Chapter 15 – Mission Failed Successfully

The crowd’s roar hit me like a physical force.​

“Hero! Hero! Hero!”

They chanted in unison, their voices blending into a thunderous wave of adoration that made my skull vibrate. Civilians pressed closer, forming a tight circle around me, their faces glowing with relief and awe. Some were crying, others laughing, all of them reaching out like I was a religious relic they needed to touch for good luck.​

I couldn’t process any of it.

The vertigo was overwhelming, a spinning sensation that had nothing to do with physical balance and everything to do with my consciousness being ripped in two directions. My vision doubled, then tripled, colors bleeding together like wet paint. I saw the crowd, saw the smoke rising from burning buildings, saw Elizabeth sprinting toward me with her white dress billowing behind her like vengeful wings.​

My legs gave out.

I dropped, my knees hitting the cobblestones hard enough that I should’ve felt pain. But I didn’t feel anything. My body was shutting down, going offline piece by piece as the transfer protocol kicked into high gear. My hands went numb, then my arms, then everything below my waist.​

“Darling!”

Elizabeth caught me before I could face-plant into the charred ground. Her arms wrapped around my chest, supporting my full weight like I was a ragdoll. She pulled me upright, or tried to, my head lolling against her shoulder as my muscles refused to cooperate.​

“Elizabeth…”

My voice came out as a whisper, barely audible over the crowd’s cheering. I forced my mouth to form words, each syllable feeling like lifting a boulder with my tongue.​

“Away… take me away…”

Her breath hitched. I felt her entire body go rigid against mine, her grip tightening until her fingers dug into my ribs. She pulled back just enough to look at my face, her cyan-blue eyes wide and glistening with tears that hadn’t fallen yet.​

“You trust me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a conclusion she’d reached on her own, and the way she said it made my survival instincts scream. Her voice trembled with something that wasn’t quite joy but definitely wasn’t sadness either. It was obsession given vocal form, wrapped in devotion and tied with a bow made of unhinged possessiveness.​

“Only me. You only trust me.”

She shifted her grip, hooking one arm under my knees and the other around my back. She lifted me in one smooth motion, carrying me bridal style like I weighed nothing. Which was impressive considering my Hero body was six feet of pure muscle, but adrenaline and yandere determination apparently gave her superhuman strength.​

The crowd surged forward, trying to get closer, hands reaching out to touch me. Elizabeth snarled at them, an actual animalistic sound that made the nearest civilians stumble backward.​

“Stay back! All of you! He needs rest!”

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and ran, carrying me away from the square, away from the cheering masses, into the maze of side streets and alleyways that branched off from the Market District. Her footsteps echoed against narrow walls, her breathing steady despite the physical exertion.​

She ducked into a dark alley, the kind of place that smelled like old garbage and questionable life decisions. The noise from the crowd faded to a distant murmur. She set me down carefully, propping me against a brick wall, her hands never leaving my body like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.​

I tried to focus on her face. My vision was swimming, doubling, making her look like two Elizabeths stacked on top of each other. Both versions were crying now, tears streaming down identical faces.​

“I overdid it…”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. It was supposed to sound apologetic, like a hero acknowledging his limits. Instead it came out slurred, barely coherent, like I was drunk on expired holy water.​

Elizabeth’s expression cracked.

She laughed and cried at the same time, the sounds mixing together into something that belonged in a psychological horror film. Her hands cupped my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted violently with the manic energy radiating off her.​

“I told you.”

Her voice was soft now, tender in a way that made my skin crawl.

“I told you everyone else is useless. The guards, the council, the knights. They’re all worthless.”

She leaned closer, her forehead pressing against mine. Her breath was warm against my lips, her eyes boring into mine with an intensity that felt like being dissected by lasers.​

“Only I can take care of you. Only I understand what you need.”

Her smile widened, stretching too far, showing too many teeth.

“I won’t let you leave that room again. I’ll chain the doors. I’ll bar the windows. I’ll stand guard myself if I have to.”

My consciousness was fading fast, slipping away like water through cupped hands. The transfer was almost complete. I could feel my Demon King body waking up on the other side of the connection, pulling me toward it with irresistible force.​

The last thing I saw was Elizabeth’s face filling my vision, her obsessed smile widening as she leaned in even closer. Her lips brushed against my ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt louder than the crowd’s roaring.​

“You’re mine. Forever.”

