noveldrama
Chapter 88: Not a Pawn
Chapter 88: Not a Pawn
Warlock Ch 88. Not a Pawn
"Maybe we trust," Damian admitted, his voice steady, his gaze unflinching, "but we also remember. And we hold others accountable when they break that trust."
The demon's smile faltered, only for a split second, but Damian caught it. There was something there—a crack in that cold, arrogant mask. Maybe this demon wasn't as untouchable as he wanted to appear.
"You hold me accountable?" The demon sneered, his tone defensive now, a hint of irritation creeping in. "You, a single warlock, think you can hold me accountable?"
"Yeah, I do," Damian replied simply, his voice calm but filled with a confidence that seemed to unsettle the demon. "Because that's what this is about. This isn't just me or you. This is about every life you've affected."
The demon's eyes flashed, and for a split second, his calm demeanor cracked, something darker and wilder showing through. He sneered, rolling his shoulders like a predator getting ready to pounce.
"And what are you gonna do, warlock?" he mocked, the words practically dripping with disdain. "Just keep talking to me? You think all this little chit-chat is going to stop me?"
Damian's teeth clenched, frustration knotting in his chest. His fists were itching for a fight, but he knew better than to let himself get riled up, not in front of this creature. No, the demon wanted him to snap, to lose control.
"Words mean something when they're backed by a pact," Damian shot back, his voice steely despite the heat in his chest. "You know that better than anyone. You agreed to this deal because you said you wanted peace, because you claimed you wanted your people to have a shot at real life, like everyone else."
The demon's laugh was cold, hollow, echoing off the stone walls around them. "Peace? Who told you I actually cared about peace? That I gave a damn about what those weaklings want?" He shrugged, as if brushing off an annoying gnat. "I'm their king. They should follow me, no matter what I decide. That's how power works, warlock. If you were truly powerful, you'd understand that."
Damian's chest tightened. All those who'd come to him, asking for help, hoping he could broker some kind of peace… They weren't looking for a hero; they just wanted a fair shot. And here was their so-called king, shrugging off their lives like they were nothing.
"Don't you feel even a little pity?" Damian demanded, the words sharp and desperate. "The ones who've been dragged into this? The ones who suffer because of what you've done… they're your own kin! They just want a life, like anyone else, like any other race. Isn't that why we struck this deal in the first place? Why would you throw that all away?"
The demon shrugged again, casual as ever, though his eyes sparked with a dangerous light. "Pity? For what? Their lives?" He snorted. "They're tools. Nothing more. They exist to serve me, to fight for my cause. If they die, then they aren't strong enough. I don't need the weak in my ranks."
The words hit Damian hard, sinking in with a chill he couldn't shake off. The demon wasn't even trying to hide his disdain. The revelation was sickening, the depths of his apathy staggering.
"You… you don't even care," Damian murmured, half to himself, struggling to believe it. "They aren't just soldiers. They're people. They trusted you, looked to you to lead them somewhere better. But you—" He swallowed, feeling the bitter edge of disgust rise in his throat. "You're using them, playing them like pawns in your sick game."
The demon grinned, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. "Ah, you're catching on, warlock. Power doesn't come from playing nice or coddling the weak. It comes from using every tool at your disposal. And guess what? My kin are the perfect tools."
Damian felt a wave of anger flare up, hot and sharp. He couldn't stand the smug look on the demon's face, the way he dismissed his own people like they were nothing.
"You disgust me," Damian spat, his fists clenched tight enough that his knuckles turned white. "You made a promise. You said you wanted peace, that you'd stop the fighting, that this endless bloodshed would finally end. And now? Now you're throwing that all away, for what? For more power? More control?"
"More control, more power… until it's all mine," the demon hissed, his voice low and menacing, as though savoring every word like a dark promise. His hands flexed, dark energy crackling at his fingertips, a subtle reminder of the vast power he held.
Damian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm, even as the demon's power thrummed ominously in the air around them. It was thick and suffocating, like standing at the edge of a bottomless pit. But Damian didn't flinch. He let his gaze settle on the demon, something new—something unbreakable—hiding behind his calm demeanor.
"I see…" Damian murmured, almost to himself. He let out a long, steady breath, his shoulders relaxing even as the tension mounted. And then he looked the demon straight in the eye, calm as if they were talking about the weather. "Since you don't want to cooperate, and you clearly don't give a damn about anyone but yourself…" He paused. "Then maybe… maybe the demon race needs a new king."
For a second, the demon just stared, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. And then he let out a loud, mocking laugh, a sound so cold and arrogant it made Damian's skin crawl.
"A new king?" The demon sneered, eyes alight with scorn. "And just who is going to take that role, huh? Which demon out there is stronger than me?" He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the dark scenes around them. "No one, warlock. No one is stronger than me!" His voice rose, echoing, reverberating off the stone like a declaration from the depths.
Damian just watched him, a bitter smile creeping onto his lips. It was a weary kind of smile, like he'd seen enough of this game to know how it ended, but he was still determined to play his part.