Rayne - Prince of Ruin

I raised a finger, and silence blanketed the hall.

Hundreds of demons, from the lowliest scuttling imps to the towering behemoths of Hell's upper echelons, bowed their heads. Tails dipped low, claws retracted. No one dared to breathe without my permission.

This was my court. My realm. I ruled with absolute authority, and they knew it.

Leaning back against the obsidian throne, I gave my herald, Illya, a curt nod. It was time for the month's briefing. Illya, ever diligent, cleared his throat and motioned forward the first speaker: Scuttlewort, Lord of Night Terrors.

The diminutive incubus shuffled towards me, clutching something in his clawed hands that looked suspiciously like an iPhone.

"Your Vileness," he began, his raspy voice trembling under the weight of my scrutiny. "Our nightmare productivity has dropped twenty per cent in the past year alone."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

He hesitated, glancing at the device in his claws as if seeking reassurance. "A trend among humans is interfering with our efforts. They've created a... a magical murmuring that calms their anxiety and fear."

"Magical murmuring?" I echoed, arching a sceptical brow.

"It's called ASMR, Your Vileness," Scuttlewort explained. "Humans listen to soothing sounds—hair brushing, whispering, tapping. Sometimes, it's elaborate roleplays. For example..." He cleared his throat and held up his phone. "I experienced one where I was a horse. A gentle farmer brushed my mane, fed me apples, and called me Buttercup."

The hall was silent, except for the crackling of the infernal braziers.

I blinked. "This is a real thing?"

Illya shrugged, clearly at a loss. Scuttlewort tapped his phone, and a video began to play. On the screen, a man dressed in overalls appeared, holding up a red apple with an indulgent smile.

"AirDrop me the link," I said flatly. "I'll review this in my chambers."

A year ago, I might have found such ramblings amusing. The absurdity of demons complaining about human coping mechanisms would have been enough to brighten even my darkest days. But the looming apocalypse had sucked every ounce of humour from my existence.

The weight of my responsibility crushed even the faintest whisper of joy.

Every couple of centuries, rumours of an Antichrist child would surface—an unholy being destined to upend the natural order. And every time, it fell to my siblings and me to eliminate the threat. Not out of love for humanity, of course. No demon worth their salt cared whether mortals thrived or perished. But the natural order was sacrosanct. Gods in Heaven, man on Earth, and demons in Hell. That was the way of things.

This time, however, was different.

The child was not just a threat to humanity, but to existence itself. Prophecy foretold that this one wouldn't just tip the scales—it would shatter them entirely. If the child lived, it would herald the end of man, the destruction of Hell's domains, and even the demise of Heaven itself. Creation, as we knew it, would cease to exist.

Even Lucifer, who relished the torment of mortal souls, found the prospect intolerable. There would be no Hell to rule, no mortals to manipulate, and no enemies to fight if this child fulfilled its destiny. For once, he and God were in uneasy agreement: the child had to die before it could draw its first breath.

And so, the task of finding the child—and its mother—had fallen to me. Not because I wanted it, but because Lucifer deemed me the most competent of his sons. A dubious honour, at best.

At first, I thought it would be simple. Finding Antichrist spawn was usually a matter of following the telltale signs: cursed weather patterns, unnatural plagues, and spontaneous combustions. But this time, the trail was cold. The mother—a creature half-demon and half-vampire—was unlike anything I'd encountered before.

She could flit between the mortal realm and Hell at will, leaving no trace of her presence in either place. Her unique lineage gave her abilities beyond those of ordinary demons or vampires. And worse, she had gathered a loyal following, a cult of fanatics devoted to keeping her and her unborn child hidden.

I, on the other hand, was bound by the same infernal rules that governed all demons. I could manifest in the mortal realm for no more than an hour each day before I was pulled back to Hell's burning plains. An hour was hardly enough time to track down a being who could vanish across realms at will.

It was maddening.

No matter how many leads I followed, no matter how many false trails I pursued, the result was always the same: failure. And with every passing day, the child's birth grew closer, the window to prevent the apocalypse shrinking by the second.

