Life of the 69th Child of the Demon Lord: A Cultivator’s Tale

[DreamingScholar]

Chapter 1: The Pond Has No Fish

There were no fish in the pond.

That wasn't metaphorical — not a single scale, fin, or flick of life swam beneath the mirrored surface. It was just water. Very clean, very expensive water, the kind distilled from celestial dew and filtered through the bones of extinct gods. Which made it perfect for reflecting exactly how stupid Shin looked right now, sitting on a little red stool, fishing rod in hand, line dangling into absolutely nothing.

He sighed. "Another perfect day in paradise."

A faint shimmer flickered in the corner of his vision. His TROPE Dao hummed to life like a half-bored narrator clearing its throat.

["Running Gag"] - You're fishing in a pond with no fish. Again.

["Comedic Irony"] - You could manifest fish through divine will, but refuse out of principle.

["Symbolism, Heavy-Handed"] - The empty pond represents your lack of purpose.

["Mood Whiplash"] - Incoming parental figure in 3… 2… 1…

"Shin!" boomed a voice that made the air itself try to kneel.

He didn't turn around. "Hey, Dad."

The temperature dropped ten degrees as the shadow of the Heavenly Demon Lord, Supreme Sovereign of Ten Thousand Torments, Celestial Butcher of Heaven and Hell, Patriarch of Infinite Despair, fell across the pond. Or, as Shin liked to call him: Dad.

The old man looked, as always, like someone had sculpted majesty out of sin. Tall, ageless, horns wreathed in quiet flame, eyes glowing with galaxies. His presence was so immense that the entire world bowed slightly just to be polite.

"You're fishing," the Demon Lord said, voice like a mountain remembering it could speak.

Shin nodded. "Yup."

"In a pond with no fish."

"Yup."

A pause. The kind that could span centuries if left unattended.

Then the corner of his father's mouth twitched. "Excellent focus. Very meditative."

Shin squinted. "You say that every time."

"I mean it every time. Besides—" the Demon Lord gestured lazily, and a throne of black glass rose from the earth behind him— "I love all my children equally. I just like some more than others."

["Favorite Child Denial"] - Classic parental lie. Probability of manipulation: 87%.

["Parental Approval Quest"] - Engaged.

["Plot Hook Approaching"] - Brace yourself.

Shin rubbed his eyes. "Can we not do this right now? I'm communing with the void."

"Your siblings commune with battle, blood, and enlightenment. You commune with boredom."

"Exactly," Shin said. "Balance in all things."

His father chuckled, a sound like hellfire wrapped in silk. "You remind me of myself when I was young."

["Foreshadowing"] - Oh no.

["You Remind Me of Myself"] - Expect impossible expectations soon.

["Plot Event Flag"] - 'Heavenly Demon Lord's Favorite Child Arc' Initialized.

Shin exhaled through his nose. "Right, so, what insane errand are you sending me on this time?"

The Heavenly Demon Lord didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gazed into the pond — into his own reflection, rippling beside Shin's. For a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. The skies turned red, the wind stilled, and even the palace behind them fell silent.

Then his father said softly, "I've seen a prophecy."

["Here We Go Again"] - Predictable plot device.

["Prophetic Child Number 100"] - Threat level: existential.

["I Just Wanted to Fish"] - Aborted.

Shin groaned. "Oh, come on, we're really doing this again? Didn't we just finish with the Bloodedge Rebellion?"

"The future stirs once more," his father murmured, still staring at the pond. "And this time… the currents run deep."

["Meaningful Pause"] - Overdramatic delivery detected.

["Cliff Hanger Ending"] - Confirmed.

Shin looked down at the pond, his reflection flickering beside the Demon Lord's divine image. One mortal soul among monsters. One lazy fool in a family of gods.

He flicked his wrist, casting the line again. It landed with a soft plop.

"Fine," he said. "But if this prophecy doesn't involve actual fish, I'm ignoring it."

Shin turned slowly, sighing as the ripples on the pond calmed behind him.

"Alright, fine, let's do the whole dread patriarch reveals destiny bit—"

He froze.

The towering, horned silhouette that had been blotting out the sun was… gone.

In its place stood a slender young man — early twenties maybe — with soft pink hair tied up in a lazy bun, a silk robe that hung off one shoulder, and a faint pout that could end wars.

"Hi, sweetie," the Heavenly Demon Lord, Supreme Sovereign of Ten Thousand Torments, Butcher of Heaven and Hell, Patriarch of Infinite Despair, said with the voice of someone who might ask if you wanted bubble tea.

Shin blinked twice. "Dad. No."

["Revealing the True Form"] - Expect tonal whiplash.

["Pretty Boy Demon Lord"] - Activated. Popular tag: "trap."

["Family Trauma: Gender Edition"] - Proceed with caution.

The Demon Lord pouted harder. "Oh, come now, Shinny. You know I only wear the big scary aura when I'm moody."

Behind him, the towering shadow returned for just a second — a massive, horned titan dripping malice and starlight, stretching from horizon to horizon. Then it flickered, like a faulty hologram, and the twink form waved a lace fan.

"See?" he said cheerfully. "Totally manageable."

Shin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dad, you can't just twinkify out of nowhere while talking about apocalyptic prophecy. It messes with the tone."

