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Prologue
Once upon a time,the Devil became a father.
However, it wasn't the dream of having a family that made him one.
It was war.
The Devil wanted a nephilim child he could use as a weapon, and his wife dreamed of becoming a mother. So together, they chose the perfect soul, and a prince was born, but the child grew to become a monster.
And his name was Asmodeus Morningstar.
1
Asmodeus
I had two goalsfor today, to move back into the keep I grew up in and maybe get a cat.That’s it.Yet, as I stare at the shithole I plan to call home, neither of those things seem remotely possible.
Breathing in the musky forest air, I let the salty tang of the nearby ocean soothe the rage burning through my veins. This place used to be magnificent. It used to reach into the sky, adorned with gold and black banners hanging from stone walls. But while I was trapped in the Realm of Monsters, the keep was abandoned, and time wreaked havoc on its beauty.
Those same two-toned banners are now a muted, drab brown, the fringed hems in tatters, consumed by the elements. Even the embroidered snake twining around a rose in the center is hardly visible, nothing more than an angular head, mouth open to reveal poison-tipped fangs.
It’s theMorningstarcrest, the royal family of the Seven Realms. My true last name still seems foreign to me, like some fragmented memory of a previous life.
It’ll take more than a few layers of paint to restore Grim’s Keep back to its former glory, but much like these crumpled remains, I’ve seen far too much death and sacrificed enough for one lifetime. Moving back here is a new beginning—a future I can mold and shape and escape into, assuming the bones are still good.
Something cracks beneath my boot, and I pause, lifting just enough to see the pieces of colored glass. It’s from the windows, though I’m not sure how pieces of them made it this far away from the base of the keep. It’s like an explosion sent them flying. Glancing at the grass and vines that nearly smother the pathway, I find more fragments peeking out from the plant life. It appears Mother Nature has claimed the estate as her own.
Every inch of this place is in ruins, and my heart aches at the sight. It’s like a giant chewed it up, spat it out, and then crushed it underfoot in a fit of rage, destroying most of the left wing. Grim’s Keep used to pulse with life and magic. I don’t even want to know what condition the library is in. If any of the ancient tomes are salvageable, I’ll be surprised.
I was the only one who cared enough to look after this estate, and it’s not like I had any warning to ensure someone could pick up the torch in my absence—or rather, mybanishment. My departure was too sudden.
The lords of my father’s court revolted, demanding my death, and that his hand be the one to deliver the blow. Fortunately—or maybeunfortunatelyfor me—my mother had other plans. She lured me to the Realm of Monsters before I could be caught or executed and didn’t hesitate to shove me inside. It’s a prison, a place built to contain the immortal creatures deemed too dangerous to live among the rest, a place not even the Devil dare go. She trapped me there, and with tears in her eyes, my mother begged me to survive.
From that point on, everything became about living one more day, one more hour, drawing one more breath. The luxuries of a roof over my head, drinking tea on Sundays, or reading late into the night were nothing more than a memory.
Now, my parents are both dead, the war is over, and my little brother and his wife sit on the throne of the Seven Realms. They freed me in exchange for my help during the war, and when it was over, my life was my own again. They even reinstated my title as Prince of the Seven Realms and welcomed me to live in the castle, though I insisted on a place to call my own and requested Grim’s Keep, the place I grew up.
Perhaps I should’ve laid eyes on it first…
It’s been years since the war ended, since I’ve gained my freedom, and I’ve yet to put down roots. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my brother and his wife’s company; I adore their children, too. It’s mostly due to how deep the tensions still run among their subjects. I can’t wander through town without hearing the whispers of the locals. They still believe I’m a monster, claiming that if I wasn’t one before I was shoved across the boundary, then I must be one now. I’ll forever be known as the demon prince who lost the ability to control his magic and incinerated everyone in Hell Hold, including the woman he loved.
Birds burst from the trees and brush around the base of the keep, taking flight—fleeing from something. Narrowing my eyes, as if that will help me see clearer, I spot the curved top of a head peeking up from the overgrown rose bushes.
“Who’s there?” I shout, lacing power into my words to project my voice down the twisted path. No one answers. “Show yourself.”
The head moves, followed by the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs, and the stranger yanks the hood of their cloak up, disappearing into thin air.Magic.
The question is, are they still here, or did they teleport away? They could still linger about, unseen to the naked eye. As I allow my power to surface, my eyes darken to obsidian voids, determined to find out.
Not all demons can see magic—not even my brother, even though we share the same parents. Only I inherited my mother’s true sight. She was a mage with the power of a goddess, capable of crafting intricate, nearly unbreakable spells. That is, unless you know what you’re looking for.
All magic has threads, shiny golden strings woven through spell work. Though some magic is stronger than others, the threads tighter together and held with more complex knots, all spells start with a single piece, and if plucked, the magic will crumble in an instant.
Unfortunately, the only time I can see those shiny threads is if I’m in my demon form. It’s not something I enjoy shifting into, but there’s a fox in my henhouse, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to sneak up and bite me.
Talons push through my fingertips, as sharp as blades, and the skin covering my hands and forearms turns inky, like I’ve reached into a cauldron of soot. My vision sharpens as I stroll toward the keep, quiet as a mouse. With predatory eyes, I search the courtyard, the bushes around the base of the stone walls, the woods surrounding the keep. I watch for those golden threads. For movement.
“You should know you’re trespassing,” I call out into the stagnant air, my voice echoing off the ruins.
