Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 200: Act IV, Scene VIII: The Boy Behind the Throne

The shards of the shattered space hung in the void like frozen rain, each reflecting fragments of the crumbling domain.

Through the largest rift, the young boy's body was visible, a slim figure with long white hair covering him like veils of mist, partially obscuring his pale, delicate face.

His white eyes, wide with this new emotion, this terror, stared back at the intruders.

Bel, Regulus, and Aurus froze for a split second.

But in that moment, the Slumbering King's mind fractured inward, pulling him into a torrent of memories.

He had appeared out of nowhere, not born from flesh or flame, but emerging like an idea given form in the shadows of the demon realms.

He appeared almost by accident, like an idea given form. In the depths of the dream, he awoke to a voice that whispered, guiding his steps.

Like an animal obeying instinct, he followed, and in doing so, shaped the world around him into something new.

While others fought for survival in the physical chaos, he had access to another world, a dreamscape he could control, bending thoughts and time as easily as breathing.

Days became weeks, weeks became years. He gathered strength not through conquest, but through the creation of a realm no one else could see.

He called shadows into being. One soldier at first, then two, then more, until an army stood at his side, all moving to the same rhythm of the voice in his head.

Each day, he built further into this world of silence, this place where only he ruled.

He never learned how to be a Demon Lord. He simply was. The throne was his by existence alone, his Authority extending into every layer of dream.

He knew he was opposed to the world of light and its Sacred warriors, but he did not fear them. He shaped the laws of his dominion as easily as others breathed, rewriting the end of anyone who entered.

His mind flashed to images, his hands orchestrating the strings of a marionette.

He remembered his generals, loyal shadows born from his will: Hypnos, his shadow, Morpheus, using his mirrors to manage his world of silence, and Akedios, the youngest, yet his mouth, the carrier of his will.

He remembered Darwin, the Sacred legend, the shield of humanity, reduced to a marionette in a deadly puppet dance.

Bones snapped one by one, twisted by invisible strings, his body contorting in unnatural angles in a scenery of nightmare, surrounded by faceless demons applauding his last performance.

Darwin's face, etched in terror, eyes bulging as his ribs cracked, resisting, then grunting, then openly screaming, deep screams coming from the deepest part of his lungs before he collapsed and drowned in his blood.

He remembered the throne, his goal, his purpose in this existence.

Once he'd reach it, he would achieve the meaning of his existence.

And then, he saw around him, the seven thrones, symbols the Demon Lords who would bow to his vision.

His eyes widened in the memory, a forbidden thought surfacing.

The face. The one he must never think about.

Pale skin, perfect symmetry, eyes of piercing purple. The perfect face. She was there, she was everywhere, maybe even here.

No, he couldn't think about it; to remember her fully would be a disaster.

Then, reality snapped back. Bel's sword descended, a streak of violet doom aimed at the boy's fragile form.

What if he touched him? What if this sword that annihilated his invincible Authority touched him directly? Directly touching his actual body?

No, no, he could not let it happen. He had never been touched directly. This thing was the famous Grim Reaper from legends.

Bel didn't hesitate, didn't confirm anything. This boy, perched in yet another hidden layer, had to be the King, or tied to him inextricably.

Either way, his presence in this world meant death. His claws tightened on the hilt, his essence surging, the blade whistling toward the exposed figure.

In that last instant of clarity, as the sword's edge brushed his hair, the King acted in desperation.

A surge of raw power erupted.

"GET AWAAAAY!" he screamed, an ultrasonic wail that blurred the void like shattered glass.

The world fractured.

Bel and Aurus were hurled backward, the domain folding in on itself like paper crushed in a fist.

Platforms dissolved into mist, puppets evaporated mid-roar, phantom hands withered to nothing.

The expulsion wave slammed them through layers of reality. They tumbled through rifts, the void twisting into a vortex of white and black, before spitting them out into the Dreamworld Castella.

They landed hard in the burning city, the transition dizzying, then stunning with the reality of the world outside.

Smoke choked the air, flames roaring from Novaria's rampage, drakes and wyverns circling overhead like vultures.

The King was safe; he should be, he was in a safe place after all.

But what he couldn't process was Bel's terrifying speed. Like lightning and thunder, if he had time to see him slash, it meant that the sword had already cut.

A deep gash appeared on the King's body, from head to right hip, a violet scar that pulsed with Ruination.

The boy pushed out a scream, ultrasonic and piercing, blurring the world like a sonic boom that warped vision and sound.

The Dreamworld itself began to dissolve.

It started as a subtle swirl at the city's edges, a gentle eddy in the air, like mist rising from a lake at dawn.

But it grew, spiraling inward with hypnotic grace, colors washed away from buildings and streets. The blue moon above flickered, its glow dimming as bubbles formed at its base, rising like soap from a child's toy.

They popped silently at first, each one erasing a fragment of the illusion: a twisted spire dissolving into foam, a warped alley uncoiling into vapor. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

The swirl intensified, crossing the city in waves. Streets rippled like water disturbed by a stone, cobblestones lifting in slow motion, transforming into clusters of bubbles that floated upward, shimmering in hues of blue and silver.

People froze mid-scream, their bodies outlined in soft glows before bubbling from the edges, their fingers dissolving into fizzy orbs, and their clothes puffing into translucent spheres that drifted skyward.

A child's cry cut short as her body turned effervescent, bubbles rising from her skin like champagne fizz, carrying away limbs, torso, face in a gentle ascent.

Families clutched each other, but the dissolution pulled them apart, hands linking only to bubble and separate, expressions of terror softening into blank wonder as they ascended.

Buildings also gave way. Towers straightened for a moment, then burst into streams of bubbles, glass panes popping, stone walls turning to foam.

The coliseum crumbled from the top down, its dome breaking into glowing spheres that floated upward. Even Novaria's blue flames bubbled into harmless mist.

The swirl swept through the heart of Castella. Drakes and wyverns roared, but their wings fizzed apart, bodies dissolving into bubbles mid‑flight.

Novaria's massive frame shook, scales melting into spheres as her roar broke into a gurgle. Elysia laughed until her body, too, popped away. Maël and Astros tried to shield groups, but even their barriers burst into starlight and gold bubbles.

Bel, Aurus, and Regulus were the last to be caught. Platforms merged with the streets, vanishing in soft pops. The air filled with the noise of faint fireworks as the Dreamworld unraveled. Millions of bubbles rose into the sky and into the fading blue moon, which swelled and burst in silent light.