Transmigrated as an Extra: Awakening of The Ex‐Class'-Chapter 70 : Demon King part 1

Watching the demon fade into a final breath of fine, black dust, only among the wreckage that remained, something gleamed: a red gem, pulsing like a cursed heart.

But there was no time to celebrate.

The price of power came immediately.

My muscles turned to lead, my vision blurred. The world spun, and I felt the cold ground approaching. Before the darkness consumed me, I caught a glimpse of a figure running toward me, its screams distorted as if coming from the depths of the sea.

*Ally... or enemy?*

I couldn’t tell.

My eyes closed.

And this time... I surrendered immediately...

***

Ninth Hell.

Castle of Pride.

The air was thick, laden with an unparalleled weight. On a throne of black bones, carved with the names of the fallen, a figure lay shrouded in shadows, his bearing inspiring respect and obedience. The room surrounding him was colossal in size, with high columns wrapped in precious stones. The echo of an oppressive silence filled the entire space, interrupted only by the faint footsteps that filtered through the cracks in the walls.

Suddenly, a grimace of pain briefly formed over that immutable silhouette. A shadow flickered like an ephemeral flame before the body swiftly rose. A shudder ran through him as the shadows covering him dissolved in a sigh, revealing an imposing figure: a carefully sculpted face, high cheekbones, and a gaze that seemed to see the depths of the soul, his dark hair falling in strands over his shoulders.

From his back emerged four pairs of wings as black and penetrating as the miasma surrounding the castle, similar to those of a raven, but their mere presence made them seem as if they wanted to devour the entire horizon. Two horns, twisted and sharp, rose with majestic brutality from his forehead, a dark, pointed crown flaunting his sin. The aura emanating from him was of a contradictory nature: both sacred and corrupt, as if made of both the essence of heaven and the abyss itself, of creation and destruction.

The echoes of his awakening resonated through the caverns of the castle, like the distant roar of a dormant volcano that had finally begun to stir.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a subtle, almost imperceptible sound.

"Criik..."

Almost immediately, the castle gates opened, revealing the appearance of two beings. The first was human-like, but had two black wings protruding from its back, and horns on its forehead, making it look intimidating. The other was more human-like, but with gray skin.

Footsteps began to sound closer and closer. The castle gates, forged from utril, swung wide with a heavy creak, as if reluctant to yield before what was about to enter. Through the darkness, the figure that emerged first was human-like, but something about its bearing and presence belied that simplicity. Two black wings slowly unfurled behind it, shining as if woven by the darkness itself. On its forehead, curved horns rose, resembling those of a demon. His gaze was cold and determined, and his silhouette emanated an inhuman strength that made it clear he was no mere mortal.

Beside him, the other being was no less imposing. His skin, an ashen gray and his violet eyes, seemed composed of a supernatural hardness. His face, though human in features, reflected a sadness that was anything but. His horns betrayed him as a pure demon.

The two walked with a terrifying synchronicity, as if fate itself had intertwined them. When they crossed the threshold, the air was charged with a palpable tension, the same tension that precedes a storm, a feeling that everything that had happened up to that moment was only a prelude to something much larger, much more sinister.

The lord of the throne bowed his head slightly, his red eyes, glowing like two infinite abysses, fixed on the two demons. His gaze alone seemed to drag them to madness, stripping them of all hope, as if the lord’s eyes were not only watching them, but tearing at them, stripping their souls bare before his presence. The room, as vast as eternity itself, became even more oppressive, as if the walls themselves were breathing under the tension of that encounter.

The Lord of the Throne did not speak immediately. His gaze alone, cold and calculating, stripped everything of meaning in an instant. The air thickened, and the echoes of the castle, which had never before been uttered, now resonated with palpable anguish.

"Speak," he ordered, his voice deep and resonant, vibrating in the bones of those in the room. It was as if the darkness itself, the very essence of the abyss, spoke through him.

The two demons, whose natures were already marked by their tendencies, felt their skin crawl under the immense pressure. However, one of them, the one with the most twisted horns and a face marked by ancient scars, knelt without hesitation, his body trembling slightly under the weight of his own fear. The other, who kept his gaze fixed on the ground, didn’t dare breathe deeply for fear of damaging the dignity of his king. The presence of the Lord of the Throne was more than enough to break even the most ancient demons, those who for generations had walked the edge of the abyss.

The demon raised his voice, his tone bursting and full of fanaticism, yet trembling at the same time, choosing his words with great care:

"Your Majesty, the Sisters of Fate have spoken... they have prophesied the birth of the Hero." The demon hesitated for a moment, as if the words were pulling him toward an uncertain fate, and continued, "He is a human boy, between 18 and 20 years old, we have no further details... but it is said that he already carries the Holy Sword."

"Your Majesty, the Sisters of Fate have spoken... they prophesied the Hero’s resurgence." The demon hesitated for a moment, as if the words were pulling him toward an uncertain fate, and continued, "He is a human boy, between 18 and 20 years old, we have no further details, but... he carries the Holy Sword."