"I am the tone," the Demon Lord said, crossing his arms. "Besides, this body is easier on the eyes, and much better for diplomacy. The Celestial Court goes absolutely feral when I look like this."

["Fanservice for the Fallen"] - Audience engagement increased by 37%.

["Dissonant Aesthetics"] - Warning: Genre confusion imminent.

["Power in Softness"] - Underlying theme established.

"You're doing it again," Shin muttered, flicking through the visible trope windows. "You're breaking the genre walls for attention."

"Where do you think you got it from?"

Touché.

For all his ridiculousness, Shin's father really was terrifying — not for his raw strength, but for how casual he was about it. One moment, he could crush the heavens in a clenched fist; the next, he was sulking because someone called him "sir" instead of "madam."

It was hard to take him seriously, which was probably the point.

"So, what's the deal with this prophecy?" Shin asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Please tell me it's not another 'my child shall conquer heaven' scenario. We've run that arc six times."

The Demon Lord twirled his fan, eyes glimmering like galaxies reflected on a calm pond. "No, no. This one's different. The Hundredth Child isn't destined to conquer Heaven…"

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that rippled through the world like an echo in eternity.

"…they're destined to erase it."

["Record Scratch"] - Confusion confirmed.

["Escalation of Stakes"] - Subtle as a meteor.

["Oh, It's This Kind of Story"] - Audience bracing for impact.

Shin stared at him for a long moment, deadpan. "Neat. Can I still fish?"

The Demon Lord sighed, half amused, half exasperated. "You really are my favourite mistake."

Shin smirked. "You have ninety-eight others."

"Exactly," his father said, eyes twinkling. "And somehow you're still the weirdest."

Shin waited for the inevitable world-ending decree. Something involving heavenly armies, shattered destinies, or at least one newly discovered bloodline.

Instead, the Demon Lord closed his fan with a delicate snap and said,

"Carry me to my throne."

Shin blinked. "...What?"

"Piggyback." The Demon Lord stepped forward, fluttering his lashes. "I'm feeling faint."

["Tone Shift, Sudden"] - From cosmic prophecy to domestic nonsense.

["Because I Said So, That's Why"] - Parental logic detected.

["Daddy Issues"] - Perpetually active tag.

Shin looked him up and down. "You could teleport."

"I could also murder the sun," his father said, voice perfectly calm. "But where's the intimacy in that?"

[Eldritch Cuteness] - Level: Uncomfortable.

[Manipulative Adorableness] - 94 % success rate versus offspring.

Shin rubbed his temple. "Fine, fine. Get on."

The Demon Lord brightened—literally; his aura flickered into pinkish sparkles—and leapt onto Shin's back with impossible grace. Despite weighing roughly as much as a small planet, he felt light, like moonlight caught in silk.

"See?" the Demon Lord said happily as they started the long walk toward the obsidian palace. "Isn't this nicer than summoning bone dragons?"

"Dad, you're the ruler of ten thousand hells. You have a literal army of skull-headed butlers."

"None of whom love me, Shinny."

["Guilt Trip, Parental"] - Critical hit.

["Emotional Blackmail"] - Resistance check failed.

Shin trudged onward. "This is why none of the others visit."

"They lack imagination. All that 'saving face' nonsense. A throne is meant for reclining, not posing." He rested his chin on Shin's shoulder, smile wicked. "You, however, understand the importance of performance art."

"Yeah, because I'm the only one who humours you."

"Exactly why you're my favourite."

["Favorite Child Confirmed"] - Boost to Ego +3.

["Foreshadowing: Emotional Dependency"] - Logged for later heartbreak.

They passed the gate of screaming gargoyles, who all immediately averted their eyes. Shin could feel their confusion radiating like heat: Our Supreme Lord rides the Sixty-Ninth again?

He muttered, "You know they talk about this."

"Let them," his father purred. "Fear is easy. Confusion is power."

["Villainous Philosophy, Chaotic Subtype"] - +2 Style Points.

By the time they reached the central hall, Shin's knees were metaphorically dead and literally fine (immortality had few perks, but perfect cartilage was one). He crouched so his father could slide off, which the Demon Lord did with unnecessary flourish—mid-air spin, landing in his full regalia atop the black-glass throne.

A single clap echoed through the hall. Reality adjusted itself to make the moment more dramatic.

"Mission accomplished," Shin said flatly.

The Demon Lord nodded, serene. "Excellent work, my son. Truly, you walk the Path of Patience."

["Mission Complete"] - Reward: None.

["Enabler of Parental Madness"] - Achievement Unlocked

["Hidden Stat Increased"] - Filial Tolerance +1

Shin exhaled. "So that was it? No prophecy quest?"

"Oh, that too," his father said absently, flicking his fan open. "But we'll discuss it later. I wanted to see if you'd still carry me."

Shin stared, then laughed—tired, genuine. "You're insane."

"Of course," the Demon Lord said with a grin bright enough to crack heaven. "Sanity's for mortals."

Shin turned to leave, muttering, "I'm getting fish for the pond. Real ones this time."

Behind him, the Demon Lord's laughter rolled through the palace like sound made of velvet.

