Archive of Our Own

Deon had won. In the end, victory belonged to him after all.

Standing arrogantly as the sole figure left upright in the arena, the albino indifferently glanced at the creatures around him. Whether humans, elves, or demons, at this moment, all of them were trembling and bowing before Deon—before their new ruler, or more precisely, the new emperor who now reigned supreme over the entire world.

"Ah, it's over." The white-haired man smiled in satisfaction. Finally, after all this time, he had claimed victory, a convincing and undeniable victory, a victory that allowed him to put an end to all things.

A truly magnificent victory.

"See? Everything turned out just fine." All of a sudden, Deon spoke those words aloud. His gaze fell into the void, unfocused.

No one knew whom he was speaking to or for what purpose. Yet no one dared to voice an opinion either. To the albino, all the beings of the world around him now resembled nothing more than small, pitiful mice. easily trampled underfoot. At this moment, their survival depended entirely on his mood.

"Clean it up." At those words, all living beings who had been bowing abruptly lifted their heads. Though he had not named anyone in particular, everyone understood that this was an order from the new ruler. Immediately, every creature present rose to their feet, entered the arena, and busied themselves gathering broken fragments of stone, shattered weapons, and even corpses.

Ah, a corpse…

"Sir, what should we do with 'him'?" One of the victor's most loyal subordinates stepped forward and bowed as he asked, his manner exceedingly respectful.

Oh, that was Ed.

"Him?" Deon could not help but repeat those two words in his mind, momentarily dazed. Ah, right—he had nearly forgotten. He still had to fulfil his promise to "him".

"Take him back to the room," Deon said. At once, the blond-haired demon obeyed. He quickly approached the body that had fallen at his master's feet—the one who had once been the proud and supreme ruler of all demonkind: the Demon King.

Ah no, he should now be called the former Demon King.

The one in question, Caver, was now nothing more than a cold corpse, his heart brutally pierced by the pitch-black sword belonging to Deon Hardt. His entire body was covered in wounds large and small, bruises, and bloodstains already dried. In short, he looked utterly miserable.

This was the being who had once borne the title of the strongest Demon King in history.

Yet in any case, that no longer held any meaning now. What mattered was that, by whatever means necessary, his body had to be brought back to the castle—to the room—as Deon had ordered.

Ed summoned another group of demons to help transport the remains of the former demon lord intact. As they placed Caver's body onto the stretcher, Ed could not restrain himself from whispering, "Please rest in peace, Your Majesty."

Then, at Deon's behest, the former Demon King was brought to the very room he had occupied while still alive. However, before he was taken inside, the servants were ordered to wash his body thoroughly and dress the dead Demon King in proper attire once more.

Despite their deep fear and reluctance to utter a single word of gossip about the actions of the supreme ruler, faced with such a strange request, quite a few demons could not help but feel puzzled. Why did they have to treat this corpse with such care? Had the new sovereign not hated this man to the core? Not only did he not order them to hack the body apart and feed it to dogs—yet here he was, having them handle the defeated enemy's remains with such delicacy?

In response to these doubts, Ed could only explain briefly that it was Deon's order, although in truth, the white-haired man himself had never actually demanded anything of the sort.

Perhaps no one except Ed knew that before the duel to the death began, both Demon King Caver and the Warrior Deon Hardt had made a pact. No matter which of them fell, the one left standing would organise a funeral and ensure a proper burial for the other. It was considered the final measure of respect they granted to their fated opponent.

And the burial site had already been decided: the greenhouse in the flower garden of the castle.

However, even though he had nodded in agreement to that pact, Ed could assert with certainty that his master had long since forgotten it, judging by the indifferent attitude he had shown earlier.

"Well, that's understandable. After all, His Majesty… Lord Caver was the one behind all of those things. The fact that he is even keeping the former Demon King's body intact instead of tearing it apart as usual is already an immense show of respect," Ed told himself inwardly. To be honest, although he had sworn eternal loyalty to Deon, to always follow and support every decision he made, that did not stop him from feeling regret—regret for the once very close relationship the two of them had shared.

"They used to be everything to each other..."

The funeral was prepared quietly by Ed. Well, not all that quietly, really—simply draping black curtains over every window of the palace was ostentatious enough.

The moment the castle's new owner noticed this change, Ed had thought he would fly into a rage or suffer a breakdown and destroy everything. Nonetheless, contrary to all expectations, the albino man merely cast a glance at it and walked away without the slightest concern, as though it were not worth his attention at all. Even when Ed mustered the courage to meet Deon and explain the organisation of the funeral, having already steeled himself to accept punishment, he received nothing more than a curt "Mm," before being bluntly dismissed. The dark-ringed eyes of the man remained fixed on the lines of text in the documents before him, not even sparing Ed a single glance.

Just as Ed was still stunned by the ruler's apparent severing of all sentiment, before the door to the Demon King's study—now repurposed as Deon Hardt's office—fully closed, the other party tossed him a few words in a hoarse voice: "If you're going to hold some sort of memorial service, hurry it up. Don't leave that pile of black drapes hanging at the entrance for too long—it's an eyesore."

"Yes, sir." The blond demon bowed to receive the order, secretly letting out a breath of relief. Although his master sounded curt, this was precisely what Ed felt to be right. Perhaps his king truly despised this event; yet whether because of a promise, out of pride, or for some other reason, he had endured it and chosen to ignore it. Maintaining an icy facade all this time was likely because the man genuinely did not wish to bring it up.

"Yes, that's definitely the case." Ed reassured himself. After all, few people would be eager to preside over the funeral of their mortal enemy. If Deon had not only lacked aversion but, on the contrary, enthusiastically encouraged him to carry out the work properly, then the deputy commander would certainly have had to seriously consider which fine day, after the former Demon King's funeral, would be suitable to become the anniversary of his own death.

Everyone knew that Deon Hardt, these days, was an extremely difficult person to serve. All it took was someone breathing a little too loudly when he was already in a foul mood, and from that moment on, that person would no longer need to breathe at all.

Thinking thus, Ed finally managed to heave a sigh of relief and set about carrying out his task, eager to bring this nerve-wracking job to an end as soon as possible.

It took only two days for the entire palace to be transformed into a standard funeral hall. Black velvet curtains were hung over every window, allowing not a single drop of light to pass through. Black and white roses alternated throughout every corner of the palace, as though opening a path that led to the other world. The red carpets were replaced with a sombre black, and even the moon itself seemed to be mourning the one who had died.

However, the person whose grief the deceased most longed to receive appeared utterly indifferent.

On the night before the funeral was to be held, in the vast bedroom that had once belonged to the former Demon King, upon the oversized bed laid with glossy black sheets, lay a man with ink-black hair and deathly pale skin, clad in opulent attire, sleeping soundly.

An eternal sleep.

"Click."

The large, heavy door creaked open, just wide enough for one person to slip inside. That person, though moving stealthily, carried himself with complete naturalness, as if this were no different from his own home. He wore a robe so thin it was nearly transparent, holding two goblets filled with a vivid red liquid that rippled with each step. Long white hair flowing halfway down his back swayed gracefully with every movement. Those blood-red pupils, clear as mirrors, reflected the body lying on the bed in the distance.

Deon Hardt.

That was the new emperor, Deon Hardt—the ruler of both the human and demon realms.

He strolled leisurely towards the Demon King's bed, stopping beside the edge and bending down. Long, curved lashes drooped with the motion as his eyes glanced at the sleeping figure below. The man looked so peaceful, so content, and…

So serene it was infuriating.

