"Please, this way… this way, my lord."

The young demon's voice trembled faintly as he gestured for Sakaar to follow. His posture was low, spine slightly bent, and his steps were short and cautious — every motion radiating submission and reverence. Even his tail curled downward, a silent expression of fear and loyalty.

This humble procession lasted for several long minutes. The sound of their echoing footsteps accompanied them through the narrow tunnels until they reached a sealed chamber. In front of its small, rounded door stood another demon — one whose presence made Sakaar's expression change slightly. He recognized him instantly.

"Why are you standing here alone?" Sakaar's voice, calm yet heavy, cut through the stillness of the corridor.

The demon before him was none other than the same one Sakaar had once ordered to protect the woman and the cub before departing.

"My king… you have returned?" the demon said, falling to one knee so swiftly that dust scattered beneath him.

"My liege, no one has shown any interest in this chamber for a long time. I alone have been sufficient to guard it. Were it not for your direct command, I would have left my post as well."

"Hmm?" Sakaar tilted his head slightly toward the small door, his sharp gaze narrowing. Then, in a surprisingly gentle motion, he patted the two demons on their shoulders in turn.

"Step aside."

He bent forward, lowering his massive frame to fit through the narrow opening — a passage meant only for mothers and their cubs — and entered. Once inside, he straightened slowly, his form filling the cramped space as he looked around with visible confusion and a faint frown.

It was a traditional nursery chamber… a confined, womb-like place, its floor layered with the sacred dust of ground bones. The air was thick, warm, and nearly absent of movement. The darkness clung to every surface, swallowing what little light leaked in through the cracks.

Such nursery and birthing rooms were always built this way. The suffocating stillness, the faint scent of decay — all of it was deliberate. This was the natural cradle for demon offspring, meant to mimic the ancient depths from which their kind had first emerged. The oppressive atmosphere comforted the newborns, surrounding them with the same lifeless warmth they felt within the void before birth.

Once they gained strength, they would crawl through the small exit that served as the doorway, wander through the inner tunnels of the city, and eventually, when old enough, be granted their first tubular armor and ascend to the surface above — the true world of the demon race.

But now, in this silent chamber, there was only one living creature aside from Sakaar… or, perhaps, something almost living.

Even with Sakaar's powerful spiritual senses — senses that could feel the pulse of souls hidden beneath mountains — it took him several seconds to detect the faint, fading rhythm of life. Whatever it was, it hovered at the brink of death.

That being — that thing — lay at the center of the narrow chamber, placed upon a rough table molded from dry clay. Its chest rose and fell so faintly it was difficult to tell whether it breathed at all.

Sakaar stepped closer, his heavy boots crunching softly against the bone-dust floor, and leaned over to examine it more carefully.

The creature's size was similar to that of an ordinary demon cub shortly after birth — about a meter tall — but beyond that, everything about it was wrong. Terribly, impossibly wrong.

Its body was white — pure, pale white. The skin was smooth and soft, devoid of the hardened scales that defined all demon flesh. Beneath that skin, a network of red and violet veins pulsed faintly, running from its toes to the crown of its head. Those veins gleamed with an eerie shimmer, strangely reminiscent of the crimson armor worn by demons of the royal ranks.

Even more disturbing, the creature lacked the typical spiraled horns of its kin. Instead, a single, short horn protruded from the center of its forehead — small, incomplete, yet radiating an inexplicable energy.

Its face was unlike any demon's. It wasn't a hollow visage with only a gaping jaw filled with fangs. Instead, it had a mouth — a small, proportionate one. Above it rested a tiny nose, and below the horn, a single large eye stared faintly, dull yet somehow aware.

Its hands and feet were the most shocking of all. The fingers were straight, divided, and tipped with soft flesh rather than claws or hooves. They looked fragile, human-like even — something that should never exist among demonkind.

"What in the world…" Sakaar murmured, his tone low and almost reverent as he examined the cub's body. Every detail defied the very foundation of demon biology.