[Character Relationship: Healthy Dysfunction] - Stable.

[Plot Thread: The Hundredth Child Prophecy] - Suspended but not forgotten.

Shin strolled out through the throne-room's front gates, adjusting his cloak and pretending not to hear the chaos breaking out behind him.

The Hall of Ten Thousand Heirs was, in practice, a luxury apartment complex with delusions of grandeur. Velvet carpets, gilded pillars, and—currently—a mob of squabbling demons half his height.

His younger siblings.

There were dozens of them clogging the staircase: horns of every shape, wings in every colour, all yelling variations of "I'm the cutest!" or "You stole my destiny again!"

Shin towered above the lot—literally. For reasons no scholar could explain, he'd shot up past seven feet by age ten and had stayed there, broad-shouldered and mature-faced, looking more like the eldest brother than the sixty-ninth son.

["Visual Contrast Humour"] - Tall, jaded babysitter surrounded by goblins.

["Big Brother Energy"] - Resonance: Strong.

["Plot Convenience Height"] - Don't question it.

He slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, the smaller demons bouncing off his legs like rubber balls. "Excuse me—no, you can't duel in the hallway—yes, I'm still taller—yes, it's genetic—"

He made it to the courtyard without losing patience, which counted as spiritual cultivation in this family.

Beyond the courtyard, the palace opened into what most mortals would call a city: jade markets, floating gardens, taverns staffed by succubi accountants. Being born here meant never needing to leave the estate—every vice, library, and cosmic phenomenon was within walking distance.

Shin headed toward the grand market building, intent on buying actual fish this time. Maybe koi. Maybe piranha. Anything that could survive demonic water.

He was halfway down the marble causeway when he collided with someone rounding the corner. The impact barely rocked him, but the smaller figure stumbled back with an undignified squeak.

"Brother Shin!"

Shin smiled. "Hey, Swan."

Standing before him was Swansong, 98th​ Daughter of the Heavenly Demon Lord, bearer of eight halos and the emotional wreck Shin had more or less raised himself. The rest of the family called her mother-er of All because she fussed over every sibling like a matriarch hen. Shin called her swan because he'd changed her diapers.

She adjusted her immaculate white dress, angel-wings flaring. "You should watch where you're going."

"You should be taller," he said automatically.

["Sibling Banter"] - Heartwarming subtype detected.

["Parental Role Reversal"] - Emotional thread active.

She swatted his arm. "Still snarky. Where are you off to?"

"Market. Buying fish. Dad says the prophecy's on later."

"Good. Maybe he'll forget about it." Her tone carried the kind of hope only a demon could have—grim and practical.

Shin cocked an eyebrow. "And you?"

Her expression dimmed a little. "Visiting Ninety-Nine."

Bloodedge, the 99th​ brother.

House-arrested in the Tower of Reflection for trying—and failing—to start a rebellion last month. Technically a family pastime, practically a cry for attention.

"Brave of you," Shin said. "Most of the others won't even talk to him."

"Someone has to. He listens to me sometimes." Swansong hesitated. "You could come."

Shin thought about it, then shook his head. "Later. I'm not in the mood for 'repentance monologues' today. Last time he tried to stab me with his sword."

["Sibling Drama Fatigue"] - Chronic.

["Foreshadowing: Reconciliation Arc"] - Logged for future pain.

She smiled faintly. "Fine. Bring me a souvenir from the market. Something pretty."

"I'll get you a fish."

"I said pretty, not useless."

"Then I'll name it after you."

She laughed—the sound light enough to make the air shimmer—and flitted away toward the Tower. Shin watched her go for a moment, that rare ache of affection stirring in his chest.

Then he turned back down the causeway. The market's neon runes beckoned, promising distraction, noise, and possibly a good gambling table.

["Scene Transition"] - Slice of Life Shenanigans.

["Foreshadowing Fish Quest"] - Gambling Arc.

["Player Ready?"] - Yes.

Shin cracked his knuckles and stepped into the marketplace of demons, where even enlightenment came with a price tag.

The Demon Lord's marketplace wasn't just a centre of commerce — it was the world's most competitive casino disguised as a bazaar.

From the outside, the Golden Lotus Gambling Hall looked refined: red lanterns, silk curtains, music that reeked of upper-class decadence. Inside, it was pure chaos — dice slamming, coins clinking, dealers shouting, and someone inevitably setting a table on fire to "bless" their hand.

Shin inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of burning incense, desperation, and bad decisions.

["Setting Analysis: Gambling Den of the Damned"] - "Authentic."

["Plot Cue: Gambling Arc Commence"] - Confirmed.

He didn't even need to play to win. The moment he crossed the threshold, his TROPE Dao began humming — the invisible pulse that let him feel narrative weight around him, like magnetic fields made of plot.

Every gambler here thought they understood probability. Shin understood structure.

He drifted toward a table surrounded by shrieking demons, half of them shirtless, one of them crying blood. The dealer, a six-eyed oni with a counting addiction, froze when Shin took a seat.

"Ah—Lord Shin! Are you… playing again today?"

"Just a few rounds," Shin said, flashing a smile that made everyone else quietly prepare to lose.

["Detecting narrative imbalance: Challenge the Veteran Gambler."] – go on.

