At the pinnacle of a towering skyscraper in the heart of dazzling Saigon, Erion—the Sovereign Black Diamond, a dark force once feared across the Northern Abyss—stood tall against the velvet night. Cold gusts of wind lashed across his chiseled face, rustling the light gray sweater stretched over his sculpted frame like a statue of war. His ruby-red eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting the moving city lights below—like a shifting galaxy in a man-made universe. His gaze, like twin mirrors, saw through the lies and sins of both Hell and humanity.

  He stood in stillness, lost in memories of the millennium he had spent imprisoned in the Void Hell—a place without light, sound, or any perception of space or time. Just eternal isolation, maddening silence, and the relentless blade of memory carving his soul day after endless day.

  The black crown, studded with shimmering black diamonds, rested proudly between his spiraled obsidian horns. Dressed only in a simple black pair of pants and a high-neck sweater, he exuded a shadowed nobility that transcended mortal concepts of beauty or terror. Below his feet, the city glistened like paradise. But to him—it was nothing more than a web of illusions, destined to be caught in the storm of revenge and fate.

  “A thousand years... Humanity has changed—technology, architecture, culture. But at its core, it remains the same—greedy, deceitful, and weak.”

  Suddenly, from the skies above, two shadowy figures sliced through the wind. In a flash, two massive black bats descended behind him, their wings folding inward as they hit the rooftop with a heavy thud.

  The creatures—demonic bat-faced beasts—morphed into two dark-robed underlings, each dropping to one knee in unison. Their voices trembled with a mix of fear and loyalty:

  “We salute you, Grand Commander! We, and the Royal Black Diamond Organization under Count Din’s rule, have awaited your return for centuries. At long last, you have returned.”

  Erion did not turn around. His voice cut through the darkness, sharp and ice-cold:

  “The state of my base... and my networks. What remains after 1,000 years?”

  One of the demon soldiers replied with military precision:

  “Commander, our primary base in the Ninth Subspace—hidden within a cursed pine forest blanketed in eternal fog—has remained intact and secretly expanded. Count Din, who currently operates under the identity of a human business mogul, has helped our dark forces infiltrate deeply into the financial, arcane, and technological systems of the human world. We now have hundreds of underground stations worldwide, all connected through exclusive satellite networks and stabilized by the Northern Arcane Spire.”

  Erion was silent for a moment. Then a cold, deadly smile crept across his lips like a blade slicing earth.

  “So Din remains loyal... Good. I want to see him. Every piece of data, every shift in this human world—feed it to me. Before I crush Satan beneath my heel, I must find that old man... and his allies. They will all be annihilated.”

  He raised his finger and lightly touched the air before him. Instantly, a massive magic circle bloomed under his feet—glowing in swirling hues of violet, shadow-gray, and stormy silver. Ancient runes flickered along its edges—symbols of Time and Space entwined. The circle twisted open into a shimmering vortex lined with silver sparks and black dust.

  “Let’s go. I’ve waited a thousand years for this moment. The reckoning with Satan... begins now.”

  In an instant, all three figures vanished into the spinning portal, swallowed by a veil of violet mist. Only the midnight wind remained, whispering across the skyscraper’s peak—carrying a silent warning:

  The demon has returned. And this time, he brings with him an army... and vengeance a thousand years in the making.

  Beneath the heavy veil of mist that blanketed the cold, nocturnal hills of ?à L?t, a long-abandoned French villa stood alone atop a pine-covered summit. Time had clawed its way into the estate—moss-streaked red-brown roof tiles sagged under age, stone walls were fractured with creeping vines and ancient cracks that wove like cursed runes across the facade. Wild roses long forgotten now grew wildly, waist-high among the thick grass. The rusted iron gate—twisting in the shape of bat wings—had not been opened in over a century.

  Then suddenly...

  A surge of black-violet light tore through the darkness like shredded silk. Space bent inward, and out from a swirl of shimmering stardust emerged Erion and his two demon lieutenants. His ruby eyes scanned the decaying villa, breathing in the icy mist of the pine-clad heights. The scent of time, decay, and solitude stirred the corners of his lips into a cold, knowing smile.

  From the rusted gate, a portal shimmered to life. A tall man emerged, regal and composed, with slicked-back hair the color of golden tea and a charcoal-gray European suit that fit his sculpted form to perfection. His face was fair and refined, with high cheekbones, a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes of deep ocean blue—like memories from a forgotten age.

  He bowed deeply, voice calm and reverent:

  “Your loyal servant, Count Din, welcomes you, my Lord. At last... you have returned.”

  Erion gave a slight nod, his abyssal gaze fixed on his trusted subordinate. Without a word, he strode through the ancient gate.

  As they stepped through the illusionary barrier, reality shifted. The ruined villa vanished—replaced by a majestic 19th-century French chateau that stood in grandeur amid a sprawling estate of pine and eternal mist.

  The castle towered three stories high, crowned with soaring turrets and golden-crested marble pillars. Its walls gleamed with gray marble veined with silver, and rose gardens bloomed across the outer fa?ades in shades of deep crimson, pale pink, and ivory white. The scent of roses mixed with aged sandalwood carried through the air—at once elegant and eerily enchanting.

  Inside the grand hall, polished walnut floors reflected the glow of an enormous crystal chandelier. Golden-framed frescoes adorned the walls, and Persian handwoven carpets stretched from the entrance to the farthest reaches of the chamber. Ancient magic manuscripts lined shelves beside sealed glass cases that housed legendary relics: the Soul Gauntlet, the Abyss Blade, the lost Willstone of House Crothban.

  A massive black stone fireplace stood to the side, above which hung the sigil of House Erion—a black diamond with demon bat wings, radiating ominous light. The west wing tea room was elegantly furnished with ebony-inlaid tables and velvet-crimson chairs, where Count Din had once hosted many demon lords while wearing the guise of a human tycoon.

  Erion paused at the center of the hall. He gazed across the familiar—but subtly changed—landscape, his voice low but carrying the weight of the underworld:

  “Din… you’ve maintained this place better than I expected. I can still feel... my presence here.”

  Din stepped forward slowly, his tone laced with loyalty:

  “This castle is your soul, my Lord. Though the world changes, though mortals modernize, your domain remains untouchable. Everything has been preserved under the laws of royal concealment. All networks, hidden satellites, and spy channels are fully restored—awaiting only your command.”

  Erion lowered himself into the obsidian throne at the center—carved from a single massive block, crowned with a sculpted emblem of royal wrath. He raised his right hand, where black-violet energy danced like spectral serpents.

  “Good. Now... tell me about Satan. That wretched old man—where is he now? And who are his new allies on this Earth?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The chandelier flickered. Shadows rippled across the chateau’s walls as the silence deepened—like the ocean drawing breath before a storm.

  A new age was dawning.

  And this time, Erion would not simply be a shadow.

  He would be the reckoning itself.

  Dawn had just broken.

  Despite the early hour, the atmosphere inside the royal mafia headquarters remained steeped in tranquil Japanese beauty—an illusion conjured by the six-dimensional space barrier. Cherry blossom petals floated gently in the air, and the soft gurgling of the koi pond whispered like a natural symphony in the background.

  In the golden glow of crystal chandeliers filling the grand hall, Trang lounged sleepily on a cushioned armchair. Her eyelids drooped, and she stifled a yawn as she glanced at her phone.

  “Huh... It’s already 5 a.m.? Father, I’m really sleepy. Is there some kind of event today? Everyone keeps looking at me with that mysterious expression…”

  Satan—now in his regal form, platinum curls tied loosely at the nape, amber-gold eyes glowing beneath the soft lights—smiled cryptically. He exchanged glances with the Grand Sorceress and Arian, then replied in a calm, resonant tone:

  “Not an event. This is the most important moment of your life… the moment you will transform—into a true demon.”

  Trang barely had time to register his words before Satan rose from his seat. He approached her gently and lifted her left wrist. The world seemed to hold its breath. A thin red thread of light flashed at his fingertip, piercing into her vein like a magical needle.

  Trang shivered—a sensation like millions of energy particles flooding her bloodstream, threading into every cell. A glowing red mark shimmered briefly on her wrist… then vanished as if it had never been there.

  Satan whispered:

  “From now until noon—sunset at the latest—your body will change. The demon blood of our royal lineage will awaken. After that... you will no longer be human.”

  Trang tried to respond, but her vision blurred. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her limbs lost all strength. Before she could speak again, she collapsed—falling straight into Arian’s waiting arms.

  He caught her effortlessly, cradling her like a treasure. Though his face remained composed, his eyes betrayed deep concern. He turned to H?ng Nhung, who stood nearby in a flowing white gown, her fairy wings trembling gently with each breath.

  “H?ng Nhung, the transformation has begun. From now until it’s complete, we must stay by her side. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  H?ng Nhung nodded firmly, her eyes filled with resolve:

  “I understand. I’ll take care of her—Trang is my best friend... and now, she’s our royal sister. Like a true sibling.”

  Together, they quickly carried Trang up the grand staircase, returning her to her personal quarters—her room, designed to reflect her bold and determined nature, bathed in silver-gray and ruby red. The décor combined Gothic elegance with a warrior’s essence.

  Back in the great hall, Satan stood motionless, watching his daughter disappear up the stairs with a gaze of steely resolve. The Grand Sorceress closed her phoenix-feathered fan, her voice soft as drifting mist:

  “The transformation will not be easy. The princess must pass through the Dream of the Soul. If she lacks the will… she will lose herself.”

  Satan didn’t flinch. He stared into the empty air, his voice cold and unwavering:

  “Trang is my daughter. Whether it’s a dream of hell or a crucible of fire… she will overcome it. For the demon blood flowing through her veins… is the blood of the Satanic royal house.”

  Dawn was breaking.

  The first rays of sunlight filtered through the bonsai leaves in the courtyard of the District 2 mansion, casting long shadows on the polished granite floor. The scenery was peaceful—but inside the hearts of those within, unrest had taken root.

  On the second floor, in a pastel-pink princess room, Anh ?ào lay motionless on her bed. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. She hadn’t slept at all. She didn’t dare close her eyes. For every time her lids fell shut, whispers returned—childlike voices that giggled and hissed, like wandering spirits clawing at her soul.

  “Little mistress... your eyes look like melting plaster... haha... do you hear the sound of coming apart? We’re just waiting for you to melt into wax, so we can mold you into a doll... just like us... teeheehee...”

  “We’ll make you one of us... a crying, laughing doll...”

  The voices twisted in her mind. She clutched the pillow tightly, her nails pressing through the fabric. The dolls in her glass cabinet—all colorful and neatly arranged—now seemed to turn their heads toward her. They watched. They waited. For her body to soften… and become one of them.

  ---

  Meanwhile, downstairs in the kitchen, Anh Tú—still dressed in a simple t-shirt—stood beside Dì T?, preparing a delicate mushroom and bird’s nest porridge for his wife. The rich aroma of shiitake and y?n (edible bird’s nest) rose in the air, but neither of them felt comforted by it.

  Dì T? stirred the pot gently and sighed:

  “I think Miss ?ào’s condition might be worse than My’s, young master Tu. Her eyes are open, but there's no light in them. It’s like someone is whispering to her... constantly. I’m truly worried...”

  Anh Tú frowned deeply, his expression tense as he sliced mushrooms.

  “I’m worried too. Very. Not long ago, my wife was cheerful and full of life… now she’s like a hollow shell. I think we need more than just doctors—we need a spiritual healer. The sooner, the better.”

  Footsteps echoed from the wooden staircase behind them. C?u D?ng and M? Linh entered the kitchen, both looking haggard. D?ng’s eyes were half-lidded from a sleepless night filled with his daughter’s screams. M? Linh looked even more gaunt.

  C?u D?ng rubbed his face and muttered:

  “This morning, Miss Vú N?m texted me. She said Master V?nh will visit Mr. Quy’s house to examine My first. After he finishes there, he’ll come straight here. But... he’s not alone. There’s someone with him—his younger brother.”

  Anh Tú looked up, surprised:

  “Master V?nh… has a younger brother?”

  C?u D?ng nodded as he reached for the water jug:

  “Not a blood relative. His sworn brother—his name’s Trúc Di?n. From what I heard, he isn’t technically a spiritual master… but his abilities are almost equal. Like a personal assistant to the master. They go everywhere together. His insight and skill rival that of a true grand exorcist.”

  M? Linh exhaled slowly, her eyes drifting toward the second floor:

  “I just hope they get here soon. Seeing our daughter like this every day... it breaks my heart.”

  Silence fell over the kitchen.

  C?u D?ng, Anh Tú, and Dì T? all remained quiet, each consumed by their own worries. In his heart, Anh Tú understood all too well:

  This wasn’t just a psychological illness.

  They were facing an invasion.

  One that came not from this world—

  —but from a realm where modern medicine held no power.

  8:00 AM — Th?o ?i?n Villa.

  Sunlight bathed the manicured gardens of the estate, reflecting off the neatly trimmed foliage and polished stone paths. Yet, inside the house, a subtle tension loomed—one that not even the morning light could dispel.

  After a traumatic psychological episode, My—the treasured daughter of Mr. Quy—had shown signs of improvement thanks to sedatives prescribed by Dr. Tùng. She had finally slept through the night without nightmares. But despite this progress, the family remained uneasy. At the urging of Vú N?m, they had called in a powerful spiritualist—Master V?nh—to work in tandem with modern medicine.

  The doorbell rang.

  Vú N?m rushed to the gate, her eyes lighting up the moment she recognized the familiar figure and the tall silhouette standing beside him.

  “Heavens! You’re finally here! We’ve been waiting for days! And... Trúc Di?n—it's been ages!” she exclaimed as she flung open the wrought-iron gate.

  Master V?nh nodded respectfully, his voice calm and composed as always:

  “Trúc Di?n and I just completed a ritual in the northern mountains. As soon as we finished, we came straight back to Saigon. My is Mr. Quy’s daughter—we wouldn’t delay.”

  Beside him, Trúc Di?n gave a silent nod. He said nothing, but his gaze was calm and piercing—noble, mysterious. Even the breeze seemed to shift with every step he took, carrying an aura that felt both ancient and dignified.

  ---

  Vú N?m led them into the living room. The moment they entered, the atmosphere shifted. All eyes turned toward the young man accompanying Master V?nh.

  Mr. Quy, Mrs. Lan, My, Tu?n, Ti?n, and Deep stood up in unison. Mr. Quy began to greet Master V?nh—then paused, stunned.

  “Welcome, Master V?nh... Thank you for coming. And... this young man is—?”

  Every gaze followed his, landing on the enigmatic youth standing just behind the master.

  Trúc Di?n looked as if he had stepped out of a fantasy novel. Porcelain-pale skin, an oval face with refined features, a sharp high nose, and obsidian eyes with a faint silver shimmer. His long, straight black hair was tied half-up, giving him the air of an ancient swordsman. His attire blended old and new—an elegant black áo Dài embroidered with silver serpents that shimmered faintly in the light, paired with fitted trousers and polished black leather shoes.

  Despite the modern touches, he radiated timeless power. Beneath his clothes, toned muscles hinted at a warrior's strength cloaked in a scholar’s grace. He didn’t speak—just clasped his hands together and bowed. The room fell silent.

  My, standing beside her fiancé, couldn’t take her eyes off him. Something strange pulled at her consciousness—was it a spell? Or simply the irresistible pull of a timeless, ethereal beauty?

  Mr. Quy had to call her name three times before she blinked and snapped out of her trance.

  “My! What’s wrong? Greet Master V?nh and Mr. Trúc Di?n properly!”

  “Y-Yes... Sorry,” she stammered, looking down as her cheeks flushed crimson.

  Tu?n, her fiancé, gave her a sideways glance, his face unreadable. Ti?n and Deep exchanged subtle looks. Few mortals ever encountered someone like Trúc Di?n—and even fewer could say he truly belonged in their world.

  ---

  Master V?nh broke the tension with a firm voice:

  “There’s no need for surprise. Trúc Di?n is someone I trust above all. He’s my sworn brother. Though he rarely shows himself to the world, within the arcane circles—those who know him revere him. Those who don’t... would be wise to show respect.”

  Mr. Quy bowed his head:

  “As long as you can help heal my daughter, we will forever be grateful.”

  Mrs. Lan grasped her daughter’s hand, though My’s eyes still hadn’t strayed from the mysterious figure.

  Master V?nh scanned the room, his eyes narrowing. Beside him, Trúc Di?n nodded subtly—they both sensed it.

  The scent of the underworld lingered here.

  “The spiritual energy in this house is still unstable,” Master V?nh said. “Take us to My’s room. We begin now.”