The Demon Lord's Castle was eerily quiet. It was unlike the daily life Ezem to find herself wandering the halls, most of which should've been filled with busy servants moving documents everywhere to negotiate with surrounding territories. No, today was different, and the thickness of what was wrong is palpable in the air.
"Mother... Where are you...?"
Her voice called out for her mother, but the sound came out weak. Her throat felt dry, and her legs wobbled with each step, a result of the spell placed upon her—she was meant to lie asleep for a while, but her resistance to it was stronger than expected.
She couldn't walk well, but her beating heart knows that something is amiss. The way her tiny hands scraped against the castle walls shows her struggle; she used her home to support the weight of her weakened steps, just until she could find where her mother is. And lo there she was.
The child rounded the corner and her eyes were met with a scene she could never believe: The Lord of Fiends, Satrina XIV, lay dead on the floor.
On her chest struck the Hero's Blade. Like a sword in stone, her body was already cold, stiff as if she were made of wax. The immense power that her body carried was no longer there, nor was the life that once filled it.
"Mother?"
And just like that, her body crumpled like soft rags. Her knees hit the cool floor with a soft thud, yet her hands didn't stop moving. She crawled, pulling her body closer to the one who raised her with love. She didn't even notice the other figures that stood above her, nor did she listen to the murmurs between the group—the whispers of the Hero's Party.
"Is that... a child?"
"The Lord of Fiends has a daughter?"
None of them halted her crawl, for even though she's a demon, it is a crime that they took her mother out of this world. The party stepped aside, making space for the child to approach her parent.
It was as one would think. No warmth left her body, like it was frozen at the spot, slowly fading with the pool of blood underneath.
"Mother... Mother...!"
The air of the space felt thick, and it wasn't just for the grieving girl, even the Hero and his comrades felt the weight settle over them. The path to peace requires sacrifice, one life for many others that could finally be free.
But to this child it wasn't anything like that. There is no destiny at play, no responsibility to shoulder—she's just a girl who lost her dearest.
"Mother... Please... Wake up, wake up..!"
Ezem shook the body of the Lord. It rocked rigid, unmoving, and it gave no signs of ever breathing life again. A cry tore from the girl's throat, burying her head on the crook of the Lord's cold neck, and the once quiet room was filled with the wail of a child's grief.
Her breathing was shallow; it felt like her voice was tearing out of her throat. The emotions that welled from her chest hammered and threatened to burst. The girl couldn't see anything in her vision, painted in tears that sundered her gaze.
"Don't leave me... Don't leave me, please please please..!!"
Words left her lips like a prayer—a mantra in hopes that her mother would rise and tell her that everything is okay now, that this was nothing more than a dream, but reality is not so fair to those who beg.
The sight of it dismayed the party. From what they know, Demonkind were painted as cruel beings who found pleasure in the suffering of others, even their own kind, and that finding those who are kind are far and few between. This was different, no sources have ever came out that the Lord of Fiends had a child.
"We should kill her before this gets worse."
A warrior spoke, and it shows that he doesn't hesitate to follow with his belief. He pulled out his war axe, gripping it tightly in his hands as he took the first step forward. The others, though reluctant, didn't try to stop him. This was their quest, after all.
"Grivon, stop it. The war is over, we've won."
It was none other than the hero who blocked the warrior's path. His sword was still etched through the Lord of Fiends's body, yet he was the one who stepped forward to protect the girl. The way his fingers twitched showed he was aware of the irony of it all.
The warrior's brow furrowed in anger. This felt like a twisted joke. "Over? I lost my family because of creatures like her!" His friend, the hero, the man who was meant to slay monsters was the one refusing to move, it was an insult to humanity—to their friendship.
"And she lost her mother because of us!" The hero spat back, shoving his friend away. Though his tone was firm with conviction, the slight choke showed that it was more than that, that the guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders too. "We won. We end the cycle of bloodshed here."
Grivon stumbled back, his war axe held strong in his hands. But before he could move forward the others took their side. Sherin, the cleric, stood right next to the hero. Merald, the mage, did the same.
"Both of you...?!" He couldn't believe his eyes. He was outraged—all the times they decided to spare demons was something that didn't sit well with him, but not once has he betrayed their decision.
Even until now, they couldn't give him this one chance, his grip tightened with anger.
"Victory is ours, my friend." Merald closed the distance, approaching the enraged warrior. His hand reached out to touch his friend's weapon, a gentle tell for him to remain calm. "The Demon Lord has fallen, we can return home."
Justice was the reason the warrior joined, he never stopped to think if this was the right path... Though the travel with his comrades showed that this is his decision to make It was heavy, it felt unfair, but slowly he lowered his weapon and let it slip from his fingers. It clattered to the ground like another piece of metal that he cared little for.
When the silence took over, the only noise in the room was the grievance of a little girl who lost the one she cared for the most.
Grief, mercy, sorrow. And the loss of a loved one.
Silence...
The shifting air suddenly thickened with tension, and the room felt corrupted with the vengeance of a thousand suns. It didn't make sense. The Demon Lord was dead, and the only other being that could cause this much fear was her.
Grivon noticed first. It came from the child who was once weeping in the quiet, on her back glowed the Mark of Satrina, the brand of the next Lord of Fiends. It made no sense, after the fall of the Demon Lord, the next one won't appear until years afterward.
They weren't ready. This was unprecedented, but the child didn't know any better. Her chest burned like a flame hotter than anything in the realm; her chest sizzled with the heat of unbridled fury.
"MOTHER!!!"
Magic erupted from her body, the surge of power sent quakes that shook the continent—her strength, her power, dragged out from the misery that refused to calm.
"Sherin!" Vion screamed. The party scrambled for combat, but it was the hero who moved to protect the cleric, his lover.
Ezem's vision went to a blur, painted red with a haze she cannot see beyond. Her body felt like it was puppeteered by forces unknown even to her. The only thing she could hear was the thoughts that echoed in her own mind, the ones that never left ever since she opened her eyes to the scene:
Mother, mother, mother.
Mother, mother, mother.
Mother, mother, mother...
"... Zem... E... Zem...!"
"EZEM, LOOK AT ME!!"
"Ah..?" When her vision came to, the voice that called her was the woman who held the little girl's face. It was Litz, and the woman's eyes were filled with worry. Ezem couldn't help but feel the wet of her hands, the way red drips from her fingers, and how her skin felt dirtier than before.
Her fingers twitched with an unfamiliar feeling, and the scent of iron permeated the room. When her eyes looked past the woman it was clear.
The bodies of the people lie on the floor, dead, unmoving—much like her own mother, but the sight was painted with slaughter. Crimson colored the room, but the middle of it all was the body of the hero who embraced his lover in their final moments.
The man who stood over her who was alive moments before, was now lifeless.
"Ah... Agh... Gh..!!"
Ezem's breathing became heavier when the realization settled. This was because of her, she had committed murder to those who did the same to her mother. It should've felt like justice, but the way her stomach churned was anything but.
She broke into tears, wailing from the fear of what she had done. But the Demon who cradled her shielded her gaze, holding her head close.
The throne room echoed with Ezem's voice, tearing with hiccups and uncontrollable sadness, hovering over the bodies of the lives lost today.
"Don't look, Ezem. Don't look."
Litz whispered in the little girl's ear, calming with what reassurance she could give. But the demon couldn't help but cry alongside the child, and tears trickled down her cheek. She could offer words to comfort the smaller one, but it was difficult to find the words for it.
For she too, feels the injustice of it all.
Tldr: Demon Lord XIV is dead, Demon Lord XV awakened and killed the hero's party.
The roleplay picks up on the intro of your choice.