The king walked toward Daemon, tapping his shoulder lightly.
"Yes," Velrick said, voice low. "That's what it really does to a human. I thought... maybe... the power of the Demon King could cure my son's illness. But I wasn't sure. We tried summoning holy temples—" his mouth twisted bitterly, "—but they hate demons. They would have killed him at first glance."
He gave a tired chuckle.
"Thankfully, I met Samuel—the priest who treated you. At least he had the decency to try. But it was impossible."
Daemon said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the heaving, bloated creature chained to the bed.
The fragment.
The twisted shard of his own former power.
He could see it now—embedded just behind the monster's lips, radiating faint, sickening energy.
"What would happen," Daemon asked quietly, "if I pulled the fragment out?"
The king's answer came without hesitation.
"He would die."
Daemon scratched his head, confused, pretending to think harder than he was.