Why did a defeated man like him look happier than Deon himself? Why did Deon, despite being the victor, feel not even a shred of joy? Why was the loser able to attain his wish so lightly, while Deon was left trapped here—in this damned place that had ruined his life?

Damn it!

That wasn't fair at all!

"Clink… glug…" One of the two goblets was tipped over without hesitation, the expensive liquid pouring out in a rush, soaking into the carpet and leaving an ugly stain that ruined the aesthetic.

"This is your share, Your Majesty. Have a pleasant funeral." Curling his lips into a sneer, he spoke those words. "No one's going to congratulate you except me, so be grateful."

Then he raised the remaining glass, lightly clinked it against the air, then pressed it to his lips and took a sip… then another, and another, gulping it down continuously until the once-full glass was emptied, until his rosy lips were tainted with the intoxicating aroma.

His pliant red tongue slipped out by habit, licking the last traces of sweet wine from the corners of his mouth.

He could not help but remark, "The liquor in the Demon Realm is always this good." And because today was a special occasion, Deon had carefully selected the finest of the finest—a kind of wine that ordinary people could never buy, no matter how much they wanted to. This exquisite flavour was certainly incomparable to the cheap alcohol he used to sneak in the Demon Realm before.

"You're truly fortunate," Deon said dreamily. He looked down at the damp stain on the carpet, his eyes unfocused as he murmured, "This is something I kept for a very long time—so very long that I can't even remember how long anymore…" Then he sniffed. "Every drop of this wine is more precious to me than gold."

As his words fell, the man's knee pressed against the edge of the soft bed. Using it as leverage, he climbed up. The mattress sank under his weight, and the glossy black sheets—carefully ironed smooth by demon servants—wrinkled and shifted as a result. The last shred of dignity that the entire Demon Realm had tried to preserve for the former ruler was thus completely destroyed.

"I bought out the best wine cellar and invested in an entire professional team to maintain it without rest." Using both hands and feet, he slowly crawled toward the demon's side. Every movement was extremely slow, yet firm and decisive—as though a predator were carefully approaching its prey, calculated and patient, despite its stomach growling with hunger, taking extra care so as to devour a creature incapable of resistance.

"You know, every day that passed, I forced myself to endure..."

Stopping when he was only a few centimetres from the demon's unmoving body, the white-haired man paused briefly, then decisively swung a leg over him and braced his knee at the demon's side.

"Endure…"

He knelt suspended directly above the corpse.

"And endure again…"

Deon's weight settled fully onto his knees, sinking deep into the lethally soft mattress.

"Resist the temptation to touch that precious bottle of wine."

The thin, gauzy veil clung to the albino's body, offering little coverage. Porcelain-white skin was exposed beneath the black fabric that was barely there. Warmth radiated directly from the man's inner thighs to the icy cold corpse beneath. The extreme contrast in temperature caused the one lying below to let out an involuntary "hm", his body shuddering.

"I had to restrain myself." Slender, pallid fingers reached for his collar, hooking and tugging it down to reveal a swathe of smooth, alabaster-white skin. His chest rose and fell gently with languid breaths, stirring the fragile fabric that clung to his soft flesh, unable to fully conceal the old scars carved there by the ravages of war.

"To suppress the desire that's always boiling over." The loosely fastened belt was easily pulled free with hardly any effort. Once the only restraint was gone, the loosely fastened robe fell open, parting a straight path that laid the albino body bare.

With just a slight movement, a gentle shrug, the robe slid from his slim shoulders. It drifted downward, gliding over snow-like skin riddled with remnants of the past, and finally came to rest upon Deon's knees, which were already flushed red from kneeling.

The man with blood-red eyes was completely naked.

That body, though that of a Warrior, lacked the grandeur it should have had. It was thin and pallid and could almost be called malnourished if not for the bit of muscle that barely salvaged his frame. The stark outline of his bones was clearly visible, along with the deep hollows carved into his form; this was certainly not the image of a sharply defined physique but rather the result of illness.

A body that aroused no desire in anyone, only bitter sorrow.

Who, in the end, had driven him to this state? Himself.

Meals he could barely eat a quarter of, nights spent awake until morning, endless days of inescapable obsession and drug abuse had turned him into this. No amount of advice or warnings from others was effective. They did not live his life, did not taste what he had endured; thus, words like "let go" or "stop" came from their mouths far too easily. They told him to get through it but never told him how. No one pointed out a path because, fundamentally, they could not even see the path he had to take.

Too useless. Too superficial.

A bunch of hypocrites.

Only by comforting himself with things deemed dangerous could he find the motivation to keep going.

Only by immersing himself in poison could he gain strength.

He knew this was wrong, but aside from those things, he had no other choice. No one would understand him, absolutely no one.

Raising his head to look at the luxurious ceiling, the man with dishevelled hair fixed his gaze on each inlaid detail above. Every single one was meticulous and exquisitely crafted. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Waiting… I waited day after day, worn down by it, waiting for the right moment to personally break the seal and celebrate a grand occasion—an occasion when I could discard myself entirely and then vanish forever."

"And yet…" He lowered his head, looking down at the motionless remains beneath him. "… I still have to share it with you." His slender hand clenched tightly at once, blood welling as pale knuckles jutted out. In the next instant, he lunged, grabbing the collar of the one who was asleep, hauling him up face to face and shouting furiously: "Why?! Why do I have to share it with you?! My efforts, everything of mine—why should they be shared with you?!! That was what I deserved to receive, what I should have had, my blissful future—why was it taken from me??? Why?!! Among the tens of thousands of living people on this earth, why did you steal only from me?!! What did I do?! What did I do to offend you to deserve all of this?!! Is it fun to toy with me? Is it entertaining to torment me?!! Do you like watching me struggle in agony like this?!!"

Releasing his grip, Deon let go, allowing the cold corpse to fall back onto the bed, its garments left dishevelled. The albino stared blankly into the void. He remained frozen like that for a moment before lowering himself at a low pace, shifting his weight off his knees, which were pitifully red. The bed dipped lightly, and the man ended up sitting fully atop the stiff body. His naked form clung to the shrouded corpse beneath him. Thigh to thigh, groin to groin—separated only by the smooth burial cloth.

"Hah…" Deon let out a sudden laugh, glancing down at Caver as his lips curved into a smirk. "If you'd been treated like this while you were alive," he said softly, "you'd have gone mad with pleasure, wouldn't you?" The contempt in his voice was unmistakable, laced through every word.

All of a sudden, he bent forward, lunged, and kissed the man's lips.

It was a kiss so intense it sent a chill down the spine. Sucking at the blanched, ice-cold lips of the deceased, Deon shifted between lingering and devouring. Those vibrant, red lips intertwined with deathly, soulless ones. His saliva became a lubricant; his tongue turned into a probing instrument that slowly pried open the freezing jaws.

Yet the result was a complete failure.

A dead body had long since stiffened, no longer something he could so easily manipulate at will.

Frustrated, he bit down hard on Caver's lower lip, leaving a deep imprint of teeth. Still not satisfied, he gnawed several more times until the demon's livid lips were torn utterly, mangled and ripped, revealing dark red flesh underneath.

Sadly, not a single drop of blood was shed because he was already dead.