Then everything went black.

The darkness lasted exactly three seconds.

My eyes snapped open.

The ceiling was different. Black obsidian instead of painted white, vaulted arches instead of flat plaster. Purple torches flickered in wall sconces, casting dancing shadows across jagged stone. The air smelled like sulfur and old iron instead of lavender and sanitized fear.​

I was back in the Demon King body.

Something poked my cheek. Hard. Like someone was testing if I was real or just a very detailed statue.​

“King? You awake?”

I turned my head slowly, my massive armored neck creaking like a rusty door hinge. Gorgara stood next to the throne, one finger extended, having just finished jabbing my face. Her yellow eyes studied me with the kind of intensity usually reserved for meat inspectors checking beef quality.​

“I want a rematch.”

I groaned.

The sound came out as a demonic rumble that shook dust loose from the ceiling. My head felt like someone had used it as a drum during a twenty-hour metal concert. The consciousness transfer always left me with a splitting headache, like my brain was too big for both skulls and had to be compressed every time it switched containers.​

“Gorgara.”

My voice boomed through the throne room, way louder than I intended. I tried to sit up, but my body felt sluggish, heavy, like I was wearing a suit made of cement.​

“Give me five minutes.”

“You said that last time.”

She crossed her arms under her chest, her biceps flexing in a way that made them look like they could benchpress a sedan. Her expression was somewhere between annoyed and excited, like a kid who’d been promised ice cream but had to wait through dinner first.​

“Last time you slept for three days.”

Three days. Right. The mana overload syndrome meant unpredictable hibernation cycles, and apparently my Demon King body had been offline long enough for Gorgara to get impatient. Which was bad, because it meant my Hero body had been running solo for seventy-two hours while Elizabeth slowly tightened her stranglehold on my freedom.​

I forced myself upright, my clawed hands gripping the armrests of the partially destroyed throne. My muscles protested, stiff from disuse, but they obeyed. I stood, towering over Gorgara despite her impressive height, and tried to shake off the lingering brain fog.​

“What happened while I was asleep?”

Gorgara shrugged, her armor plates shifting with the movement.

“Lilith handled everything. She’s terrifying when you’re not around. Executed two demons for insubordination. Reorganized the patrol schedules. Started drafting invasion plans.”

My stomach dropped. Or whatever the demonic equivalent of a stomach was.

“Invasion plans?”

“Yeah. She wants to attack the human capital as a gift for when you wake up.”

She said it so casually, like Lilith had baked a cake instead of planning genocide. I felt panic rising in my chest, that familiar sensation of everything spiraling out of control while I was stuck playing catch-up.​

Then I remembered.

The Berserker. The unauthorized attack in the Market District. The mid-tier trash mob who’d decided to launch a solo raid without permission, forcing me to kill him in front of a crowd while wearing silk pajamas.​

I was going to have to deal with that. From the Demon King’s administrative perspective, one of my soldiers had gone rogue, attacked a civilian population, and got himself killed by the Hero. There would be questions. Demands for retaliation. Calls for vengeance from demons who didn’t know their king had been the one holding the sword.​

“Where’s Lilith?”

“War room. She’s been there for six hours.”

Of course she had. Because my life wasn’t complicated enough. Because managing two identities, two armies, and two yanderes wasn’t sufficient chaos. Now I had to add damage control and internal investigations to my plate.​

I took a step toward the throne room exit, my massive feet cracking the already damaged floor. Gorgara followed, her hand resting on the handle of her dragon bone axe.​

“So about that rematch—”

“Later, Gorgara.”

“You always say later.”

“Because later is when I have time to get my skull caved in by an overly enthusiastic general.”

She grinned, showing sharp teeth.

“I’ll hold you to that, King.”

I walked toward the war room, each step heavy with dread. I’d gone from being cradled by a saintess yandere who wanted to lock me in a padded room forever, to waking up as a demon king with a barbarian yandere demanding fight privileges and a succubus planning World War Three as a surprise gift.​

This was fine. Everything was fine. I was absolutely not spiraling into a stress-induced breakdown.​

The war room doors loomed ahead, and I could already hear Lilith’s voice inside, giving orders with the kind of authority that made generals weep and enemies surrender preemptively.​

I pushed the doors open and prepared for the worst.