and he found it distasteful now.