His slender fingers traced the demon's neck—tough and sculpted with sharp, defined muscles. He roamed his hand along the sternocleidomastoid muscle, pressing down into the hollow of the throat; his index finger followed the collarbone and slid to the shoulder. Releasing it, he returned again to the neck. Ten pale fingers, joints starkly defined, wrapped around the perfect throat like claws; each finger pressed deep into flesh, leaving marks behind. He gently set both thumbs on the demon's Adam's apple, caressing it, retracing its delicate shape with his hands, and then pressing down.

He pressed down on the throat, his other eight fingers tightening around the man's neck, his whole body exerting force to squeeze. He squeezed so hard his shoulders began to tremble, his clenched teeth grinding together with an audible rasp, his neatly trimmed nails digging deep and raking the man's skin.

The demon's neck was being squeezed so hard that the bones creaked, seemingly on the verge of cracking. Yet just before that exquisite neck could break in two, the culprit stopped in time. He spared the throat and let both hands fall limply, slumping back weakly. After a brief moment to steady himself, the red-eyed man looked down again at the body beneath him. It now looked wretched to the hilt. Setting aside the once-dignified attire now disarrayed and improper, the face and neck alone—ravaged so cruelly—were enough to make one avert their eyes. In the end, even the last shred of the demon lord's dignity could not be preserved.

So this was the end of the one once known as the number one Demon King.

Admiring his masterpiece, Deon felt a flicker of satisfaction, but immediately after, the unresponsive, lifeless corpse irritated him. Propping himself on one hand beside Caver's head, the white-haired killer whispered into his ear, "Come on, wake up. Haven't you always wanted to touch this body?"

The other remained totally motionless.

Using both hands to cup Caver's angular face, he applied just enough force to lift the other's head, his thumb involuntarily tracing a light touch on the old king's high cheekbone. Sliding one hand to the back of the demon's neck and pulling him closer, Deon fixed him in place, leaving only a few centimetres between the man's face and his own pale chest. His other hand moved down as if by instinct, drawing a line from the delicate, sharp collarbone to the faintly pink nipple, then lightly scratching the small, light-coloured areola.

"Go on, come closer. There's no need to hide it anymore—I know everything already." He deliberately pushed his chest toward the other's mouth. "That lust-filled look of yours," he clicked his tongue audibly, the owner of the flat chest speaking, "was practically spilling out. As if no one could tell you wanted to fuck me senseless."

His fingertips teased the nipple, rolling and kneading the small, soft bud. From time to time, his nails lightly scraped the surrounding areola, raising tiny bumps scattered across the skin.

"Let me tell you this," he continued, his hand still deliberately stimulating himself little by little, "because I grew up constantly subject to outside scrutiny, one of the things I'm best at is reading people's expressions, and the lechery lurking in your eyes whenever you stole glances at me—I didn't need to make any effort to notice it."

"The way your gaze always lingered on the back of my neck as if you wanted to bite it apart," he lightly pinched his own nipple.

"The way you were annoyed whenever you saw me wearing two or three layers at once, buttoned all the way up to my neck…" The albino man closed his eyes, recalling the subtle frowns the other would show as he tried to shield himself from the sunlight. His fingers continued to feverishly knead the flushed pinky peak. "And that burning stare, as if wanting to tear them all off." Flicking the nipple that had been bullied for so long, Deon made no attempt to restrain himself and let out a moan.

"Ah…" The young man hissed softly through clenched teeth, his garnet-like eyes momentarily unfocused. The numbing sensation spreading from his teat made it difficult not to succumb to ecstasy.

As his desire intensified, those long, slender fingers no longer merely stimulated but grew more passionate. They rubbed and vigorously kneaded the poor nub. The dull, faint throbbing pain at the tip made him addicted. His breaths and moans became more frequent and intense as a result.

He wanted…

Only when the pinky nipple had been tormented to the point of being swollen, red, rigid, and so sensitive that even the faintest brush of air would make all the fine hairs on his body stand on end and goosebumps erupt across his skin did he finally stop. Leaning forward, he pressed the warm, hardened cherry against the cold corpse's lips. The hand behind Caver's neck exerted more strength, trying to close the gap between them.

Under his effort, the Demon King's colourless lips finally planted a soft kiss on Deon's bare chest.

"Mm… take it into your mouth…" Frowning, the albino sounded disappointed by the unsatisfying sensation. His entire body itched incessantly; he could not be content with something as simple as lips brushing. He rubbed his nipples against the man's skin, forcefully pushing the small knob of flesh at his chest toward the Demon King's mouth.

"Be good, suck." Slender fingers threaded into the man's hair, stroking and soothing. At this moment, Deon truly looked like a gentle, exemplary mother coaxing a picky child. He used incredibly sweet and soothing words to tempt the child into sucking at his breast to receive a stream of cool, nourishing milk that would never come.

"Oh, you really are far too naughty." Finally giving in to the lack of cooperation from his sexual partner, Deon stopped forcing him any further. He slipped his hand into his own mouth, quickly gathered a bit of saliva, then smeared it over nipples that were swollen and aching from tension. Re-enacting the act of licking and sucking with hands roughened by years of wielding weapons, he closed his eyes and imagined the scene of the man beneath him lunging up, pinning him down and greedily suckling those seductive buds. Caver would circle his tongue around and around Deon's chest, licking before sucking hard enough to produce wet smacking sounds. He would bite, then pinch those fragile peaks with his perfectly white teeth, grinding and tormenting them as if intent on biting them clean off his body—

"Ah!" A shudder swept through him, sending an electric jolt through Deon's entire body. He hastily clutched the corpse like a lifebuoy, panting. The mere thought of the other man playing with his nipples was enough to drive him insane with desire. Ah—he wanted it; he wanted him here, wanted him to torture these painfully throbbing nipples.

"Ugh…"

After exhaling following a moment of distraction, he decided to spare his nubs for now. Raising his hand to his mouth, Deon touched his fingers against the alluring lips, gently parted them and slid inside. His wet tongue eagerly welcomed the soldiers who had been working hard for so long and promptly began caressing and comforting them. It nimbly weaved between his fingers, tenderly caressing each one. Every finger was sucked down to the base, lingering lovingly, unwilling to let go. Soft, lewd slurping sounds echoed within the airless room, drifting near and far.

After playing with them for a while, that greedy mouth finally released the willowy fingers. At the moment the last fingertip slid free of the drenched oral cavity, a long thread stretched from his ravishing lips to his finger, connecting them. It glistened, shimmering faintly under the moonlight filtering in through the window, like an expensive silver necklace set with precious gemstones—something that perhaps no one would ever willingly give Deon again.

"I remember you used to like these lips very much…" His fingers lightly traced over the lips gleaming with moisture. "You always lingered, staring at them for so long…" His garnet-red eyes narrowed slightly, his pupils veiled in mist as he sank into a hazy reverie. Then he opened his mouth, sticking out a wet, bright red tongue. "And you longed to stuff your cock all the way in, didn't you?"

"Look, I've already opened it for you. Hurry and put it in, won't you?" He pointed at his own mouth, deliberately using his hand to widen the warm, moist oral cavity even more. Saliva slid down his tongue and dripped onto Caver's body.

"Go ahead. Thrust it in, shove it all the way down my throat, turn my mouth into your fleshlight. I'm ready." With that, he burst into laughter—raucous, unrestrained and vulgar laughter that was devoid of all grace. In a tone brimming with glee, he said, "Of course you can't do it anymore, right? You can't even get it up now!"

Then came another fit of wholehearted laughter, so intense he nearly toppled over, hair dishevelled. He swept his bangs back and said to the other, "So, Caver? When you were alive, you wanted me so badly you were practically drooling, yet you couldn't have me. And now that I'm offering myself right to your mouth, you don't even have the chance to enjoy it!"

