Shadow of the Demon Realm
The room was white. Every inch of it — the floor, the walls, the ceiling, even the sofa and the tables — was drowned in a blinding, unbroken white.
Which was precisely why Death, seated smack in the middle of it, was impossible to miss. Clad in a black military uniform he had never worn before, he sat slouched at a defiant angle, and that posture alone announced to the world exactly how foul his mood was.
"Ugh, seriously, is this not just too much? How can a demon do that? And you still call yourselves my brothers?"
"Strictly speaking, we're not related by blood. None of it mixes."
"Amon! That's not the point I'm making right now! The three of you went off to have fun without me — does that make any sense? You dump all the work on me and then sneak off. That's just plain dirty!"
"Dirty, is it?"
"Yes! Completely dirty!"
At Death's question, Agos threw his chin up and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You said it's dirty. So what do you plan to do? Challenge me to a fight, or what?"
"…Fight you? Why would I fight the Commander-in-Chief? I'd be the only one getting hurt."
"Exactly. So if you know that, why are you whining like this? Are you trying to advertise how stupid you are?"
Death's black eyes flashed dangerously beneath his long bangs.
"I've always known you're hopeless at reading a room, but this is a whole new level of serious. Shut your mouth for a bit. Got it?"
"Agos."
Death's warning was followed by Amon quietly calling Agos's name in a low voice, tilting his head slightly — a gesture that made it clear the timing was bad.
"Why? You all had your fun, and now what's the problem?"
Agos asked sullenly, swallowing his indignation with visible effort. He honestly felt like his blood was boiling backward. The moment he'd first learned that the older brothers he admired and followed had left him behind and gone to the human realm, he'd been torn between preserving their friendship and burning it all to the ground.
"I know you're furious, but not now. Save it for later."
"Later, when? After I explode and die from this outfit?"
Whack!
Amon, normally the very picture of restraint, smacked Agos across the back of the head.
"Gah! Amon! Did you just hit me?"
"No, I was petting you. Also, I just saved your life."
If Agos didn't stop here, there was no telling what Death might do. Given his state of mind today, one wrong move could easily leave several people dead.
"By the way, where did Bar go? Why is he nowhere to be seen—"
THWACK!
"Ow! Why are you hitting me again? Are you insane?"
This one hit considerably harder than the last. As Agos flared up, rubbing his stinging head, Amon hurriedly added:
"That name is taboo for the time being. Don't even mention it."
"What do you mean, don't mention it? Then what am I supposed to call Bar? Bar? Huh? What else is there?"
"I said it's taboo."
Whoosh—
"Huh? Did you dodge?"
Amon swung at him again, but Agos nimbly ducked and slipped out of danger in an instant.
"I'll let it slide twice. Three times is where I draw the line."
"You think so?"
As Amon shifted his stance, Agos slid backward, one measured step at a time.
"Seriously, what is wrong with you? What did I even do?"
"I told you not to say the name. Can't you see?"
Amon gave the smallest nod of his head toward Death.
"He's in a mood. Don't poke him, and for the love of everything, get out of here quietly. That's your path to survival."
"But why do I have to—"
"Did I not tell you not to ask why?"
If I explain the reason here and now, you die, I die, everybody dies!
Amon screamed inwardly. He had never once predicted this nightmare of a situation would greet them upon their return to the Demon Realm. Every single day had been a minefield laid across thin ice.
"Phew, fine, I get it. I'll come find you separately later."
When Amon went this far, it meant something was genuinely wrong. Even Agos, hopeless at reading a room though he was, understood that pushing any further was off the table.
"Good, hurry up and go. This could get ugly."
Death and Amon had been summoned by the Demon Emperor himself and were to appear before his throne. Lingering in the white room without orders was an invitation to disaster.
At Amon's curt send-off, Agos's mouth opened and his legs sprang into motion, and he stalked out through the doors and vanished.
A short while later, while Amon sat glued to his spot, watching Death's expression like a man holding his breath, the doors burst open and two men walked in.
Amon rose at once to show his respect, but Death didn't so much as turn his head — never mind stand. Not showing the slightest interest was the more accurate way to describe it.
"What's gotten into him?"
One of the two men — a strikingly handsome figure with white hair — settled onto his seat and asked. The other man looked one breath away from erupting at Death's insolence.
"Your Majesty, I trust you have been in good health? My greetings are long overdue."
Ignoring the man's question, Amon bowed deeply and offered his formal greeting once more.
That's who he was. The current ruler of the Demon Realm, the God of Cruelty — the Demon Emperor, Crudelis.
Strange yet beautiful, radiating an unsettling menace — a paragon of cruel beauty.
He said nothing for a long while, simply staring at Death, the Commander-in-Chief of the Demon Realm and ninth in the succession.
"Death."
The Demon Emperor's tone shifted. He had evidently decided he'd waited long enough, and he called Death's name directly.
Perhaps the sincerity finally reached him. Death, who hadn't budged an inch, at last made up his mind and met the Demon Emperor's gaze.