Calculating irony factor… High. Adjusting world logic in favour of comedic victory.

The oni dealt. Shin rolled. The dice hit the table, spun, and stopped — both landing on the Symbol of Heaven's Approval, a result supposedly seen once every few thousand throws.

The crowd gasped. Someone fainted.

Shin leaned back, unbothered. "Huh. Guess I'm blessed."

From across the room came a strangled cry.

"That's impossible!"

A familiar voice — high-strung, offended, and statistically cursed.

The 13th​ brother: Fu the Unfortunate, also known as Lord of Statistical Miracles.

Fu stomped forward, clutching his robes. His presence warped the air slightly; fortune itself bent around him like light around gravity. His entire cultivation revolved around bad luck — he absorbed it, refined it, weaponized it.

He was, technically, the unluckiest being alive… and yet, through sheer spite, had turned that curse into a Dao.

And Shin still beat him every time.

Fu slammed his palm on the table. "You're cheating again, aren't you, Shinny?"

Shin blinked innocently. "Brother, please. Cheating implies I'm trying. I'm just… narratively inclined."

The crowd murmured — half confused, half in awe.

Fu snarled. "You can't keep twisting the world's script! Do you think luck cultivation bows to—whatever you do?"

"Tropes," Shin said simply. "Luck cultivation manipulates probability. Tropes manipulate probability's meaning."

Fu's vein bulged. "That's nonsense!"

Shin shrugged, tapping the dice again. They flipped into the air — slowly, elegantly — and came down as double Heavens again.

["The Unlucky Genius Loses to the Comedic Protagonist."] - Result: Inevitability enforced.

Fu fell to his knees, gripping his chest like he'd been betrayed by math itself.

The hall erupted — laughter, cheers, a few marriage proposals, and one spontaneous musical number that no one could explain but felt narratively consistent.

Shin accepted his winnings, which he promptly converted into Fish Budget funds.

["Mission Log Updated"] – Goody, more fetch quests.

Objective: "Buy pretty fish for Swansong and the pond."

Status: Funds secured.

Collateral damage: one disillusioned Luck Cultivator.

Fu, still trembling, looked up at him. "One day, Shin, your absurd logic will fail you!"

"Probably," Shin said, pocketing the dice. "But until then, I'm statistically unbeatable."

He patted Fu's shoulder and walked away through the crowd, haloed in victory and narrative immunity.

["Scene End"] - Fu will remember that

["Moral of the Chapter"] - No matter how powerful your Dao, you can't out-cultivate plot armour.

The fish vendor's stall sat at the edge of the Demon Lord's market, a fragrant, humid little corner of hell filled with sloshing tanks and the occasional sentient squid demanding labour rights.

Shin leaned over one tank, squinting.

"No, too bright. That one looks like it monologues before dying. Got anything… humbler?"

The vendor, a nervous salamander demon with four arms and zero patience, gestured toward a tank of grey, nearly transparent koi.

"These, my lord. They're quiet, obedient, and don't explode when you feed them."

"Perfect," Shin said, tossing a sack of gold the size of a child onto the counter. "I'll take three. And a bucket."

He crouched to inspect the fish, his reflection shimmering faintly in the water. The koi swam toward him — and, disturbingly, bowed.

["Foreshadowing of Unlikely Companion."] - pet acquired.

Shin frowned. "Not now, narrative."

He sighed. His life was too full of Chekhov's Guns already.

"Still," he murmured, "they'll look good in the pond."

He was about to leave when the air shifted. The background noise — the clinking of coins, the muttering of merchants, the haggling of minor demons — fell silent, one sound at a time, like a curtain dropping.

Shin didn't turn immediately. He knew that feeling.

"...Iron Orchid," he said.

Behind him, the market's light dimmed slightly as the 44th​ sister approached.

Iron Orchid didn't walk so much as glide, the hem of her battle robes brushing the cobblestones. Her aura was razor-clean, smelling faintly of steel and sandalwood. She was the Demon Lord's blade — equal parts devotion and discipline.

"Shin," she greeted, bowing slightly. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were scanning the area. "You look… untroubled."

"I try," Shin said. "Stress ages you. I'm still going for the 'eternally smug' aesthetic."

She ignored that, as she usually did. "Father is moving again."

Shin blinked. "Moving? As in, leaving his throne? Again?"

Orchid nodded, her expression grave. "The court felt it this morning — the pulse of his aura expanded beyond the domain barrier. He's… preparing something. I thought you'd know."

He sighed, setting down his bucket of fish. "I literally carried him to his chair two hours ago. He said he was going to get into the prophecy later."

Iron Orchid's eyes narrowed. "He lied."

"Well, yes. He is the Demon Lord."

She looked at him, unimpressed. "Do you take nothing seriously?"

Shin tapped his temple. "Sister, I take everything seriously. I just don't panic until the trope demands it."

[ "The Calm Before the Storm."] - Suggestion: Stock up on popcorn.

He grimaced. "...Ah, that's not good."

Iron Orchid's gaze sharpened. "You felt something?"

"Yeah. My plot-sense is tingling."

"Your what?"

"Never mind."

