Imp to Demon King: A Journey of Conquest

Meanwhile, a blast of fog collided with Adam in the next room. Its soul-chilling nature and the heartbreaking wails it carried made his hair dance backwards.

His nose scrunched at a mystical scent different from the ever-present rot as his eyes snapped to the clean slabs covering the ground. Despite the relentless passage of time and the signs of wear and tear, the soft carpet that covered them kept its vibrant red color.

He frowned, his heart pounding in his ears as he followed its trail through the engraved columns until they landed on a slightly elevated podium and an ancient silver throne.

Empty yet commanding attention, its delicate carvings brought a sense of natural peace to the desolate crypt. Trees, leaves, suns, and stars glinted under the dim torches, creating a fairy-like scene that sparked an irrepressible urge to claim it for himself. How would it feel to sit on it after a few restorations? How would he look when his subjects came to visit him?

Yet his frown deepened as more pressing concerns replaced these fleeting desires."

'It's the boss' room, so where is the witch?' He shook his head and sifted through the surroundings. 'She can't be the one wailing, so who?'

The answer didn't take long to come.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure. Transparent and unsettling, she floated between the columns and haunted the room with her wails.

She saw him, too, her long, silver hair drifting as her head shot in his direction.

He shuddered when he saw the black tears staining her ghostly cheeks and her eyes... Her eyes! Two silver pupils worn by millennia of sorrow. At least, that's what his heart whispered.

His eyes narrowed, and his sword arm tensed.

'Doesn't matter. She's an enemy I must defeat to reach the witch and the exit.'

Yet, a drop of sweat pearled down his twitching brow as the crumpling of the return scroll echoed.

'Can I beat a tier five banshee?'

As the question rumbled, he remembered the most famous one in games.

A high elf turned banshee by a mad prince, forced into servitude until her slaver disappeared in a world of snow and ice. Free, she tried to return to where she came from, but no one accepted her new identity.

'The dead can't mingle with the living. You're an aberration and one of us no more,' they said, igniting a spark of hatred in her heart.

From that point onward, the madness she had escaped brewed in her, slowly altering her goodness to turn her into the monster they had mistakenly seen in her.

Powerful, cunning, unbound by morality, and willing to burn, poison, and shatter her enemies, she sowed unstoppable chaos under the guise of justice.

Of course, she was only a game character, but if the banshee hovering in front of him commanded even a tenth of her power...

His jaw clenched at the answer.

'I'll join her in death.'

As his eyes narrowed in focus, the banshee's ancient dress fluttered, embroideries complementing the throne coming to life. Birds, clouds, and rivers swirled peacefully, adding to the sense of mystery she exuded.

Then, she raised her spectral finger, pointing at him as her lips broadened into a hair-bristling smile. Not because he felt threatened. On the contrary, it was because of the genuine warmth he felt from it.

'What kind of trickery is she trying to pull off?' He drew his blade before him, the little demonic essence he had recovered on the way roaring in his veins. 'I won't let my guard down!'

However, her mournful voice pierced his distrust with simple yet thought-provoking words.

"Welcome, demonic friend." she clasped her hands over her abundant chest and sighed in relief. "I'm glad you made it this far despite the challenges. You won't need to fight in this room. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want you to help me escape this horrible crypt."

Confused by her demand, he backed a step and gripped his blade's pommel tighter.

An awkward silence pressed over his shoulders as he glared at her warily.

"Nothing's stopping you from leaving." He gestured at the door with his missing hand, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I don't buy your story."

"Oh?" The banshee's smile broadened to reach her eyes. "You're a smart little one, but you're wrong." She shook her head and hands, making the ethereal chains binding her clink before continuing. "After the last prince of Elden died, the mages had the brilliant idea of turning me into a banshee. In this form, I'll guard their rotting corpses and buried treasures, they said. What a bunch of fools!"

She clicked her tongue, her nose scrunching and lips twisting in disgust.

"They bound me to that silver throne, so I can't move too far away from it. But they didn't expect that playing with death would awaken the echo of its incarnation."

A mocking light flickered in her eyes before grief overwhelmed it.

"Long story short, she drowned the country in perpetual winter and turned everyone into undead creatures before returning to sleep. Then, the newly established kingdom of Oikos launched an all-out attack against Elden's scattered forces and decimated the remnants of our country."

Her voice trailed off, and her lips quivered.

"I know it sounds like an absurd story, but this realm belonged to Freyr three thousand years ago. Knowing how peaceful he is, I guess he didn't retaliate when Hestia's followers claimed it in her name."

She sighed, letting a tense silence settle over the room as a pensive frown creased Adam's brows.

'This doesn't make sense. I mean, her story is interesting but irrelevant to my situation.' He frowned at her sceptically. 'I can't be sure she's not lying or omitting details. Who was she for the mages to pick her among thousands of women? What if she was a psychopathic serial killer or death row convict?'

The banshee chuckled, a sound that was both sad and mocking.

"My name is Sylvie, the daughter of a long, long-forgotten duke and..." Her jaw clenched, and her spectral form flickered, deep-rooted anger overwhelming her for a second. "The prince's fiancée."