Then he bent down, leaned close to the demon's ear, and whispered, "Do you regret it? Do you feel remorse? Or are you so furious you'd claw your way out of death if you could?"

"That must be it!" He covered his face and laughed uncontrollably until he forgot everything else. His dry, hoarse laughter echoed through the room. He was mocking the demon lord, who was now wholly impotent, no longer capable of posing any threat to him. He was gloating, reveling, standing atop the peak of victory and looking down at the miserable state of the defeated foe beneath his feet—yet why? Why did that sound feel so lonely and bitter? Why did his eyes sting even as his lips curled upward? Why did he taste salt on his tongue?

Deon didn't understand. No, he did not want to understand.

Reaching out to wipe the saliva that had pooled onto Caver's body, Deon watched with amusement as his own bodily fluids smeared messily across the other man's form. Suddenly, an idea struck the albino—an absolutely m̶a̶d̶ brilliant idea.

"Hey, Your Majesty. You really wanted to fuck me, didn't you?" He spoke excitedly, a flicker of madness flashing in his eyes. "What if I grant your wish right now?"

Without giving the other man a chance to resist, he pinned him back down on the bed. The man sprawled atop him, pressing his lower body against the demon's corpse. Light-toned flesh rubbed against the neatly dressed body. The smooth fabric created a tickling sensation as it brushed against his penis. The shallow thrusts deepened inch by inch, and the gentle friction was no longer enough to satisfy Deon's desire. As a natural reaction, he spread his legs, creating more space for his semi-erect member to make contact with the bulge at the crotch of the corpse's trousers. Just like that, the owner of snow-white hair rode up and down at will, rubbing his length against the slick fabric, indulging in the pleasure of dry humping. The manhood between his legs moderately hardened as a result.

Still, something was missing.

Reaching down to his groin and lightly scratching his tender inner thigh, the red-eyed man arched and squirmed, trying to further coax more stimulation from his frail body. He touched his medium-sized penis, carefully stroking and massaging it, occasionally applying pressure to squeeze it gently just enough to draw lewd sounds to let out from his own lips.

"Ah..." The base of his cock was stimulated.

"Ugh… ugh…" His restless hand grasped his scrotum, pinching and tugging it, kneading it as though playing with clay. He showed no hesitation in being rough with himself, using force until pain and bliss blurred together. "Ngh!"

Gasping for air due to the pain in his sensitive area, his garnet-red eyes became hazy and welled up with tears. His eyelids drooped heavily, threatening to shut, but the gnawing ache of unfulfilled lust would not let him go. Forced to remove his hand from the warm place below, he sought out the swollen, aching shaft and enveloped it entirely. His bony hand slid up and down in a steady rhythm, slowly bringing him to the brink. Clear pre-cum seeped out with the movement of its owner, coating the shaft until it shone slickly, lubricating Deon's frictional activity.

"Ugh..." The pace of his masturbation increased, and the albino's body reacted more and more violently. His toes curled, his back arched straight, and his chest pressed flush against Caver's body without a simple gap. His hand, which was free from masturbating, could not help but clench, nails digging into his skin until it faintly bled.

"No… ah, no…" His reason was violently assaulted by tsunamis of rapture. His body, disobeying its master, trembled uncontrollably—especially his tender, pallid thighs, which twitched intensely. His straight, lean legs yearned to wrap around someone's waist, clinging and pulling them closer until not even a sliver of space remained, until the end of time, until hair turned white with age—vowing lifelong attachment, never to part.

"I… can't… take it… anymore…" The haze of carnal pleasure perfectly enveloped his already clouded mind. Deon's hand, clenched so tightly it hurt, instinctively loosened, flailing as it searched for something to hold onto. It latched onto the silent demon king's firm, muscular arm, clawing and scratching at it to release his overwhelming emotions. His mouth dripped with clear saliva, which trickled down the neck and smeared onto the body beneath him. This rapture was too much for him—far too stimulating.

Suddenly, the white-haired man squeezed the head of his length and forcefully pressed his thumb against the dripping urethral opening. A sharp, piercing pain shot along his shaft at once, mind-blowing Deon. The stabbing sensation spread across his flat lower abdomen. His entire pinkish member spasmed vigorously, the pain so intense that the young man immediately gasped for breath. The throbbing ache seemed to shoot all the way up his spine, sending an instant chill through him. A thin layer of sweat settled into a thin mist across that svelte back.

"Ah!" A sharp cry rang out; the albino released his grip from the urethra opening, jerking vehemently as he ejaculated streams of warm, viscous fluid. The milky white, slimy substance splattered onto the glossy black burial clothes of the dead Demon King.

"Ah… it came out…" the owner of snow-like hair murmured dazedly. His thighs trembled, streaked with sticky traces of cum. His body suddenly went limp, collapsing fully onto Caver's as he panted heavily.

"Hah… I came… I just came all over you…" A weary smile bloomed on his lips, paired with unfocused eyes and his naked body bathed in moonlight.

"Did you like it…?" With an unmistakable lewdness in his voice, Deon crooned those words into Caver's ear.

Of course, the person being questioned had no way of responding. Yet, unlike before, Deon did not grow angry this time. He continued lying sprawled across Caver's ice-cold body, sinking into what felt like endless intoxication. When his breathing finally steadied, the red-eyed youth glanced down once more at the semen-soaked crotch of the other—the aftermath of his own doing.

"Haha… it's completely filthy now…" A foolish grin spread across Deon's face as he gazed at his own masterpiece. His face lit up with pride and smug satisfaction. Only he—only he in this world—could make the former ruler of the Demon Realm suffer like this. Only he could stain and destroy that man's dignity. Only he could trample and humiliate that body to such an extent.

He was the only one with the right to do so. He was unique—the singular, most exceptional existence.

Satisfied with that thought, Deon relaxed a little longer. The tension between his brows eased, his expression softening. The albino allowed himself to breathe, to loosen up, to sink into a place of peace. The comfort after this release seemed to wash away the stress that had built up over the past few days. His brain temporarily stopped thinking, his muscles no longer had to tense up, and his senses ceased their vigilance. Very quickly, he drifted off to sleep. Although it was only a few brief seconds of sleep, for someone suffering from chronic insomnia, it was like a refreshing rain after a long drought.

Nevertheless, what comes easily also leaves easily. The peace that came to him so swiftly also departed just as fast. Before long, he was wide awake as if he had never rested at all. His heart churning with restlessness, all that flashed through the white-haired man's mind was the desperate urge to return to the blissful sensation from moments ago.

He miserably wanted to sleep; he wanted to disconnect from this world so badly.

Reaching out to search for the knots and fastenings of the burial shroud, Deon swiftly unfastened them all. The smooth fabric immediately slid down, revealing the sculpted body of the former Demon King. That magnificent physique had not changed in the slightest since the last time Deon had seen it. It seemed Ed and the demon servants had done an excellent job preserving the corpse. Every muscle fibre, every abdominal ridge, every solid, well-proportioned, and perfect contour was still as amazing as ever. The complexion, though paler than when he was alive, was not greyish. At first glance, it merely looked like someone who hadn't been exposed to sunlight for a long time and had become slightly less vibrant. Its elasticity to the touch was also not much different. Deon could not even find a single livor mortis mark on the demon's large body.