Even the stench — that suffocating, plague-like odor known as the Red Plague — was entirely absent. The air around it was… clean.

Sakaar's brow furrowed. His spiritual aura flared slightly. Then, with sudden urgency, he turned toward the door and called out in a commanding tone that shook the chamber,

"Guard! Come here — now!"

"At once, my king!!"

The guard, who had stood vigil for countless months, burst inside without hesitation, fear etched across his face as his eyes darted toward the strange creature on the table.

"What is this…" Sakaar's voice rumbled like thunder as he extended a hand toward the cub.

"What am I looking at?!"

"My liege, we don't know either!!" The guard stumbled backward as if the words themselves had shoved him, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and exhaustion. "The female remained in labor for three whole days, screaming day and night without pause. She begged and begged us finish her off, but we refused because of your orders to protect her and the fetus." He hurried on, words tumbling out as he tried to explain everything at once, "After those three full days the mother died. The instant she died, that creature split her belly and emerged by itself, as if it had been waiting for that exact moment."

"...Its emergence became the spectacle of the entire city. When it came out of its mother's womb it did not cry and search for blood the way newborns usually do. Instead, it began to leap and play beside its mother's corpse—rolling on the ground, climbing the low walls, exploring the thin slice of the world exposed to it as if it were curious rather than hungry. Crowds from the tunnels gathered; many of the females and several guards wanted to slay it because it was so malformed, but I obeyed your command and sheltered it, my liege. I did exactly as you ordered—please, do not unleash your wrath upon me!" The guard took another hurried step back, visibly trembling.

"That's not what I'm asking!" Sakaar's hand cut through the air in a sharp, impatient gesture. "Why is the cub now so weak and close to death? Why is it nothing but skin and bone? Why did you not feed it properly from the start?" His voice rose, reverberating against the low ceiling. "Must I come here and do everything myself?!"

"Huh?" The guard flinched, stunned for a heartbeat, then frantically waved his hands as if to ward off accusation. "My liege, it is not my fault—please, test it yourself. The cub refuses blood and flesh. We attempted to feed it more than once, but it vomits almost immediately!"

".....?!" Shock registered across Sakaar's face; he muttered under his breath, incredulous. "It won't even drink blood?" His tone shifted from anger to a cold curiosity as he asked aloud, "...so you mean it was born with intense vigor after the mother's death, but after a stretch of not eating it decayed into this state?"

"Yes, yes." The guard nodded quickly, eyes wide as he recounted the strange timeline. "At birth it was only a quarter of the size it later reached, yet it grew at an alarming rate for a single day until it attained this length. Then, its activity began to ebb gradually until it reached this collapsed state. We tried every measure to keep it alive—every method we knew—but it never responded!" He lowered his voice and tilted his head, admitting reluctantly, "...Honestly, my liege, everyone in the underground city is either frightened of it or openly disgusted. Since you are present, you would be performing a service for all by killing it with your own hand; the people would praise you."

"Shh!" Sakaar brushed the air dismissively.

"Dispose of it?" he scoffed inwardly. "Is a mutated demon birthed every day? Even if that creature is doomed, we must investigate it thoroughly while there is still breath in it."

He hesitated for a beat, then, as if recollection struck, turned back to the guard with renewed insistence. "You said they are afraid of it. Why, precisely?"

"...In the first few days many complained and nearly killed it on multiple occasions," the guard replied, running a hand through his mop of white-streaked hair as if trying to clear the memory. "They said..." He swallowed, searching for the right words. "They claimed there was a malice in that single eye—an intent behind its gaze. Some said when it looked at them they felt dizzy, as if the world were tilting and consciousness was slipping away... So we isolated it here and limited its diet to be safe."

"...?!" Sakaar returned to the cub and studied it for several long, silent minutes, eyes narrowing as if seeking some hidden clue in its pale skin. He nodded slowly a few times, thought working behind his stern expression. "Do we have any living prisoners?"

"Yes, my liege—tens of thousands of them." The guard answered promptly, urgency in his tone as if the numbers themselves mattered.

"Bring me one."

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