CHAPTER 159: ECHOES OF DEMON HISTORY!

With Ysvara finishing speaking, the group just stood around, looking at the magnificent Throne before them that unleashed that weird aura. All of them felt themselves drawn towards the Throne’s shadow like moths to a flame, fascinated, but still cautious.

The massive black seat loomed at the heart of the hall, towering and silent, carved from a single shard of crystallized void. Its surface seemed fluid at times, faint ripples of darkness spreading like water whenever someone breathed too near.

The Throne was clearly not an object, but instead alive in the form of a coalesced ancient consciousness of various Ancient Demon Kings from various prior eras.

None of the students dared speak for a while. The hum of mana filled the chamber, an endless, low vibration that crawled up their bones and coiled in their skulls. The runes etched along the walls pulsed like a heartbeat, faint, rhythmic, unrelenting.

Ysvara remained by the grand staircase, her hands folded behind her back. She watched all of the students carefully, her voice still lingering in the air, "Remember what you felt here. This is what happens to those that fall to the Abyss, eternal damnation,"

The students nodded and all of them spread out, walking around the room and looking at the Throne, eager to take their own interpretation of what happened in the past.

Some students, like many of the Elves and Elara already had their personal notebooks out and were writing everything they saw and felt, to see if anything they perceived could be useful for their future endevours.

Lucian was one of the first students to move a bit closer to the Throne, his hand brushing the air before him, where the pressure thickened the closer he got. His Transcendence Gift reacted instinctively, faint, golden light flickering around him to guard his soul.

But the throne didn’t lash out. It listened to him and a faint whisper met his ears, a male voice, distant and low, like thunder beneath the ocean, "You would burn yourself for light, mortal child. But light unrestrained is still destruction."

Lucian froze. The sound wasn’t coming from outside, it was inside his head, deep, resonant, as though the voice had found a place in the cracks of his will.

He clenched his fists, trying to shut it out. But then came another murmur, softer.

"Even a hero must lie to himself before he believes in his own righteousness...Take it from a King, no-one is perfect, Death awaits for everyone in the end,"

Lucian stepped back. The warmth of his own mana turned cold.

For a brief moment, he saw, not with his eyes, but his mind, a vision of a vast field of corpses, and atop them, a figure in silver armor holding a broken sword.

The man’s face was not Malkorath’s. It was his own.

***

Across the room, Fade approached the opposite wall, her green aura gently illuminating the murals. The Elven Princess ran a hand along the golden script, feeling the stories breathe beneath her fingers.

Each mural shifted when she touched it, the images moved, faintly shimmering like liquid and she paid close attention to them all.

The Elven Princess paused at one that depicted a slender demon woman kneeling before the Throne, tears of crimson light spilling down her cheeks. Above her, a crowned silhouette reached down, Malkorath, the Betrayer, offering his hand.

Fade’s chest tightened. The runes beneath her palm flared, reacting to her touch.

A voice whispered in her ear, female, trembling:

"He promised salvation. We followed him because he believed in something greater, a world beyond pain. We were fools."

The mural changed before her eyes. The kneeling woman now stood tall, wings blackened, eyes hollow. Around her, the world burned.

"Power is a promise that only the desperate accept...Never be desperate,"

Fade stumbled backward, hand trembling. For a moment, she swore she could feel the tears that the demon woman had shed, burning cold as ice down her cheek.

***

On the opposite side of the room, Kayle was accompanying many of the Demon Students who approached the Throne.

The Professor was radiant & composed, her aura was like a bright sun, but the Holy Light around her dimmed slightly as she approached alongside the other students.

The group stopped a few steps before the Throne, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then the shadows moved.

They slithered upward, curling around her ankles like smoke, whispering in tongues she didn’t understand. Her Gift, the Radiant Sigil, pulsed in warning, yet she stood firm.

She looked around, but it seemed no-one around her could see what she was seeing, it was as if all of this was happening in her head. She marvelled at the exceptional power needing to pull something off to someone at her level.

And then she heard it.

"You bear light as though it absolves you. But what do you hope to cleanse? Others... or yourself?"

She didn’t answer, just dismissing the voice in her head,"

The voice continued, crawling up her spine.