If one only looked, Caver appeared no different from a monarch in deep sleep. His posture was upright, his face serene, and every feature so sharp and flawless that one might mistakenly believe a gentle call would awaken him, perhaps causing him to frown in annoyance at being disturbed from his rare slumber. Yet that sleep was too deep—so deep that even if heaven and earth shook, the throne collapsed, or a blade pressed against his throat, he would not awaken. There was no rise and fall of breath in his chest. No faint flutter of lashes as dreams approached. Only absolute stillness, a stillness that did not belong to sleep, a stillness devoid of any life, the singular privilege of death.

"He... he's really dead..."

Although Caver constantly mockingly referred to himself as the "error" of the "World", Deon had long harboured the belief that he was the most extraordinary creation in this universe. Nothing, the possessor of the rare red eyes asserted, had ever left him breathless with awe. It was not simply his exquisite appearance or those one-of-a-kind eyes that drew all gazes upward; the entirety of the man transcended all standards. From his arrogant demeanour to the undeniable authority he could never quite conceal, everything combined to form a singular being unlike any other, unmistakable. He was a rule-breaker. His allure symbolised the uncertainty of existence itself—a beauty that could not be defined or bound by any framework. It was this uniqueness that captivated Deon and completely stole his gaze. No matter how much people reviled and feared him, the first thing that came to mind for the white-haired man whenever he thought of the Last Demon King was still that utterly unparalleled beauty.

From the very first moment they met, Deon's life had been destined to intertwine with Caver's, never to be separated.

After admiring the Demon King's perfect physique to his heart's content, the owner of the blood-red eyes finally turned back to the matter at hand. A cunning glint flashed as his lewd garnet gaze swept inch by inch over the flawless corpse, eventually settling to rest at the other's lower body. Licking his lips, he sat up and shifted himself between the man's legs.

"This part… it's been so lonely all this time, hasn't it? Let me 'take care' of it for you, shall I?" Murmuring ambiguous words into the ear of the eternally asleep one, Deon ran his hand over the dark, slightly curly hairs of Caver's private area. His mischievous fingers playfully tugged and pulled a few strands for amusement as he joked, "Have you ever heard the story about 'Time' defeating the 'Sky'? It's a myth from a distant people. In that tale, the 'Sky' is a cruel tyrant who enrages all, while 'Time' is the archetypal saviour of fairy tales."

The fingers slid downwards, weaving between the hairs and tracing a path to the other's private part.

"Of course, like every 'hero saves the world' story, 'Time' emerged victorious; and likewise, the defeated 'Sky' had to bear a punishment all his own."

Gently, almost reverently, Deon touched the slumbering dragon. The sensation of skin-to-skin contact sent a shiver through him, excitement surging within his chest. Even though the other man had already passed, the idea of so easily grasping something few were ever permitted near, as effortlessly as turning a hand, was still incredibly exhilarating and, for him, intoxicating beyond measure.

The white-haired man's scalp tingled, his heart pounding as the corners of his lips refused to stop curling upward into a sinister smile. His breathing turned erratic in an instant, his whole body quivering with anticipation. A burning heat flushed his delicate face and spread to the back of his neck, staining his pallid skin the colour of deep, perfectly depraved scarlet.

Here and now, at this very moment, he could mould, squeeze, torture, or even crush this thing however he wanted! How could he not be delighted? This body was now completely under his control!

"Mm..." A soft, involuntary sob escaped along with ragged breathing. "It's suddenly... so hot down there..." Deon instinctively rubbed his legs together, pallid inner thighs pressing against the source of desire that was flaring up again. It seemed he was aroused again—aroused by the intoxicating sense of having complete dominion over another man's life and death.

Yes. This was what was right. This was what the victor—the ruler of a new world like him—truly deserved to enjoy.

Gradually increasing the strength in his arm, he wrapped the Demon King's girth in his hand. Even though it could no longer move now, the size of the dead demon, even in its flaccid state, was still terrifying compared to that of an average person. The weight of that thing resting in Deon's palm alone was enough to make him marvel in astonishment.

"If he were still alive..."

He could not help but shiver.

"It would probably go in almost up to the navel, wouldn't it?" The albino unconsciously swallowed.

Putting such thoughts aside, Deon refocused on what he was doing. Moving his hand up and down skilfully, he took care of the man as if Caver were still capable of responding. Those intimate touches and caresses were things that, in the past, not even in his wildest fantasies would the Demon King have dared to imagine.

What a pity…

"Now then, where were we just now?" The albino suddenly spoke again into the stillness, the motion of his hand slowing. "Ah, right—we were at the part where 'Time' punishes the 'Sky', weren't we?"

All movement in his hand stopped entirely.

"Surely you can guess how they deal with a dethroned king. Deposition, imprisonment, torture, public humiliation… those kinds of punishments are all far too familiar; or, more strikingly, execution—like what I did to you," Deon said calmly, his tone indifferent as if he were talking about the weather rather than addressing his own victim. As he spoke, he tilted his head and smiled, as if recalling something truly pleasant.

Then, without warning, he bent down and placed a fleeting kiss on the tip of the limp penis in his hand. Warm lips met the wrinkled, cold flesh, creating a stark contrast. Those refined lips parted with an air of elegance, then immediately swallowed Caver's entire shaft. The sleek pubic hairs brushed against the tip of his nose, as if teasing the immoral man.

It was hard to say whether this counted as luck, but it was precisely because of the flaccid state of that thing that Deon was able to neatly take the full size of it into his mouth. Even so, it filled the entire space of his wet oral cavity, and if what was inside him now had been a fully erect cock, Deon did not dare imagine how far it might have reached.

It took a few minutes before the owner of those lewd lips could more or less adjust to the object in his mouth. Slowly, the white-haired man curled his tongue around the shaft, licking and sucking. The tip of his tongue swept over the glans, teasing and playing. The meticulous cleaning and careful preservation of the body prevented the oral sex from being ruined by even the slightest trace of decay; yet at the same time, that excessive cleanliness made Deon's experience of sucking dick boring since he could not taste any of the man's scent. For a moment, the albino felt a twinge of regret. If only he could have done this earlier…

Continuing the act of oral intercourse, Deon learnt how to get used to bobbing his head up and down. Compared to his confident, masterful demeanour earlier, his current state looked much more awkward. His movements were stiff, clumsy, and sometimes even jerky. Still, that was only to be expected—he had never done this before. No matter how many times he had caressed and loved his own body, doing the same for someone else was an entirely foreign concept. Not to mention that he was now practising one of the most difficult acts of all—using his mouth. Simply stretching his jaw muscles to their limit to accommodate something oversized without choking himself was already a miracle, let alone performing the sucking motion smoothly.

"Hah…" He paused his enthusiastic sucking and relaxed. His mouth opened wide, revealing the saliva-soaked cock within. His eyes brimmed with physiological tears; his vision blurred. A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, making his reedy contours gleam. At some point, a seductive flush had spread over his body, raising the temperature in the icy room. His long hair flowed over his shoulders and back like a cascading waterfall, wrapping around his lean frame. Unruly strands of platinum blonde clung to his gleaming skin, creating a breathtaking sight.

He stuck out his tongue, displaying the cock he had tended so diligently, and then, in a voice made sticky by the saliva flooding his mouth, the albino spoke: "As for that punishment, besides being dethroned, 'Time' also bestowed another torment upon the 'Sky'. First, he took out a scythe like this… and then swung it…"

The man's teeth lifted in time with each word.

"Cutting down…" The space of his mouth piecemeal narrowed vertically, like a nutcracker.

"And severed the thing dangling between that man's legs."

