Five Years Ago

The slums of the untouchables were a labyrinth of decay and despair, a stark contrast to the opulence of the royal palace. It was here, amidst the filth and ruin, that Daemon's rage had been forged. He had been a leader among the outcasts, a beacon of defiance against the oppressive rule of the royals. But all that changed when the queen had one of his closest companions executed as punishment for their rebellion.

Daemon had vowed revenge. He had planned every step, every move, with meticulous precision. His target: the queen's only son, Dante. Killing him would send a message, a strike at the heart of the royal family.

It was a cold, moonless night when Daemon slipped into the palace grounds. His heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and anger. He had waited for this moment, his soul consumed by a singular purpose. The guards were easily evaded, their complacency a testament to the palace's sense of invincibility.

He found Dante in the garden, a secluded area filled with blooming night flowers. The young prince was alone, lost in thought, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. Daemon moved silently, his blade glinting in the dim light.

Just as he was about to strike, Dante turned, his eyes meeting Daemon's. There was no fear in them, only a deep, unsettling emptiness. For a moment, Daemon hesitated. This was not the pampered, oblivious royal he had expected.

"Who are you?" Dante asked, his voice calm, almost bored.

"I am your death," Daemon replied, stepping closer. "I am here to avenge the blood your mother spilled."

Dante's expression didn't change. "Another victim of her cruelty, then."

The indifference in Dante's tone threw Daemon off balance. He had expected pleading, fear, anything but this cold acceptance.

"Do you even care?" Daemon demanded, anger flaring anew. "Your family's sins have destroyed lives. Do you feel nothing?"

Dante sighed, a weary sound that seemed too old for his young years. "I've seen what she's capable of. Her actions have left me just as hollow as the people she torments. Kill me if you must. It would make little difference."

Daemon tightened his grip on the blade, but something in Dante's eyes stopped him. There was a void, a hollow space that mirrored his own emptiness. In that moment, Daemon saw a kindred spirit, another soul broken by the cruelty of the world.

"What's your name?" Dante asked, breaking the silence.

"Daemon," he replied, lowering the blade slightly.

"Daemon," Dante repeated, as if tasting the name. "If you kill me, nothing will change. But if you want true revenge, help me bring her down."

The proposition stunned Daemon. He had come here to kill, not to ally himself with his enemy. But the fire in Dante's eyes, the promise of something more, was compelling.

"Why would you want to destroy your own mother?" Daemon asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

"Because she destroyed everything I could have been," Dante said simply. "She killed my soul long before you came here with your blade. Together, we can end her reign."

He revealed his traumatic past to the newfound stranger.

Seven Years Earlier

The grand hall of the palace was filled with the sound of music and laughter as the nobles celebrated yet another triumph over the untouchables. Dante, then just fifteen, stood at the edge of the crowd, his presence barely acknowledged by the revelers. He had always been an outsider in his own home, a silent witness to the excesses and cruelties of the royal court.

His mother, Queen Lilith, was the center of attention, as always. Draped in opulent gowns and adorned with jewels, she was the very image of regal authority. Her smile was as cold as the diamonds she wore, her eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam. She reveled in the power she held over her subjects, her every gesture a reminder of her absolute control.

"Dante, come here," she called, her voice carrying over the din. Reluctantly, he approached, bowing his head in deference.

"Yes, Mother?" he replied, his tone as hollow as his heart felt.

"I have a special treat for you," she said, her smile widening. She clapped her hands, and the doors at the far end of the hall swung open. Two guards entered, dragging a young girl between them. Her clothes were tattered, her face bruised, but her eyes burned with defiance.

"This," Queen Lilith announced, addressing the assembled nobles, "is one of the rebels who dared to challenge our rule. She will serve as an example to all who think they can defy the crown."

Dante's blood ran cold. He recognized the girl. Her name was Anya, and she was barely older than he was. They had played together in the gardens as children, before the weight of their respective destinies had driven them apart.

"Mother, no," he whispered, his voice trembling. "She's just a child."

Queen Lilith's eyes flashed with anger. "She is a traitor, Dante. And traitors must be punished."

With a flick of her wrist, she signaled the guards. They forced Anya to her knees in the center of the hall, her gaze locking onto Dante's. There was no fear in her eyes, only a desperate plea for understanding.

"Please," Anya said, her voice hoarse. "I was only trying to help my family. We're starving."

Queen Lilith's smile turned cruel. "And now you will pay the price for your insolence."

Dante's heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to scream, to beg his mother for mercy, but he knew it would be futile. Queen Lilith was merciless, her heart a fortress of ice.

"Begin," the queen commanded.

The guards raised their whips, the sound of leather slicing through the air echoing in the hall. The first strike landed with a sickening crack, and Anya cried out in pain. Dante flinched, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Stop it!" he shouted, stepping forward. "This is wrong!"

The hall fell silent, all eyes turning to him. Queen Lilith's gaze hardened, her smile disappearing.

"Are you questioning my authority, Dante?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.

He met her gaze, his own eyes burning with a mix of fear and fury. "Yes, I am. This is barbaric. She doesn't deserve this."

For a moment, it seemed as if time stood still. Then, Queen Lilith laughed, a cold, mirthless sound that sent shivers down Dante's spine.

"You are young and foolish," she said, her tone dripping with contempt. "You do not understand the nature of power. Mercy is a weakness we cannot afford."

With a final, dismissive wave of her hand, she turned her back on him. The guards resumed their grim task, each strike of the whip tearing through Anya's flesh and Dante's soul.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Dante fled the hall, his heart shattered. He ran through the corridors of the palace, his vision blurred by tears. He found himself in the gardens, the one place where he had always felt a semblance of peace. But tonight, even the beauty of the flowers and the tranquility of the night could not soothe his anguish.

He sank to his knees, his hands trembling. The image of Anya's suffering burned into his mind. He had always known his mother was cruel, but this—this was a new level of brutality.

But this was not the worst thing his mother had done.

Dante's mind flashed back to other atrocities: the village that had been razed to the ground because they dared to ask for more food, the public executions of those who spoke out against her, the children taken from their families to be molded into loyal soldiers for her army. Each memory was a scar on his soul, a reminder of the true nature of the woman who had given him life.

From that night on, Dante's heart hardened. His mother's cruelty had severed the last fragile thread of love he had felt for her. She had turned him into a hollow shell, incapable of feeling anything but loathing for the woman who had brought him into this world.

And so, the seeds of rebellion were sown in his heart. Dante vowed that he would not rest until Queen Lilith's reign of terror was brought to an end. He would destroy her, no matter the cost.

Daemon considered the offer, his mind racing. Joining forces with Dante was risky, but it could also be the key to achieving his true goal. Slowly, he sheathed his blade.

"Very well," he said. "We will bring her down together. But know this, Dante: if you betray me, I will not hesitate to finish what I started tonight."

Dante nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

From that night on, their fates were intertwined. The demon and the hollow prince, bound by a shared purpose and an unspoken understanding. Their alliance was born in blood and shadow, a dark promise of what was to come.