The hero stepped into the throne room.
At the far end sat a towering black throne, veined with ominous red energy that pulsed like a beating heart — pure demonic grandeur.
And on it, lounging with one leg crossed over the other, was her — the Demon Queen, supreme ruler of the demon realm.
She was beautiful. Dangerously so.
Long, glossy black hair fell to her waist in waves, the strands shimmering as though lovingly shampooed daily with imported celestial oils.
She wore a sleek black dress with elegant silver trim, paired with thigh-high stockings that accentuated her flawless legs.
Her horns curved into a crown above her head — black obsidian edged with crimson glow, exuding regal menace and commanding presence.
Her body was tall, sculpted to perfection, the kind that made even archangels question their career choices. Her irises shimmered crimson-gold, and her smile carried a whisper of wicked charm.
A single nosebleed trickled from the hero's nose.
