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Ramiel and Duma emerged from nothingness.
No flash of light. No dramatic tear in reality. One moment the air above the arena was empty; the next, they simply existed there, as if they had always been present and the demons' eyes were only now permitted to see them.
Ramiel's hand held the Key.
Jason had expected it to look special. It did—but not to the degree he had imagined. No pulsing with hellfire. No screaming souls wrapped around its bow. It looked, at first glance, like a regular key. Ancient, yes. The metal was dark and weathered, bearing the patina of eons. The craftsmanship was masterful—intricate patterns etched into the surface that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles, symbols that predated language itself.
But it was still just a key.
And yet, Jason knew, that single piece of metal was the difference between ruling Hell and merely visiting it.
Ramiel descended, his angelic form radiating none of the fury from their earlier exchange. Whatever had passed between them was done. Business remained.
"The winner of the Hell Tournament," Ramiel announced, his voice carrying across the arena with the weight of divine proclamation, "and new King of Hell... is Jason Anderson. The Beyonder Human."
He extended his hand.
Jason took the Key.
For a moment, he simply held it—felt its weight, its age, its absolute authority. Then he raised it high above his head, letting every demon in the arena see what their new ruler held.
"From today onward," Jason's voice rolled across Hell itself, "Hell is mine."
He turned slowly, the Key catching the hellish light.
"You are mine."
Another turn.
"There is nothing in this place that I do not own."
He faced the stands directly.
"Even you, demons. I own you."
Jason turned the Key.
Hell trembled.
It wasn't an earthquake—nothing so crude. It was deeper, more fundamental. Reality itself shuddered as the new King's authority imprinted across every layer of existence, across every plane and pocket and forgotten corner of the infernal realm. Every demon felt it. Every soul imprisoned in Hell felt it. Even the damned, suffering for eternity in their private hells, felt something shift in the fabric of their punishment.
A gate opened in the air above the arena.
Not a portal. A gate. Wrought iron and ancient wood, massive and ornate, swinging open as if pushed by invisible hands. And from it, falling—
Mazikeen.
She tumbled through the opening, her form silhouetted against the light of whatever realm she had been kept in, and landed on the arena floor with the practiced grace of someone who had fallen great distances before. Her feet touched stone. Her knees bent. Her eyes found Jason in an instant.
He moved before she could speak.
His hand found her waist, pulled her close, held her against him as the demons watched. Mazikeen's breath caught—just slightly, just enough for him to feel it—and then she relaxed into his grip, her eyes never leaving his face.
"As your King," Jason announced, "I also declare that Mazikeen here is once again the Queen of Hell."
He looked out at the crowd.
"This time, she owns you as much as I do. No more mercy. No more games. No more pretending that any of you have rights or freedom or choices." His voice hardened. "All of you are mere property."
The demons trembled.
But in their trembling was something else—something darker, more primal. Excitement. Fear and excitement tangled together, the way only demons could feel them. A powerful being to own them, to defeat them, to subdue them completely—this was something they both hated and desired with every fiber of their existence.
The shouting began.
"All Hail the Demon God!"
One voice, then another, then a hundred.
"All Hail the Demon God!"
The chant spread through the stands like fire through dry grass.
"All Hail the Demon God!"
Demons rose from their seats. Imps screeched their approval. Demon Lords nodded their ancient heads. Fallen angels, watching from the shadows, found themselves joining the chorus despite themselves.
"All Hail the Queen of Hell!"
A new chant began, weaving with the first.
"All Hail the Queen of Hell!"
Mazikeen stood motionless in Jason's grip, her face unreadable.
"All Hail the Queen of Hell!"
The demons accepted their fate. What else would they do? They were demons. They had no pride that couldn't be surrendered, no honor that couldn't be broken, no loyalty that couldn't be transferred. All they wanted was to exist. All they wanted was to serve someone strong enough to deserve their fear.
Jason was that someone now.
Ramiel and Duma watched from above.
For a long moment, the two angels observed the coronation—the chanting demons, the new King, the restored Queen, the Key still gleaming in Jason's raised hand. Then, without a word, without a nod, without any acknowledgment that they had ever been present at all...
They vanished.
The air where they had hung was empty once more.
And Hell's new rulers stood alone among their subjects.
....
It took roughly five days to reshape everything.
Mazikeen handled the reorganization with ruthless efficiency. As the newly reinstated Queen of Hell—now co-ruler with absolute authority—she personally granted titles to the new Demon Lords: those families and nobles who had quietly submitted to the new Demon God the moment the old contracts shattered. With Satan's final, gleeful surrender and his acceptance as Jason's servant, the very nature of demons shifted. They became more submissive, more docile toward their god. It wasn't exaggeration or poetic license; it was literal. The instinctual rebellion that once defined them dulled into eager obedience.
