After pouring over the first few entries, Belial leaned back against the cold wall of his quarters, a thoughtful frown carving into his features. The faint glow of the crystal shard pulsed faintly on the table beside him, a dull green that whispered of forgotten belongings and lost memories. He stared at it, as if hoping the damned thing would speak, confess, give him even a sliver of truth. But it never did.
Finally, he came to a conclusion and with it, a troubling question.
"Who the hell gave him that shard?"
The thought had been gnawing at the back of his mind for some time, but now it stood naked and demanding in the forefront of his thoughts. That thing—this fragment of broken space—was a piece of his sword. The Demon King's. And no ordinary relic either. Since he was one of the influential figures, whose name still stirred fear in the tongues of older demons. It wasn't a gift. He'd stolen it, hadn't he? Torn it from the demon kings castle...he doubted that anyone else would've dared oppose that tyrant, But nevertheless...he did.
But then... who wielded it before him?
That was the part that made his skin crawl. As far as records went, the Demon King's sword was a sovereign weapon—one forged from the remnants of a dead star and a dying god's breath...orso the rumors say, A weapon like that shouldn't have a previous owner. Yet something in the text he'd just read implied otherwise. That it had passed hands. That it had history far older than the throne of ash the King once sat upon.
"That's odd..." he muttered under his breath, brushing a finger against the shard. A jolt ran up his arm—not pain exactly, but a sensation like falling while standing still. He quickly withdrew his hand.
Even more strange, he realized, was that the demon kings family must've had something to do with that...although he had no idea where to start digging for information but they must've been really strong individuals to birth someone as "great" As the Demon king.
And then there was the Lonely Prince.
Belial's brow furrowed. That quiet, forgotten noble with eyes like silver fog and a voice like cracked glass—he had a piece too. A different fragment, but unmistakably of the same origin. It had a strange familiar energy that coursed through him every time he used it.
Ora-
He cursed under his breath and made a mental note:
CHECKLIST:
Find out who wielded the Demon King's sword before him.
Confirm the timeline...how old is this relic really?
Investigate the Lonely Prince's shard; who really gave him that shard?
Determine if other pieces exist and who might be hiding them.
Belial Opened his eyes and looked back down at the Notebook.
One thing was certain now.
He was in the middle of something far older, and far more dangerous, than anyone understood.
Hi there, notebook!
Belial smiled faintly at the cheerful greeting. It felt like a child's voice echoing through porcelain corridors.
Ahh it seemed that I forgot to write for some time. When I cut open a rift into space, I appeared in a new land—well, more like a planet. The people here are quite… small. Green. They have these odd horizontal eyes. At first, they were terrified of me. Can't blame them—I must've looked like a walking shard of apocalypse. Tall, shimmering crystal plates and a crown of light. They locked me up for a bit, actually. Thought I was some kind of weapon.
Belial raised his eyebrows and flipped onto his back on the large, plush bed. The notebook hovered slightly over his chest, glowing faintly in the dark. The room was quiet save for the soft rustle of pages and his own slow breathing.
The next paragraph read more like a diary entry from a curious scientist than a prince forged from divine stone.
It was silly, really. I didn't mean them harm. I couldn't even understand what they were yelling at me. So, during my containment, I made a translation device. A crude one, but functional. It works by scanning vocal patterns and connecting to any latent language imprints embedded in a being's ether. Not very elegant, but it's useful for traveling.
Once I got out and tried to leave, they captured me again. Turns out I qualify under one of their ranking—something called a "Sentinel."
Belial chuckled under his breath. "An S rank. Of course."
Fitting, I suppose. Crystallite frames tend to look threatening, and I do have a few combat enhancements. I found a loophole, though—used my assigned free time to fast-track my projects so I could spend more hours observing them. The Grukin, they call themselves. Oddly industrious little beings. Their cities grow upward like spiral nests, and they use mineral-based tech—though rudimentary by our standards.
After a few days, I submitted my findings to their overseer—a rather squat Grukin with a habit of blinking one eye at a time. In exchange, they gave me a private chamber. I immediately sealed it and cut space again.
Planet Java. Another one connected to the riftweb.
Belial's brow furrowed. "Java…?" he whispered. The name was unfamiliar.
He flipped the page.
Java is wild. Thick with luminous fog and spongy forests that hum when you walk on them. The creatures there communicate with vibrations. There was no one to greet me—just silence and light and the sound of breathing trees.
It went on:
The portal device is proving stable. I've embedded a memory crystal into the frame so I can mark coordinates now. That way, I can return.
Belial's breath caught.
Coordinates.
That meant this wasn't just travel—it was mapping.
And he wasn't just exploring.
He was cataloging.
He read further, fingers tightening on the black edges of the notebook.
The oddest part?
This place—this whole system of planets—it's still within the Demon Realm.
Belial froze.
His heartbeat drummed slowly against his ribs.
The Grukin. The Java fog beasts. They're not "aliens."
They're demons.
Or at least, they fall under that category. The Demon Realm is far vaster than we thought. I suppose it makes sense—why should demons only be in on place? The universe is wide. Evolution is fluid.
Belial lowered the book slightly, eyes now locked on the candle flame across the room. It flickered with a faint hiss.
He had studied demonic history for most of his life—read from every forbidden archive the guild let him access, sparred with exiles who claimed bloodlines older than time, spoken with spirits that called themselves the Firstborn of Flame.
But never—not once—had he heard of these Grukin. Never had there been mention of "Java" or other-worldly portals in the ancient records.
This wasn't just a journey.
It was a secret.
And the prince had found it first.
Belial resumed reading, pulse quickening.
I wonder how many other "species" we've dismissed as outsiders—when really, they're just another branch on our twisted tree. I think… I think that's why Mother feared me. Not because I was flawed, but because I might see too much. Ask too many questions. Go too far.
Belial's breath caught again.
He read the next lines aloud, softly.
But if the realm is this big…
Then why should any of us be stuck in one place?
Even statues dream, don't they?
The candle hissed again.
Belial let the book fall against his chest, staring up at the ceiling.
The room suddenly felt too small, the air too stale. That odd ache returned to his chest—like something ancient inside him stirring.
He was supposed to be a scholar of his kind.
A shadow of a legend.
But here, within the scratched pages of an exiled prince's journal, was an entire realm of knowledge his people had never known.
And Belial could feel it.
That itch in the back of his mind.
That undeniable pull.
He didn't want to leave.
Not really.
But maybe…
Maybe he could just peek.
Just like the prince once did.
A ripple of thought passed through him, quiet and sharp.
What would you do if you found the edge of your world… and discovered it was only the beginning?
Belial didn't have an answer.