After dismissing my court, I returned to my chambers, poured myself a glass of whiskey, and sank into my armchair. The weight of my inadequacy pressed heavily on my shoulders.

The faint glow of my phone broke the darkness, and I absently tapped on the horse ASMR video Scuttlewort had shown me.

I watched as a man in overalls held up a shiny red apple, speaking softly about trust and care. Millions of years of evolution had culminated in... this.

Tapping the share button, I sent the video to Lucifer with a simple caption: Your thoughts?

His reply came almost instantly: LMAO.

Typical. Lucifer delighted in humanity's absurdity. God's so-called masterpiece had always been his favourite punchline.

Yet, I couldn't help but wonder if Lucifer's disdain masked something deeper. Perhaps he didn't want the world destroyed—not out of love, but because tormenting humans was his greatest source of entertainment.

My musings were interrupted by a swirl of shadows pooling to my left. Loki—my brother, not the Norse god, nor the Marvel character—stepped into the room, a coffee cup in hand. The name Lucky was scrawled across it in black marker.

"How goes the hunt for Rosemary's baby?" Loki asked, his tone light, as if we were discussing nothing more serious than the weather.

"Frustratingly slow," I admitted, my frustration bleeding through despite my best efforts. "The one-hour rule for Earth has become... problematic."

Loki paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, shaking his head.

I arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"You could... well, you could do what Alyd did," he said at last, his tone casual but his smile sharp.

I stiffened. Alyd. Just hearing the name made my jaw tighten. Once the most feared of us all, Alyd had been sent to stop an apocalypse centuries ago. He'd been Hell's champion, a warrior who bowed to no one.

Until he met her.

To buy himself more time on Earth, he bound his soul to a vampire queen—a bond he swore would be temporary. But it wasn't. He fell in love. Gave up his court, his crown, his throne. He abandoned everything for her.

"Disgusting," I muttered under my breath.

"Not a vampire, then," Loki said, reading my reaction. "You'd need something weaker. A witch, perhaps."

I tilted my head. "You're suggesting I bind myself to a witch? As her familiar?"

Loki smirked. "If you want to call it that, sure. A quick bonding spell would anchor you to the mortal realm. No more time limits. And if you choose a witch with no real power, she wouldn't be able to control you. You'd be the one in charge."

I stared at him, letting the idea sink in. A familiar. A pet. A glorified crow on someone's shoulder.

"You'd have all the time you need," Loki continued, his tone turning silkier. "Find the child, complete your mission. And when it's done..." He snapped his fingers. "You sever the bond. Simple."

"Sever the bond," I echoed.

"Kill her, if it comes to that," Loki said, his grin widening.

The suggestion coiled in my mind, a serpent tightening its grip. It was ruthless. Logical. Necessary. But I couldn't ignore the unease prickling at the edges of my thoughts.

"Alyd thought it would be temporary too," I said coldly. "Look where that got him."

Loki shrugged, unbothered. "Alyd's mistake was letting himself care. You're not Alyd."

I studied him, suspicion flickering in my chest. "Why are you helping me?"

"Maybe I've developed a fondness for humans," he said, his grin sharp. "They make life entertaining. No horse ASMR, no overpriced coffee—it'd be a tragedy, don't you think?"

I didn't believe him. Loki never did anything without an angle.

"Loki," I said, rising to my feet, my voice low and cold, "if you cross me, I'll forget you're my brother."

"Duly noted," he replied, his sing-song tone infuriatingly smug.

I wanted to dismiss him, to burn the idea to ash and refuse to even entertain it. But time was slipping away. The demon child would be born within weeks, and I was no closer to finding it than I'd been half a year ago.

I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Illya instructing him to prepare for my absence. I hit send then paused, typing out another message:

If I go native, kill the girl to break the bond.

Insurance. I wouldn't make Alyd's mistake.

"Fine," I said finally, the word bitter on my tongue. "We'll proceed with your plan."

"Wonderful, I have just the person in mind," Loki said, his grin deepening. "Follow me."