Demon families with long, proud lineages began sending their daughters as "gifts." Beautiful succubi, lithe temptresses, noble-born demonesses...each one presented with formal bows and honeyed words, offered as concubines, pleasure slaves, living tributes to curry favor with the new ruler.
Jason refused most of them outright.
The idea of accepting women as property, as bargaining chips, sat wrong with him. He sent the majority back with polite but firm rejections, sometimes escorted by his own guards to ensure no offense was taken too personally. When the offers kept coming....escalating to the point that one ancient Demon Lord offered his own wife after Jason declined the daughter....Jason finally issued a public decree:
"I am not collecting concubines, sex slaves, or harems. Stop sending women as tribute."
The stream slowed… but didn't stop entirely.
Female demons, especially succubi, were relentless. They threw themselves at him in hallways, slipped into his private quarters, whispered promises of pleasure that could break lesser men. Jason held firm....mostly.
Mazikeen, however, was thriving in her role. As former Queen and now co-ruler, she slipped back into the position like she'd never left. She beat down challengers who questioned her authority, rewrote outdated infernal laws, restructured hierarchies, and handled the flood of submissions with cold precision. She was born for this.
What Jason hadn't anticipated was that Mazikeen was, at her core, just as much a demon pervert as the rest of her kind.
She had predicted his human reluctance. So she acted accordingly.
"That woman… is a menace," Jason muttered.
He sat behind the massive obsidian desk in his new office inside the extravagant Demon God's castle a sprawling fortress so vast it housed thousands: workers, chefs, maids, guards, scribes, everything required to run an entire infernal realm. He now maintained three primary offices:
One on Earth, in the old headquarters he'd used with the Cursed Ones.
One aboard the space station that served as the heart of the Pantheon.
And this one...dark marble, crimson tapestries, roaring infernal fireplaces, overlooking a vista of burning plains.
Mazikeen stood across from him, delivering her daily report with perfect composure while Harley Quinn lounged on the arm of his chair, cackling uncontrollably.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! AHAHAHA!"
Between Jason's legs knelt a breathtaking succubus....daughter of one of Hell's most prestigious bloodlines. Her tail curled lazily around his ankle, horns polished to a gleam, skin the color of deep wine. She worked with expert, worshipful focus: lips sliding, tongue teasing, throat relaxing in perfect rhythm. Every motion deliberate, reverent. "Servicing her master," she'd called it earlier, voice husky with devotion.
Mazikeen had turned every single "gift" woman into castle staff.
Maids. Guards. Chefs. Scribes. Gardeners. Every role.
And for each position, she'd designed the uniforms herself.
Maids wore scandalously short black-and-white dresses...low-cut, thigh-high stockings, no panties whatsoever.
Mazikeen's exact words were "Easy access."
Guards wore "armor" that protected almost nothing: leather straps, exposed midriffs, plunging necklines, metal accents that framed rather than shielded.
Chefs and other servants fared no better—aprons over bare skin, collars with tiny bells, outfits designed to tease and invite.
When Jason had ordered her to stop, Mazikeen had simply tilted her head.
"I am the Queen. Hiring staff for my castle is my right. And you should enjoy it, my King. Quite literally—each of these girls has dreamed of nothing more than servicing you once. By all means, fulfill their dreams."
He'd resisted at first.
Five days of constant erotic tension—demons flirting shamelessly, brushing against him in corridors, dropping to their knees in "greeting," whispering filth in his ear—had worn him down. Now, sometimes, he allowed it.
Harley, still laughing, slid off the armrest and knelt beside the succubus.
"DEMON GOD OF SEX! HAHAHAHA!"
"Silence, Harley," Jason said, voice strained but steady. "Let me work. Go back to Earth."
Harley grinned up at him, mischievous as ever.
"Nah… I missed you, Daddy. I ain't letting one of these girls serve you better than me."
She leaned in, joining the succubus without hesitation two sets of lips, two tongues, working in perfect, wicked tandem.
Jason sighed.
But he didn't stop them.
He leaned back in the throne-like chair, one hand resting on Harley's head, the other flipping through infernal reports, trying—and failing—to focus.
Hell had a new order.
And its rulers were very, very busy.
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If you Like this story! Check out my other story ! Shadow Monarch in Danmachi!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patréon at
"https://www.patréon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !