Such a humiliating defeat, now followed by missing my horns, am I even a Demon King anymore?
Of course I am! 'Tis but a minor setback!
I can...get them back though, right?
A million thoughts race through my mind.
First and foremost, I will kill that thing that took my throne. Anger fills me with newfound purpose as I begin to gather my new surroundings.
Fine greenery creates a grand canopy stretching as far as even my eye can see. Shrubbery blankets the land. They and the leaves from above lightly sway in the breeze.
The creek is lined with mossy stones, and seems to widen the further down it flows. Could it lead to a river maybe?
Not far behind me is a clearing.
No, not a clearing, but a dirt trail. But, unable to make heads or tails as to which way may lead where, I focus on the important matter here: me.
I pat down where my horns used to be with great shame. Proof of my noble lineage, gone. My nails, once natural claws, now rounded. However, they have maintained their color black, and my skin of a pale tone has likewise remained, though a few notable shades... pinker?
From my reflection in the creek, I do notice what were crimson eyes had become a dull gray.
It's almost as if...
I shake the thought.
A Demon King is all I am fit to be.
And this Demon King needs a map.
It might be possible to divine which way this trail is most often headed by looking for tracks. Where many people go, people gather.
Picking apart sticks and rocks from dirt in vain attempts to find these tracks, the cracking of reins resounds in the distance.
"Hyeah, hyeah!"
Three men on horses approach in breakneck fashion.
Swiftly getting up before being spotted in such posturing, I dust what I can from what remains of my gaudy gowns.
"Whoa-hoho"
One says as they pull on the reins, beckoning the horses to stop.
They each wear light leather armor and carry a different weapon. One with a sword and slicked back hair speaks up.
"You lookin' a little lost, mister."
Another, balder man speaks in turn.
"Some mighty fine drab you got there."
The third, face already covered in a red cloth hops off his horse.
"Can we not do this every time and get to it already?"
The other two climb down in turn, weapons drawn. The bald man with a mace, and the bandana man sparking a flame that quickly covers his hand.
Threatening me with magic and steel, how magnificently stupid of them.
"Who are you to presume you may speak to me that way? I am Vallon Vallastor! 13th Demon King of the Underworld, scourge of you disgusting humans!"
I flick my arm out, letting what remains of my cape flow, and begin calling all mana in the area to me.
They stand in silence, giving each other looks of hopelessness.
Then laugh.
"Where the hell did this guy come from?"
"The Demon King's been dead for nearly a century!"
The third strides up to me.
"Give up everything while we're still playing nice."
His flame held to my face now scorching blue, singeing nearby hairs. Justice for this transgression shall be swift.
All the mana I gather flows through my breath, into my body, straight to my fist. All in one swift motion, I swing.
He turns his body, easily avoiding my punch with embarrassing ease.
I stand in silence, giving the trail a look of hopelessness.
What, what just happened. Where did my magic go? My strength should be realms beyond any human naturally. What has happened to me??
My thoughts are interrupted by a strike to the solar plexus, dropping me to my knees for the third time today, leaving me hunched over gasping for breath as I fight the pain of doing so.
"Does this idiot actually believe he's the Demon King?"
"Stop it, you're going to burn the garb, just grab his stuff and let's go."
With swift precision, I am stripped of my attire.
"Hey don't humiliate the guy, he clearly has enough problems."
The sword man says to the bald man as the latter tries to take the very last of my pride. The brute does as he is told, but not before hitting me on the back, forcing the air out of me yet again.
"Thanks for your donation bud!"
He says with an ugly grin.
As dirt fills my vision, the sound of the highwaymen saddling up gives me a hollow feeling.
The trio laughs along their merry way, slowly fading out, leaving me with the echoes of my coughing and exasperated breath.
I was powerless to stop this. Have I really become so weak?
That relic I used, the necklace, was supposed to save a life. Perhaps the priest whose cold hands I took it from lied to me. It is too late to raise a complaint with him now.
I already know this is the work of that damned goddess. That resentment fuels my rise.
Shakily I attempt to pick myself up, now hunched over with the support of a nearby tree.
Slick, Bandana Man, and Baldy. I will remember these names for their deaths will not be swift. I laugh to myself at the plans I have for them, interrupted by a coughing fit.
A moment is spent to gather myself.
One must always have a plan forward. As it is, I have none. How infuriating. These mere humans dare humiliate the great-! I punch the tree that has been supporting me. It responds in less-than-kind. A cry of pain sweeps through the forest.
Cool. Calm. Collected. Demon Kings don't cry.
A breath in, a breath out.
Equipped with nothing but my Pride, I once again examine both ways of the trail. Where the river flows, people will be. Probably.
At the very least, that appears to be the direction the highwaymen were headed. And how sweet revenge will taste.
I shamble forth while consoling my hand, chuckling along the way.