The instant he finished speaking, Deon bit down, grinding his teeth against the flaccid member in his mouth. The pressure increased, more and more, until—

"Just kidding." The man with the blood-red eyes released that treasure, leaving a few slightly deep teeth marks on the sensitive flesh. His jaw, sore from the exertion, was eventually allowed to relax and rest. A glistening silver thread once again stretched from the tip of his vivid red tongue and connected to the drooping, lifeless manhood, looking like some unspoken, utterly erotic covenant.

"Something this good has to be kept and used. Who'd have the heart to cut it off, right?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he shifted forward, pressing the saliva-soaked cock between his own chest. He squeezed his chest together, hunching slightly to create a cleft between his breasts, trying to stuff the former Demon King's cock into it.

Nevertheless, the effect was clearly not very feasible, given that men did not have much soft tissue in their chests to begin with, and Deon himself was especially thin for a man.

"Well, you'll just have to put up with it for a bit." After a series of unsuccessful attempts, he ultimately compromised. "This is all the chest I've got. If you're craving someone else's full, round tits, then resurrect yourself and do it. I'm not helping." With that, he lunged forward, pressing what lay between Caver's legs into the faint cleft of his flat chest and began to rub and fondle it. At the same time, the albino man lowered his head and once again took the drooping tip of the cock into his mouth, sucking on it.

Everything unfolded leisurely and languidly, as it should have from the very beginning. In an instant, the scene was no longer a morbid act of coercion but rather like a tender, passionate night of intimacy between a real couple. Every movement, every gesture, exuded an indescribable gentleness—a gentleness that should never exist between mortal enemies, a gentleness like that shared between lovers.

"Does it feel good?" he asked softly, his body never ceasing its loving actions. "This is something I went out of my way to learn just for you."

His garnet eyes dimmed, his gaze distant. "You have no idea how much resolve and courage it took for me to meet Hien alone just to ask about this."

"He was actually pretty enthusiastic. Not only did he explain everything in detail, but he even offered to demonstrate for me." Recalling that, Deon could not help but chuckle; then his gaze returned to the motionless figure beneath him. "But I turned him down. What could I do? I had to 'save myself' for someone, after all."

"What a shame. That person didn't have the good fortune to enjoy it."

"No. He didn't deserve to enjoy it."

Having finished their intimate encounter—meant for whose amusement, it was unclear—Deon sat up. Taking a few minutes to catch his breath, he rose again, moved closer, and straddled Caver's hips. After shifting back and forth a little to adjust his position, the albino finally settled comfortably on the deceased's body. Their sensitive parts touched, this time without any barrier.

Putting his weight onto his knees, the man lifted himself slightly, creating a narrow gap between their bodies, just enough to slip his hand between them. His long, sylphlike fingers, with faintly defined joints, deathly pale and neatly trimmed nails, followed familiar paths to the pinkish opening. With little effort, Deon smoothly parted the anus and slipped the first fingertip inside.

There was no need to wonder how he could do such a thing. The owner of those pure white locks had done it hundreds of times before. Every night, whenever he sank into solitude, self-comforting was always a way to alleviate his loneliness. Or perhaps, on nights when no one was around, when he was desolate, craving an embrace, a scent, a someone, touching his own body and indulging in vague, unreal fantasies—imagining being held by that someone, imagining them murmuring a few deadly-sweet words into his ear—was also a way for him to keep existing in this barren life.

How pathetic.

Though pathetic, it was the only path left—to survive, to cling on, to inch himself forward step by step, towards a future flickering like an oil lamp trembling in the wind.

Too uncertain, he knew. Nonetheless, if he were to stop right then, wouldn't everything he had given up be in vain? All the pain and loss he had endured?

He could not bear it. And so, he kept moving.

Utterly miserable, he knew; but had he himself ever been anything but wretched?

No one would come to save him, so he could only save himself.

Deon ploddingly prodded and worked at the tightly clenched opening until it softened, loosening it and creating a narrow gap for his second finger to slip in. The two fingers moved rhythmically, skilfully yet measured, as they invaded, little by little widening the space inside. The albino's index and middle fingers spread apart and closed again, stretching the tight passage bit by bit.

"A… ha…"

The sticky sounds of lubricant steadily rose into obscene, wet, squelching noises. They seemed almost alive, creeping into the minds of anyone who happened to hear them, leaving them stunned and flushed. The sounds only deepened an already filthy scene—between the young man's pale thighs, slick liquid had long since begun to glisten and trickle down.

"Seems I used a bit too much lube…" Deon subtly frowned as he felt the cool liquid running along his thigh. Perhaps in some lust-blinded moment, he had been heavy-handed with the gel on his entrance, leaving everything slick and slippery now, almost devoid of friction, and significantly reducing the sensation. The only advantage worth mentioning was that it had made getting things in rather easy, shortened the foreplay, and caused the familiar slight sting that accompanied penetration to vanish without a trace.

"Well… it's not entirely useless…" After careful consideration, the red-eyed youth had to concede the necessity of this substance. Nevertheless, he should probably use it less next time; with the current dosage, his hand had already missed its target numerous times due to lack of grip. Constantly losing the rhythm because there was too much wetness was not a pleasant feeling at all.

The muscles at the rim, under their owner's attentive massage, relaxed neither quickly nor slowly. Seizing the opportunity, both fingers slid in another knuckle deep, extending the length of the entrance. With the range of movement expanded, Deon's motions grew increasingly complex—no longer mere thrusting and probing, but scissoring and prying open, pumping in and out, mimicking some shameful act.

"Ugh… Mmm…" He could not help but sob as the small hole below grew ever more stimulated and sensitive. Waves after waves of ecstasy coursed down the white-haired man's spine, striking directly at his brain, cutting off all thought. His mind went blank in an instant as instinct took control of his whole body. His hand-driven self-penetration became more and more intense. His hips and waist grew restless, itching and wriggling ceaselessly. The sounds of skin rubbing against skin and the wet slurping of lubricant echoed. His anus deliberately contracted, greedily clamping down on the distinguished, honoured guests stirring inside. The crimson, tight inner walls moved continuously, embracing and moulding themselves into the shape of those long, lissom fingers.

Masturbating like this on a corpse…

"Mmm!" Deon jolted at the sudden thought, his penis spurting a small, involuntary jet. The fluid landed squarely on Caver's abdomen, tracing winding lines on his toned muscles.

He inhaled sharply as a shiver passed through him, fleetingly dissatisfied with how overly sensitive his body was. That precious semen should have been saved for something more interesting. Pouting, he muttered under his breath, "It's because of you my body ended up like this, so take responsibility."

Digging and thrusting into his own little hole like some cheap whore from the slums, Deon ultimately succeeded in loosening himself up. The man's anus was now thoroughly soft, gaping eagerly, waiting to be fed.

Reaching out to grasp Caver's limp penis, Deon carefully guided it toward his entrance.

But how could something so feeble possibly enter smoothly? The tip had barely gone in at all when the shaft lost what little stability it had and slipped out on its own. When Deon took the initiative to lower himself to make entry easier, that utterly hopeless thing simply collapsed flat under his weight.

Clicking his tongue, Deon's mood worsened a little.

It took quite some fumbling before he finally managed to get that impotent thing inside. The moment the entire flaccid penis lay obediently within his body, the man exhaled a breath so full it sent goosebumps racing over his skin.

"Ah… see? All taken."

His pert, pasty buttocks lifted and dropped against the man's pubic bone.

Lifting his hips and leisurely lowering them again, he moved sluggishly, getting used to it, learning how to grind himself down on the man's body.