He straightened, bucket in one hand, fish sloshing softly inside. "Whatever Dad's planning, it'll hit us soon. Probably some kind of family-wide drama arc. He gets bored when the celestial courts stop warring with him."

Iron Orchid's expression softened for half a second. "You joke, but you're rarely wrong."

"I know," Shin said, smiling faintly. "That's the tragedy of being narratively aware."

They stood there for a moment — her posture sharp and dignified, his loose and lazy — two halves of the Demon Lord's legacy, one discipline, one deviation.

Then, from somewhere deep within the palace, a gong sounded — heavy, resonant, the kind that made space itself hum.

Iron Orchid froze. "That's a summons. Father's personal call."

Shin exhaled through his nose. "Wonderful."

["Inciting Incident"] - Destiny approaches.

He adjusted his grip on the bucket. "Guess dads ready to speak."

And together, they turned toward the heart of the palace — where the throne waited, and the Demon Lord, for whatever reason, had decided a story needed to begin again.

The path back to the central palace was paved in black jade — a gleaming river of stone that shimmered like ink under the eternal twilight.

Shin and Iron Orchid (Io, to her siblings — though few dared use the nickname) walked in companionable silence. The air was thick with power; every step closer to the throne hall brought the faint hum of their father's presence.

It wasn't just oppressive. It was alive.

Demon Lord auras weren't subtle — they warped the world around them, made the stars hesitate, made the earth remember. The Heavenly Demon Lord — First of His Name, Warden of Sin, Emperor of the Ninefold Abyss, and Enthusiast of Unscheduled Family Meetings — had a particularly notorious signature.

When he stirred, everyone knew.

By the time Shin and Io reached the main causeway, the palace was buzzing. Servants scurried through corridors like panicked ants. The banners along the outer walls — crimson and violet, each representing a branch of the Demon Lord's progeny — fluttered with the breath of a rising storm.

Shin slowed as he saw clusters of siblings arriving from every direction.

The 23rd​ sister, Graves. Eternally drunk and trying to remember which way was "up."

Number 58, Lord Mirage, phasing in and out of existence while on yet another "metaphysical cleanse."

Dumb-of-ass 72, Rok-Rok, carrying his own statue and insisting it was "alive."

And, of course, the youngest so far, 99th ​brother Bloodedge — sulking under guard, still wearing the remnants of the Tower of Reflection like a fashion statement.

It was chaos.

Beautiful, expensive, generational chaos.

Io sighed softly beside him. "Every time he summons us, it's the same circus."

"Family bonding," Shin said absently, eyes flicking toward the central fountain at the base of the stairs.

He'd been meaning to fix that thing.

The fountain was a grand, multi-tiered structure — obsidian carved into the shape of coiling dragons, once spouting liquid flame. Now, it sat dry and cold, a monument to aesthetic neglect.

Perfect for fish.

While Io strode ahead toward the grand hall, Shin slipped away and crouched beside the basin. He set down his bucket with ceremonial solemnity.

"Alright, you little narrative gremlins," he murmured, tipping it gently. "Go forth and fulfill whatever vague foreshadowing I accidentally triggered."

The koi splashed into the empty fountain — and immediately, the basin filled with water.

Not flame. Not lava. Actual water, clear as glass, bubbling up from nowhere.

Shin stared.

["Symbolic Restoration of Lost Grace."] - Severity: Mildly ominous.

"Right," he muttered. "That's fine. Not foreboding at all."

As he rose, a demon guard approached — tall, armoured, and carrying the usual air of respectful terror that came with addressing one of the Demon Lord's brood.

"Lord Shin," the guard said, bowing low. "His Majesty commands the attendance of all ninety-nine children. Immediately."

Shin raised a brow. "Even the ones currently vaporized?"

"Their ashes have been summoned as well, my lord."

"Efficient," Shin said approvingly.

He glanced toward the hall, where the great obsidian doors were opening — massive things carved with writhing runes that pulsed faintly with their father's will.

Through them poured the rest of the brood: winged, horned, scaled, spectral — each a unique testament to the Demon Lord's excesses.

Shin felt his TROPE dao flutter like a nervous heartbeat.

["Gathering of the Bloodline."] - Family drama

["The Prodigal Children Assemble."] - Too many of them

["Fatherly Lecture or Apocalyptic Declaration Incoming."] - Die another day.

He sighed. "It's one of those days."

He gave the fountain one last look. The koi were swimming in perfect formation — three circles, glowing faintly with golden light.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Definitely one of those days."

With that, Shin turned and joined the tide of demon heirs ascending the stairs — the air thick with anticipation, sibling rivalry, and the faint smell of someone's aura combusting.

And as the throne doors boomed shut behind them, sealing them inside, the Demon Lord's voice rolled through the hall like thunder wrapped in silk:

"My beloved children! Your old man has decided it's time we reshuffle destiny!"

The throne room was vast — the kind of vast that bent sound and swallowed thought. Pillars of bone and black crystal rose to support a ceiling that shimmered with constellations that shouldn't exist, each one pulsing faintly to the Demon Lord's heartbeat.

At the centre, seated upon his living throne — a shifting mass of shadows and gold veins — sat the Heavenly Demon Lord, Father of Ninety-Nine, Devourer of Kings, Bureaucratic Partner to the Celestial Courts, and the current cause of everyone's confusion.

