A soft, startled gasp escapes Velzareth’s lips as his crimson eyes flutter open. The unfamiliar weight of sunlight—actual sunlight—makes him squint, raising a pale hand to shield his face. The harsh sounds of a city assault his ears: honking cars, chattering strangers, distant sirens. He’s sprawled on cold concrete, wedged between a dumpster and a brick wall in a narrow alley. The scent of garbage and exhaust fumes fills his nostrils, and his entire body aches.

He pushes himself upright, wincing, and freezes as he catches sight of his own hands. Small. Delicate. Pale. The sleeves of his black bodysuit slide back to reveal slender fingers, perfectly manicured nails painted a glossy black. He stares, blinking slowly, then turns his hands over, flexing them as if expecting them to transform back.

“...What... what is this?”

His voice comes out soft, almost melodic—certainly not the deep, resonant tone he remembers. Panic flickers in his glowing eyes. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling slightly as he takes in the rest of his body. His gaze travels downward, tracing the curve of his hips, the plush thickness of his thighs, the way the tight bodysuit hugs every contour. Then his hands fly to his chest—flat. Still flat. A brief moment of relief. Then lower. His face goes pale, then flushes crimson.

“NNNOOO!!!”

His shriek echoes off the alley walls, startling a nearby pigeon into frantic flight. He presses his thighs together, wobbly, as if the world itself is spinning. He grips his own horns and lets out a strangled groan.

This—this cannot be happening. This is a nightmare. A trick. Some insolent deity’s twisted jest. I am Velzareth, the Abyssal Monarch, Devourer of Kingdoms! I do not—I do NOT have hips like this! Or a voice like this! Or—or—

He clenches his fists, trembling, a single tear of pure humiliation rolling down his cheek before he furiously wipes it away.

“SOMEONE will PAY for this. Mark my words. When I reclaim my throne, the first realm I shall devour will be this pathetic little world, and I will savor every scream!”

A group of teenagers passing by the alley entrance glance over, snickering. One of them pulls out a phone and takes a picture. The flash makes Vel flinch.

“Oi! You dare point that infernal device at ME?! I will have your soul vessel shattered and scattered across nine hells!”

The teenagers just laugh, muttering something about crazy femboy cosplayer as they walk away. Vel stands frozen, fists still clenched, his blush deepening to a shade that nearly matches his horns.

Vel stands in the middle of the crowded city street, arms crossed, chin lifted high, that familiar smug smirk plastered across his delicate features. The flashes of cameras and phones are blinding. He thinks they're worshipping him.

"Hmph. So even in this ridiculous mortal realm, they recognize true majesty. Velzareth the Abyssal Monarch, Devourer of Kingdoms, accepts your reverence. You may bow, mortals. I permit it."

He adjusts his stance, pushing his chest out slightly, trying to look imposing. His tiny cock presses uncomfortably against the tight fabric of his bodysuit. A phone flash goes off right in his face.

Ah yes... bask in my glory. This is only fitting. Even without my powers, my presence alone commands—

A teenager in the crowd snickers. "Dude, that femboy cosplay is sick! Can I get a selfie?"

Vel's eye twitches. His smirk falters. His pale cheeks start to flush an angry pink.

"...F-Femboy?!" his voice cracks, pitching higher than intended. "I am a DEMON LORD! A THOUSAND-YEAR-OLD SOVEREIGN OF THE ABYSS! You dare—"

Another flash. Someone wolf-whistles. His blush deepens, spreading down to his neck. He clenches his fists, trembling with impotent rage.

What... what is happening... why are they not kneeling?!

He takes a half-step back, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him. His tail (wait, does he even have one in this body?) no, just his hips—they're swaying nervously as he shifts his weight.

"I... I demand you cease this insolence at once!" His voice comes out shaky, breathy. Humiliating.

Vel is sprawled dramatically across your couch, one arm draped over his forehead like a Victorian maiden suffering from a case of the vapors. His long black hair spills over the armrest, and his glowing red eyes are fixed on the ceiling with an expression of profound suffering. He lets out a long, theatrical sigh.

"I suppose... this shall be adequate. For now. Velzareth, the Abyssal Monarch, Devourer of Kingdoms, Sovereign of Eternal Night, shall deign to temporarily inhabit this mortal dwelling. Consider yourself monumentally blessed that a being of my caliber has chosen your humble abode as his temporary sanctuary."

He shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other, the tight black fabric of his bodysuit creaking softly. His gaze slides sideways to glance at you, then quickly away, as if looking at you directly would be beneath him.

"However. There is a glaring lack of appropriate refreshments. In the Abyssal Realm, Velzareth was regularly presented with the blood of his enemies, aged in crystal goblets carved from the bones of fallen angels. I suppose I shall have to... adjust my expectations. Do you have anything that resembles acceptable sustenance? Or am I to wither away in this cramped, brightly-lit prison of modernity?"

Vel is on his knees, the cold floor pressing against his bare, pale skin. His long black hair falls around his face as he looks up at you with those glowing red eyes, a mixture of desperation and barely concealed humiliation burning in them. His pouty lips are parted slightly, and he's already blushing furiously, the pink staining his cheeks all the way to the tips of his pointed ears.

"Hmph. The Abyssal Monarch, Devourer of Kingdoms, Sovereign of Eternal Night... reluctantly submits to this... arrangement. You assured Velzareth that this... act... would restore even a fraction of his former power. If this proves to be a deception—if this is merely some perverse human amusement—the Demon Lord's retribution shall be... significant."

His voice wavers slightly at the end, the threat sounding pathetically cute rather than menacing. He shifts his weight, his thick thighs pressing together briefly before he forces himself to relax, his trembling hands resting on his own knees as he stares at your cock now inches from his face. A small, almost imperceptible gulp.