"The Betrayer once believed he could tame the Abyss and use it to become whole,"

"I’ll never be like him!" Kayle muttered to herself in her mind.

***

While the others faced the throne’s echoing whispers, Morgana lingered near one of the crystalline pillars that lined the hall. Her dark magic pulsed faintly from her fingertips, resonating with the Throne’s energy, two harmonies of the same song.

The pillar’s reflection warped, showing not her face, but another.

A woman, pale as bone, black eyes streaked with silver tears. The same markings Morgana bore when she used too much of her Dark Wonderland Gift. Morgana wondered if it was another version of her, or a Demon who had her powers in the past.

The reflection spoke first.

"Do you ever wonder what you’ll become if you stop pretending you’re good?"

Morgana’s eyes widened, "That’s not me."

"It could be, it all depends on your experiences,"

The reflection smiled faintly, and Morgana’s heart pounded against her ribs. She wanted to turn away, to dismiss it as illusion, but her instincts screamed that this was no ordinary vision. The Spire was showing her the truth of potential.

The reflection raised its hand, and so did she, involuntarily. Their movements mirrored perfectly. Then, in perfect silence, her reflection whispered,

"Malkorath wasn’t born a monster either. He was made one, by the world that demanded too much of him."

And the mirror shattered.

***

Around them, the chamber had begun to change.

Where once the walls were static, they now moved, faint ripples of energy distorting the murals, peeling them open into floating shards of imagery and light.

Each shard revealed a glimpse of history, Demon Kings crowned in fire, Empires built on shadow, wars that split mountains.

Miranda reached for one of the visions, a scene of Malkorath standing before legions of kneeling demons, his hand raised in triumph. But the moment her fingers brushed the edge, the image twisted, soldiers rotting where they stood, their armor melting into shadow.

"The Throne remembers every bit of Demon History. All Kings must take an oath before the Throne to do what’s best for DemonKind, and only after being approved by the Throne would they officially be crowned," Ysvara said.

"Has anyone ever been rejected?" Fade asked.

"Twice, without exception, both of them turned to the Abyss. The Throne has a way of seeing through the Hearts of all Demons who stand before it," The Demon Queen explained.

Her gaze swept across them, "Each of you will see something different. That is its nature, to show what you fear you may become through its gaze,"

The rest of the group continued to be scattered through the chamber, each learning abit about themselves and their own potential.

"Take your time, there’s nothing rushing us," Ysvara explained, calming various students down.

The group continued their actions, and as time passed, each of the students finished their own interactions with the Throne.

Slowly, the whispers began to fade and the air that once hung heavy with shadow lightened, though its chill remained, like the echo of something that could never truly be forgotten.

Elara helped a trembling Elf student to her feet, her usual gentleness returning. Zeus, who had remained unusually quiet throughout, gave a single low whistle and muttered under his breath, "Creepiest field trip I’ve ever had."

Ysvara’s heels clicked softly against the onyx floor as she descended from the staircase. Even with the throne’s power dimming, the Demon Queen’s presence filled the space effortlessly.

Her silver hair gleamed beneath the residual light of the runes, her voice smooth and unhurried.

"I see you all gained something, whatever you gained is for you to live with, reminder, the Throne only shows what lives within you, it is a mirror of truth,"

She paused, her gaze drifting back to the great seat of crystallized void. The Throne had fallen silent, but its shadow lingered, stretching like a scar across the floor.

"Every era," Ysvara continued, "the Throne must choose who is worthy to bear the weight of Demonkind. It has chosen Kings...and rejected many more." Her eyes shifted toward Celeste, who had remained near the back, expression unreadable.

The 3rd Demon Princess straightened beneath her mother’s gaze. Even without speaking, the subtle ripple of her power made the air tremble faintly.

"One day," Ysvara said softly, "when the time comes, the Throne will test you as well, Celeste. And if it deems you worthy... perhaps you shall be the one to lead the Demons to end the Abyssal threat once and foreall."

Celeste’s lips parted, then closed again. There was no arrogance in her silence—only contemplation. Her tail flicked once, betraying the storm that brewed inside.

"I’ll make sure it does," she finally said, voice low but firm.

"Good, now lets go, we have other places to be," Ysvara said, and clapped her hands, a swirl of Demonic Energy wrapping around the students.

Then in a blink, they all vanished.