"So what's got you in such a foul temper?"
"None of your business."
"Hey! That is your Emperor! Show proper respect!"
At Death's dismissive tone, the man standing beside the Demon Emperor finally lost his composure and raised his voice. The voice sounded quite young, but with the deep hood of a brown robe pulled low, neither his face nor the shape of his body could be clearly seen.
One corner of Death's eye twitched upward. His gaze on the brown-robed man was colder and icier than anything he had ever shown before.
"Why did you call me?"
Glaring at the man, Death pointedly spat out his informal speech once again.
"Y-you, wretched mongrel! Do you have any idea where you are—!"
"Enough, Mors. This is hardly the first or second time he's acted like this. Let it be."
"But Your Majesty—"
"I said enough."
In that instant, Crudelis's white eyes flashed. At that, Mors reluctantly clamped his mouth shut. But his venomous glare at Death never wavered.
"Amon."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"You tell me. What on earth is going on that he walks in like this?"
"Well, that is…"
When even Amon started economizing with his words, Death could no longer avoid it. The Demon Emperor had become genuinely curious.
"Don't tell me this has nothing to do with my summons?"
"Of course not. Absolutely not!"
"What do you mean, 'of course not'? That's another thing that's making him furious, actually."
Death cut in at Amon's vehement denial.
"There was an important event about to start, and he ruined the whole thing. How do you plan to compensate for that?"
"Compensate! And you're the one who went rampaging through the human realm and came back — and you dare say that?"
"Who rampaged? I quietly ate my meals and came back, that's all."
"Meals?"
When Death shot back at Mors's outburst, the Demon Emperor frowned as if he had no idea what that meant, and Amon had no choice but to explain the situation in brief.
"…So the human's cooking was so delicious that you took a job as his servant? And having taken a job, you actually worked?"
"Yes, Your Majesty…"
"I'm speechless. Genuinely speechless."
The Commander-in-Chief of the Demon Realm had descended to the human realm, played house-servant in some family's home, and cleaned. The Demon Emperor, who understood Death's temperament better than anyone, found it all the more absurd.
"Just how delicious must it be for you to do that? No — fine, I can believe it of you, Death. But why did you drag Amon and Bar along?"
"They said they needed a gardener and a cook."
"Don't tell me you hired Amon as the gardener?"
The Demon Emperor's face contorted. He seemed more shocked by that single fact than by the news that Bar had joined as a cook.
"…He's learning."
"I can well imagine what became of that house's garden."
The one who had ordered Amon banned from tending gardens was none other than Crudelis himself. Amon's… distinctive tastes were difficult to accept even within the Demon Realm.
"In any case. So — did Bar actually learn to cook properly?"
"…"
For some reason, neither Death nor Amon answered. Bar had, just before the festival, surpassed the milestone of producing merely edible food and succeeded in cooking something genuinely delicious — and yet Death's face scrunched up as if he were chewing on dung.
"Hah. Figures. What kind of cooking can a one-armed cripple manage?"
"One-armed cripple?"
At Mors's sneer, Death's expression hardened. It was already a day that tested his temper to its limits. Running into the one person he should have avoided at all costs was bad enough — but watching that fool open his mouth without knowing his place was worse. The wrath he'd been swallowing began to crawl out, slow and dark.
"Then what are you? A face cripple?"
"Wh-what did you say?"
"That's why you've got that robe wrapped over your head, isn't it? What, isn't being a face cripple enough for you? Want me to take one of your arms too?"
"You think words mean nothing! How dare a creature born of Heaven spew such filth at me, fifth in the line of succession! You must be begging to die!"
Death didn't so much as blink. If anything, he crossed his legs and sneered all the harder.
"And with that power, you'll kill me?"
"I am the God who governs Death itself. A mongrel like you— gkhh—!"
It happened in the blink of an eye. Death, who had been lounging on the sofa a moment before, was suddenly standing in front of Mors, one hand clamped around his throat.
"Shall I? Why not just crush you right here and now?"
A crimson glow flickered in Death's black eyes. He grinned thinly and slowly raised his arm, and Mors's feet kicked uselessly against empty air, stripped of any ground to stand on.
"Death. Stop."
The Demon Emperor's command came down. But Death's grip did not loosen. It only tightened.
"M-madman…"
Mors's face was growing whiter by the second. He thrashed with both arms, throwing everything he had into shaking off Death's hand — futilely, of course.
"Death! I told you to stop!"
The Demon Emperor's voice turned ragged.
"You spineless fool! When your elder brother tells you something, you listen!"
CRASH—!
"Who's your brother? Who exactly is my brother?"
Mors, flung from Death's hand, tumbled across the floor. Having tossed him aside, Death now turned his fury on the Demon Emperor himself. At some point, black wings had unfurled from his back.
Desperatio, the God of Despair.
He had shed his half-sealed form and revealed his true self.
Which meant, without question, that someone would have to die before his rage was sated.