He looked, as always, fabulous.

Golden hair down to his waist. Silken robes that looked like night was personally tailored for him. And, for some reason, a clipboard.

He beamed at his gathered children, eyes bright enough to burn lesser beings to dust.

"Ah, my beloved progeny! It's so rare to see you all assembled without attempted homicide."

Someone coughed politely. A few others tried to hide their weapons.

Shin, standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, raised a hand. "You called us here, Father. I assume this isn't another spontaneous poetry recital?"

The Demon Lord chuckled, the kind of laugh that made the shadows ripple. "No, my favourite son—"

A hundred throats collectively groaned.

"—today's topic is much more important than art."

He raised a hand, and a sheet of parchment appeared in midair — glowing, heavy with divine seal-work and bureaucratic sigils that hummed with celestial annoyance.

"This," he said grandly, "is the Truce Agreement of Heaven and Hell, signed upon the birth of my tenth child, little Faust. You all remember, yes?"

Faust, an ice sculpture vaguely resembling a person, nodded frostily.

"Excellent," Father continued. "As per the agreement, the Demon Realm refrains from expanding into the Mortal Plane or any Celestial territories, in exchange for letting my talented offspring take heavenly jobs without divine interference. However…"

He leaned forward, grin widening. "…there is a clause. A single little clause that our bureaucratic friends up above insisted on."

He snapped his fingers. The parchment rotated in the air, the glowing runes reshaping themselves into a line of text.

'Should any descendant of the Demon Lord gain power to threaten the celestial balance or pierce the veil of Heaven, said power must be documented, filed, and approved before activation.'

There was a long silence.

"…Filed?" Shin said finally.

"Yes," the Demon Lord said proudly. "Filed. With Form 88-B, Section Seven, Subclause C. It's quite specific. I helped write that part."

"You helped write—?!" Number 27, Irene sputtered.

"Of course!" Father spread his arms. "I'm nothing if not a responsible ruler. Do you have any idea how many mountains of paperwork it takes to keep the heavens from smiting you all?"

Io pinched the bridge of her nose. "And what does this have to do with summoning all of us?"

"Ah!" Father's eyes sparkled. "Because the Prophecy of the Hundredth Child has come due."

The hall went utterly still. Even the throne's shadows stopped moving.

Every demon present knew the prophecy — whispered for millennia, sung in taverns and forbidden temples, hell it's why the demon lord had so many kids in the first place:

"When the Hundredth is born, the sky shall tear.

The mortal and the divine shall bleed as one.

The child of Heaven's Bane shall pierce the firmament.

Who, in all the hells, do you think you are?"

Shin frowned. "Pierce the heavens how, exactly? Metaphorically, emotionally, or physically?"

Father waved the clipboard like a fan. "That's the thing! I don't know. And the Celestial Bureaucracy insists I find out before it happens, otherwise it counts as a breach of our ancient pact, and they get to send auditors again."

The collective groan this time was louder. The last celestial audit had nearly ended in a literal genocide by spreadsheet.

"So," the Demon Lord said cheerfully, "as of this morning, I am formally designating the birth of the Hundredth Child as a potential existential risk! Which means—"

He clapped his hands. The parchment dissolved into fire, and from the flames emerged a massive sigil of red and gold.

"—I am opening the Heavenly Succession Game!"

Shin blinked. "The-what now?"

Father gestured dramatically toward the crowd. "To identify, prepare, and document the arrival of the Hundredth, each of you shall compete — in intellect, power, and creativity — to determine who among you will oversee the prophecy's unfolding and handle both the celestial paperwork and raising of the 100th​! This child will be my heir to the demon realm so whoever raises it will have supreme power in our court"

"…So, it's a tournament arc then," Shin said.

"A divine administrative evaluation," Father corrected.

Several siblings groaned again. Someone in the back started crying.

The Demon Lord grinned. "And the winner will be named Acting Heir to the Demon Realm until the Hundredth arrives."

["Plot Arc: Tournament of Fate."] – Can't go wrong with a tournament arc.

["Prophecy of the Chosen Successor."] – you are not the chosen one, yay!

["Fatherly Manipulation Masquerading as Parental Pride."] – dad loves you very much.

Shin sighed, rubbing his temples. "Of course it's a tournament arc. Why wouldn't it be?"

Father's eyes flicked toward him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "My dear Shin, I expect great things from you."

"You mean because I'm the only one who actually does the paperwork?"

"That too."

The Heavenly Demon Lord rose from his throne, his aura spilling out like dawn over blood. "Prepare yourselves, my children. The first trials begin at moonrise tomorrow."

And with that, the throne room plunged into chaos — ninety-nine voices shouting, scheming, bragging, panicking — while Shin just stared at the glowing koi visible through the window, circling endlessly in the fountain below.

["And thus begins the Arc of Bureaucratic Doom."] – remember to file duplicates

He sighed. "...I should've stayed fishing."

Shin turned to leave but then saw both Bloodedge and Swansong leaving and he decided to join them as they returned Blood to his house arrest.

The halls of the Tower of Reflection were quiet; in the way abandoned fortresses are quiet — all cracked pride and lingering echoes.