"Are you really that impotent? In all my life I've never seen anyone just lie there and let their partner do everything like this. I'm not some paid slut whose job is to make you feel good, you know?" Seemingly annoyed by the former Demon King's immobility, he pouted reproachfully; he pouted and complained, yet his hips never stopped moving. Again and again, that perfect curve came down onto the soft penis, the alluring Apollo's hollow only heightening the eroticism. The ambiguous sounds of their lovemaking echoed through the mournful room, while the white-haired man shamelessly transformed himself into a true lustful whore.

"Tell me…" Deon leaned forward, his hand crawling up the firm chest beneath him, kneading it before teasing at the man's nipple. His thumb and index finger gently squeezed the cold nub, pinching it, lightly pressing it with his nails. "If I really sold my body, with 'skills' like this, how much do you think I'd be worth?" As soon as he finished speaking, his moist, vivid tongue coiled around the neglected side of the chest, sucking noisily; when he pulled away, he bit down on the taut flesh with lingering reluctance, leaving clear teeth marks behind. He looked down at the bite mark starkly imprinted on the man's chest.

The albino could not help but lick the corner of his lips.

Even so, the mouth below remained unsatisfied. Though it had been stuffed full, how could spoilt food ever make a meal enjoyable? Deon strained, arched his back, tried every possible angle, yet still could not get that limp penis to scratch the right itch. That worthless piece of meat could not even grow firm enough for Deon to ride comfortably, let alone thrust deep into that narrow tunnel. Every time, it fell just a little short—whether in hardness or in length—of reaching the place it needed to.

He was so impatient he was practically going crazy, bouncing relentlessly on top of the man, longing to reach the climax just once. Sadly, Heaven did not heed human hearts, or perhaps it deliberately refused to grant the wish of a sinner like him, so Deon's haphazard up-and-down riding remained completely fruitless.

Frustrated, unwilling to accept it—he had it all.

"Fuck! Just a little more!" The curse burst from his bewitching lips. His delicate eyebrows furrowed in dissatisfaction. Clearly, just a little more—just a little more, and he would have been able to reach orgasm—but why? Why was it still all for nothing? His sphincter had moulded itself perfectly to that man's cock, snug without the slightest gap. Deon's intestines had clenched with all their might, grinding, squeezing, and milking whatever was inside as if extracting milk. And yet the dull, lingering ache in his lower abdomen did not ease in the slightest. Every minute, every second, it urged him to fill the emptiness and reach his prostate with something long, thick, rigid, and searingly hot—something he had long yearned to touch, something he both feared and desperately wanted to claim as his own.

"Not enough."

Never enough—he understood that better than anyone else.

Powerless, abandoning the obsession of taking the demon through his own back door, Deon wearily pushed himself upright and yanked out that useless thing of Caver's that had wasted so much of his time, his disgust plain. Falling back onto the soft, neatly made mattress, he could not be bothered to care that his body was drawing glaring milky streaks across the ebony-black sheets. If someone were to see these traces the next morning, he truly had no idea how he would explain them.

"Hmph, why should I care? I'm an emperor now anyway." Deon snorted contemptuously. Now, regardless of whether the Human Realm or the Demon Realm, both lay under his rule—so what harm was there in claiming a single bed whenever he pleased?

It was just that… that promise would never be fulfilled now…

Abruptly wrapping his arms around Caver's chest, Deon murmured into his ear, "Hey, you really don't want to lie in there forever, do you?" Resting his chin on the man's shoulder and burying half his face into the demon's neck, he continued in a whisper, "It's very cold in there, you know."

"There will be no fireplace."

"And no one will hold you like this either."

A silence that seemed to last for millennia answered his words. The only thing Deon could clearly hear was his own breathing.

Then he suddenly lifted his head, looked into the former Demon King's tightly closed eyes, and asked in a suspiciously cheerful tone, "Or… how about we do it one last time, hm? I've been serving you for quite a while now—it's about time you returned the favour, isn't it?"

True to his word, Deon quickly extricated himself from the warm embrace of the bed. He nimbly climbed onto Caver again; nonetheless, this time his target was not the demon's genitals but his face.

"I already blew you earlier; now it's your turn to indulge me a little, right?" Lowering his centre of gravity toward the handsome face, Deon adjusted himself carefully until the man's tall, straight nose was wedged between his full buttocks; only then did he settle down.

Letting out a soft hiss through clenched teeth once his entire body had stabilised atop Caver, Deon could scarcely believe what was happening. He—yes, he himself—was now seated squarely on the sharp, striking features of the former Demon King, riding his face and doing things no one would ever dare to look at of their own accord.

Controlling his body movements to create friction against the dashing face, pressing his inner thighs tightly against flawless beauty, his groin rubbing back and forth along the bridge of the nose, Deon gradually brought himself to ecstasy. He thought that if the Demon King were still alive now, the man would likely be nearly suffocating beneath his movements—gasping for broken breaths just to get air, exhaling scorching breaths against Deon's groin until the skin flushed red. Those thin lips would caress every inch of his light-coloured skin, bestowing kisses and bites. He could almost feel those wet lips playing over his delicate inner thighs, coaxing them to lower their guard before suddenly sinking teeth in with a sharp, biting pain that drew blood and made his whole body jolt; and then, as if to soothe him, that man's agile tongue would gently lick over the still-reddened wound, lips pressing down to suck and pamper it, apologising and pleading all the while for permission to leave the next mark.

Taking a sharp breath at the thought of that scenario, the owner of the snow-white hair could not help but tighten his hold on that refined face, deliberately pressing his testicles against the lips he himself had bitten raw not long ago. His supple body moved of its own accord, rocking his hips a few more times against the man's face. He let out an unconscious giggle as he let his mind drift, imagining the man beneath him cherishing and kissing his lower body.

Ah… If that man were still alive, those lips would surely devour this body greedily. Caver would slide his saliva-soaked tongue into the small, dripping hole and stir inside until Deon was reduced to nothing but a heap of mush. That serpent-like tongue would gracefully slither and coil, slipping into every twisting nook and cranny, thrusting in and out again and again until the smaller man's pallid thighs spasmed and his legs trembled uncontrollably. From the young man's pretty mouth, nothing but sounds of bliss and ecstatic pleasure would be able to escape as he was thoroughly fucked.

"I'm going to die…" In delirium, the thought drifted through his mind. Yes, this albino would surely be toyed with until he lost his mind, pinned down and fucked regardless of time or place. His body, once etched with the scars of war, would be turned into a banner of trophies, claimed across countless sleepless nights.

Deon would definitely be devoured thoroughly, not a single bone left behind…

"Ah!" A strangled cry burst from him as his body gave out and he came purely from those fantasies. Thick white semen once again dirtied the demon's body—but this time, there was no longer any protective layer separating Caver from Deon's madness. Thus, the warm streams splashed directly onto that handsome face, clinging to eyelashes and hair, even trickling down over those delicate lips.

A strange urge drove Deon to rub his still slick, fluid-coated penis over the man's face, smearing his masculine seed across every contour of Caver's features. He paid special attention to dragging the tip back and forth along those thin lips, carefully applying lipstick to them.

The visage of the demon once hailed as the strongest was, in an instant, smeared with sticky filth.

The white-haired man's heart skipped a beat. The sight was truly overwhelming. For a moment, Deon did not know what expression to wear. His stomach churned in an indescribable way, his eyes glued to the splattered layers of viscous release on the other man's face. The refined corner of his mouth twitched, unable to hide the delighted smile unhurriedly blooming on his lips.

"Fuck… this is really exciting enough to die for."

His penis trembled uncontrollably even after ejaculation. This wave of ecstasy far surpassed his earlier bout of masturbation, as though it were trying to drown Deon in a sea of debauchery. He was going to die—he was really going to die from the scene laid out before his eyes!

All of a sudden, a warm liquid reeking of iron gushed from his nostrils, flowing profusely. All too familiar with this situation, Deon abruptly covered his nose and mouth. Nonetheless, the image before him was far too captivating; no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop the bleeding.

Or rather, from the very beginning, he had not particularly wanted to stop it.

The fresh liquid dripped onto the body beneath him, dotting vivid red droplets across the man's forehead and cheekbones. In Deon's eyes, this scene possessed far more vitality than the completely bloodless corpse from before.

"Your Majesty…" Sliding down, he seated himself on the man's chest. Those white, svelte fingers cradled the filthy face, stroking the lifeless cheek. His gaze was fixed on the man, deep and profound, as if engraving it there—or casting a curse. Without warning, the albino swung his hand. A vicious smack tore through the eternal night of the Demon Realm. In a fit of rage, Deon used all his strength to deliver a powerful slap to Caver's cheek. Instantly, the man's head lolled sharply to one side.

Screaming until his throat grew hoarse, his eyes stinging with hot tears, he demanded hoarsely, "Why?! Why did it have to be you?! Why, out of the thousands upon thousands of sentient beings in this world, did it still end up being you?!! There are so many people in this world—why did it have to be you who ruined me?!"

The beautiful rims of his eyes reddened violently. His nose ran, his breathing hitching as if he could no longer draw air. He lifted his head toward the empty space above, his voice nearly choking as he spoke: "In this world, there are plenty of people who hate me, no shortage of those who scheme against me, and countless bastards who wish I'd just drop dead, but… but…"

"But all of them… all of them couldn't do a damn thing to me. They're all dead. I killed every single one of them with my own hands." He glared down at the former Demon King, his bloodshot eyes burning with unwillingness. "So why was it you? Why were you the one who stabbed me the deepest?"

"I don't care how others try to harm me—I'm already used to that. But after everything, why did the one who hurt me the most end up being you?!"

"You destroyed me, watched me become like this, and then calmly went off to die on your own. Were you satisfied?!" The tears that had been held back for so long burst forth like a broken dam, wetting his long eyelashes and painting his exquisite face with an unbearable, heart-wrenching grief. His vision blurred into nothing but haze. Wordless sobs and broken breaths tore out of him. His sylphlike shoulders trembled violently. He cried—after so long, so very long, he finally cried this hard. The blatant traitor of years past had now become the one betrayed, his trust shattered beyond repair.

Those carefree days, that concern that seemed meant only for him, those countless small but profound memories—so it had all been nothing but an act. A play in which Deon himself was the fool.

Not once—not a single time—had that man ever been sincere.

If that was the case, then why had he treated him kindly from the very beginning?! Why had he noticed such trivial habits that even Deon himself paid no attention to? Why did he reach out to him? Why had he so casually given him a warmth so extravagant that even in the darkest nights of his life Deon had never dared to dream of it? Why had he stayed by his side when he was at his lowest? Why had he supported him without hesitation when he stood against the entire world? Was it all just to toy with him? To watch him shatter even more thoroughly once the truth was revealed?

No one would ever answer Deon's questions, not until heaven and earth collapsed.

"If you were going to abandon me without a single explanation… then I'll just have to go to where you are and get my answers myself." Reaching for the three-branched candlestick on the bedside table, it took only seconds for him to find the ignition tool and light it. Flickering red-orange flames—utterly out of place in the gloom of the funeral chamber—steadily spread, black wax melting and sliding downward.

"Ah, these are candles from the Human Realm." The obvious truth was laid bare, but the albino no longer had the presence of mind to wonder why Ed and the demon attendants had placed such an out-of-place item here. All he did was wait until the fire had stabilised, then forcefully yank all three candles free from their stands and fling them, one by one, into the corners of the room—where massive curtains stood towering.

The furnishings in this castle are all top-notch. Those curtains, needless to say, were made from premium woven fabric. Therefore, their flammability is exceptional. In moments, the flames took hold and roared upward, engulfing the entire chamber in flames.

Deon glanced indifferently down at the now-empty bronze triple candlestick in his hand. Its reddish-brown sheen reflected the inferno consuming the room, faintly carving out the ivory-skinned features of the man holding it.

Without hesitation, he drove the pointed end of the candlestick into his own neck and plunged it down forcefully.

Nevertheless, after all, it was just an everyday object used in the castle; it was not that lethal. So Deon had to repeat the action, stabbing himself in the carotid artery again and again. The pale skin on his neck reddened from the impacts, bruised, and tore open as blood gushed out unstoppably. He vaguely heard the sound of his neck muscles being ripped apart and could faintly feel his bones cracking under the assault, but the emperor of both realms paid it no heed. Blood kept flowing, and the flames around him grew higher and higher until they licked the edge of the pitch-black bed linens.

Only when the bleeding became impossible to stop—when there was no longer any chance of rescue—did Deon finally loosen his grip. Collapsing onto Caver's body, he at last reached the moment of peace he had so desperately yearned for. As expected, drowsiness washed over him, and a warmth rising from the air around him—so starkly at odds with the heat steadily leaving his body—enveloped him completely. Breathing became increasingly difficult; the white-haired man could no longer tell whether it was exhaustion or the fire consuming the oxygen in the room—but he did not bother to investigate. His breath grew fainter and fainter until it vanished into the smoke and flames.

At last, he was truly able to sleep in peace.

In a dazed state where reality and illusion were indistinguishable, Deon felt someone take his cold hand, caressing it and pressing a gentle kiss upon it. He did not know whether death dulled the ears and bred hallucinations, but he seemed to hear someone lean close and whisper softly, "Let's go together."

Deon believed this illness of his was probably incurable; coincidentally, he no longer needed treatment anyway.

"Yes." A sinner more vile than anyone else unexpectedly became strangely gentle. Like a puppet that had borne too much weight until its strings finally snapped, the albino allowed himself to let go of everything. Gently returning the grip of that unknown hand, he agreed to cross the boundary together with that person.

There was no reproach, no angry or resentful words uttered, as if nothing inappropriate had ever occurred between them at all. That person treated him just as he had in the beginning… so gentle that Deon was almost convinced his mind was fabricating it all.

Truthfully, no matter how much he deceived himself, he knew very well who that person was. It was just that…

"Don't think about it. I don't really have the right to blame you."

Only then did the white-haired man realise it. "Ah, yes, that's right." That man, too—no, more precisely, he was the only person in this world who bore sins as heavy as Deon's own. Both of them had gone far too far to have the right to judge each other.

"A perfect match," should he call it that?

Two sinners, riddled with sin, walked hand in hand toward a hell with no return. They both understood that the path ahead held nothing but punishment and accumulated karma—but this time, only this one, neither of them desired salvation.

"Do you regret it? It's still not too late to turn back now," he said, his deep, warm voice as captivating as ever. Annoyed by the absurd question, the albino frowned: "Are you kidding me? I've come all this way and you're telling me to turn back?"

Yes. Deon had come this far; there was no longer any place to return to.

Hearing that, the taller man merely chuckled softly. "I was just afraid you might change your mind."

"Watch where you're going, idiot."