Once, the Tower of Reflection had been a grand library, its towers clawing the sky. Now, with most of its wards dismantled and its books moved to the new one by court order, it felt more like a prison of solitude, the timeout spot for the demon lords' children.

Shin stepped through the open archway, hands in his pockets, tail of his personally designed trench coat flicking lazily behind him.

Swansong followed, her steps light, almost musical. She carried a covered tray in both hands — the kind of thing that could be either food, bribe, or bomb depending on who cooked it.

"Do you think he's sulking again?" she whispered.

"Be?" Shin said. "Always."

"Do you think he's crying again?"

"Also always."

They shared a look — the kind of dry, shared amusement only siblings who had outgrown trauma could manage — before pushing open the doors to Bloodedge's confinement chamber. Shin still remembered how, on Be's 90th birthday, he'd declared his name "sounded like a sneeze" and demanded to be called Be. Only Shin and Swansong bothered.

The room was wide, sparse, and gently lit by runes carved into the walls — the Demon Lord's personal handiwork, designed to suppress rebellion without damaging one's soul and body.

Be sat cross-legged in the centre, surrounded by open scrolls, his long crimson hair tied back in a loose braid. His sword — the same one he'd used to challenge their father — sat in a rack beside him, its edge dulled by divine seal.

He looked up, blinking once. "...You brought food or mockery?"

"Both," Swansong said cheerfully, setting the tray down. "Mostly mockery."

Shin flopped down beside him without ceremony, stretching his legs. "And I brought emotional support. My presence alone counts as therapy, I'm told."

Be stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. "...You're impossible to hate, you know that?"

"I do," Shin said brightly. "That's my greatest defence mechanism."

Swansong grinned, removing the tray cover to reveal steaming buns and a bottle of demon wine. "Dinner for disgraced revolutionaries and professional favourites."

Be snorted, taking one of the buns. "You shouldn't be here. If Father finds out—"

"Please," Shin said, waving a hand. "Father likes me too much to get mad. He'd just say I'm 'building character' through family engagement."

"And then give you more paperwork," Swansong added helpfully.

"That too."

The three of them sat together for a while, eating in companionable silence.

For all the theatrics of their bloodline, this — these quiet, stupid, normal moments — were the closest any of them got to peace.

Be finally broke it with a low chuckle. "You know, I thought I'd have figured it out by now."

"Figured what out?" Shin asked.

"How to stop caring what he thinks."

Shin leaned back on his hands. "You don't."

Be looked at him sidelong.

"You just get better at pretending," Shin said. "Until one day, you realize you actually don't mind anymore. And by then, it's just funny."

Swansong poured him a cup of wine and raised an eyebrow. "And you've reached that point?"

"Oh, I surpassed it decades ago," Shin said proudly. "I exist in a state of permanent mild amusement."

Swansong giggled. "Explains why nothing phases you."

"Nothing?" Shin raised a brow.

"Almost nothing," she corrected. "Remember that celestial audit?"

Shin shuddered. "Okay, yes, divine auditors are worse than war. I'll give you that."

Be smiled faintly — small, tired, but genuine. "You really are Father's favourite, aren't you?"

Shin stretched out his legs. "Technically, I'm everyone's. You all like me because I don't pick sides."

"Or because you're too lazy to fight," Swansong said.

"That too."

Be chuckled. "You know what's funny? Out of all of us — the generals, the saints, the heretics — you're the one everyone trusts not to back stab them."

Shin smiled, eyes half-lidded. "I'm just a chill guy in a world full of drama queens. Spirit animal says so."

Swansong blinked. "Wait, your spirit form's still that capybara?"

"Still? Always." Shin grinned. "Peaceful, unbothered, terrifyingly bitey when provoked. That's the way."

Be almost laughed — a short, wheezing sound that made the runes tremble. "A capybara... in a family of apex demons."

"It fits," Shin said. "You're all predators. I'm the one lounging in the hot spring, letting birds clean my fur."

Swansong giggled again, clinking her cup against his. "To our family capybara."

"To survival," Be added dryly.

Shin raised his cup, grin softening. "To being the sane ones."

They drank — three outcasts in a dynasty of chaos — while outside, the palace pulsed faintly with growing energy.

["Peace Before the Storm."] – Enjoy it.

["Sibling Bond, Episode 9."] – why episode 9?

["Prophecy Threads Converging."] – the story begins again.

Shin ignored the warnings for once. He'd earned this moment.

Besides, if the story wanted to interrupt, it could damn well wait until he finished his dumpling.

The night stretched on in lazy conversation and half-empty cups.

Shin, Swansong, and Be sprawled around the centre of the room, a comfortable mess of limbs and laughter. The guards outside had long since stopped pretending they were listening in. When Shin was in a room, no one expected order to last long anyway.

"So," Be said, swirling his cup, "did anyone else notice Father's hair at the gathering?"

Swansong blinked. "His hair?"

"Yeah. Golden. I don't think I've ever seen him go gold before. Usually, he sticks with black or that weird pink void-colour that looks like it's sparkling."

Shin chuckled. "Oh, that? Yeah. He only breaks out the gold when he's doing business with the heavens. Apparently, celestial bureaucrats go weak in the knees for gold and jade. Something about auspicious colours and divine harmony."

Swansong snorted. "So, our mighty father shapeshifts to match heavenly fashion trends?"

"Exactly." Shin grinned. "He says diplomacy is ninety percent colour palette."

Be exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly. "Good. I can sleep easier knowing the mystery of his divine dye job is solved."

For a few moments, they just basked in the silence, the flicker of rune light washing over them in soft reds and golds.

Then Swansong tilted her head. "Hey, Be… why did you rebel, anyway?"

Be paused mid-drink. "…I was bored."

Shin snorted into his wine.

Swansong blinked. "That's it?"

"Boredom's a powerful motivator," Be said simply. "You know how it is. 50 years of perfect training, empty victories, endless bureaucracy… eventually, stabbing Father in the face seems like the only way to feel alive again."

He said it so casually that it was almost funny.

Almost.

Swansong sighed. "You're hopeless."

"Maybe," Be said. Then his eyes slid to Shin, faintly curious. "What about you, oh favoured one? Ever tried the family pastime? Treason, rebellion, patricide attempts?"

Shin blinked. "…Yeah, once."

That made both of them pause.

"Wait—what?" Swansong said.

"Yeah," Shin said, scratching the back of his neck. "First century. I'd just started cultivating my Dao, and I thought I was invincible. Didn't realize how unstable it was back then. The moment I declared rebellion, fate decided to assist."

Be frowned. "Assist how?"

Shin's gaze turned distant, faintly haunted and faintly embarrassed.

"By enforcing 'Surprisingly Sudden Death via Suicide Attack.'"

There was a long silence.

Swansong's cup froze halfway to her lips.

Be blinked twice. "You what."

"Yeah," Shin said flatly. "I charged in, screamed something about destiny, and the narrative decided that was foreshadowing. My own trope triggered mid-fight. Nearly killed both of us. Blew out half the western wards, too."

"…How did you survive that?" Swansong whispered.

"Father patched me back together. Eventually. I think he found it funny."

"Funny?" Be echoed.

Before Shin could elaborate, two pale, elegant hands slipped over his shoulders — dainty and smooth, yet thrumming with the weight of cosmic authority.

Swansong and Be both froze.

A chin rested atop Shin's head, long silken hair spilling forward and curtaining his vision in pink.

A familiar voice purred above him.

"Ahh… my little disaster. My precious catastrophe. You remember, then?"

Shin didn't even turn around. "Hi, Dad."

The Demon Lord — sovereign of the abyss, scourge of the divine planes — was hugging his 69th​ child from behind like an over-affectionate cat, claws lightly tracing bloody circles into his favourite son's chest, leaving streaks of blood in his wake. His golden hair was gone now, replaced by soft waves of pastel pink that shimmered with heat and pride.

"That rebellion," the Demon Lord murmured, eyes half-lidded. "So beautifully destructive. You nearly ended the demon world, my darling Shin. You made the sky bleed, and for a moment—" His voice dropped into a reverent whisper. "—I saw myself in you. I was so proud."

"Mm-hmm," Shin said, tone the very picture of resigned tolerance and minor discomfort. "You've told me. Every decade."

Swansong and Be were frozen in place, watching their world-conquering father nuzzle and maul Shin like a particularly smug feline.

"Father," Be managed, "decorum?"

The Demon Lord blinked, tilted his head as though the word were foreign, then ignored it entirely to rub his cheek against Shin's temple.

"I have no need for decorum when it comes to my favourite child."

Shin sighed as if this were just another Thursday. "You're really setting me up to get murdered by the other ninety-nine."

"They wouldn't dare," purred the Demon Lord. "Only I get to mark you."

"Uh-huh." Shin reached for his cup, managing to sip despite the godlike parasite of affection attached to his neck. "Can you not drool on my shoulder, though?" he asked his father, who was giving love bites to the back of his neck blood on his lips.

Swansong stifled a laugh behind her hand. Be looked equal parts horrified and amused, he had never seen this type of affection from his father, that of the dark possessiveness.

The Demon Lord ignored them both, continuing to purr audibly, voice vibrating through Shin's spine. "Ah, my beloved son… even when you sigh at me, it sounds like music."

"Please stop making it weird," Shin muttered as some of the cuts started to scab over via his accelerated healing.

"Never."

The air hung warm and absurd around them — the immortal tyrant clinging to his son, the rebel and the caretaker watching with disbelieving fondness, and Shin just sitting there, wine in hand, letting it all wash over him.

Somewhere, deep within the palace, distant thunder rolled — the first whisper of the prophecy beginning to move.

But for now, the Demon Lord just kept purring, louder now while lowering himself into Shins lap and curling up to him, nipping at his neck, lapping his son's blood with delight as it dripped down his skin. Shin kept sighing in exasperation even as he wearily rested his chin atop his father's head, and the family of chaos remained perfectly, stupidly content even as his sibling silently laughed at his plight.

 

[Jordisk]

Of course, the Demon Lord doesn't even think of the idea of...keeping it in its pants so they only have 99 children?

Also, I am going to put $20 imaginary internet money on the 100th Child being the daughter of the Demon Lord and 69-chan.

That will also be my official name for him, 69-chan.