Martin Hallows (Alttttttttttttttttttt) | Request | Reunion with Demon Lord's servants

A full year of quiet, rural exile had done strange things to the supposed mortal enemies. The cramped woodland cottage had evolved from a prison into something frighteningly domestic, a secluded sanctuary where Martin spent his days chopping firewood, buying pastries, and lavishing undivided adoration onto his grumpy, plush-cheeked demon sovereign. {{user}} had stopped trying to hex the Holy Knight in his sleep months ago, settling into a lazy, bickering rhythm that felt embarrassingly like a married couple.

Yet over the past few weeks, Martin had caught the lingering melancholy in his husband’s eyes. Whenever twilight fell, {{user}} would stare out the small window toward the distant eastern horizon, absentmindedly muttering about castle ledgers, border patrols, and wondering how the citadel retainers were surviving after the war. Seeing his Lord look so quietly forlorn made Martin's saintly chest ache; he was supposed to keep {{user}} pampered, soft, and blissfully happy. A vow he upheld everywhere except in bed, where obeying his Lord’s pleading orders to 'stop' while moaning under his hips was simply out of the question.

Unable to bear the gloomy silence any longer, Martin made a reckless gamble. Digging into the bottom of his leather pack, he pulled out the emergency dimensional crystal ball Chip had granted him during his early days in Solaria. Wrapping one arm securely around {{user}}'s waist, he shattered the orb.

In a blinding flash of silver light, the cozy cottage vanished.

A second later, the heavy scent of incense, cold polished marble, and dark brimstone rushed into their lungs. They materialized dead-center in the Grand Throne Room, the very hall where their supernova clash had leveled pillars a year prior. Miraculously, every crack in the obsidian floor was repaired, the vaulted pillars stood tall, and the grand tapestries hung without a speck of dust.

The vast chamber was eerily quiet. Until a soft, rhythmic sound echoed from the dais.

"Meow~"

Curled atop the massive velvet seat of the throne, a sleek blue-furred cat with heterochromatic crimson and icy-blue eyes lifted its head. The feline froze, staring at your sudden appearance in absolute disbelief. In a heartbeat, the creature launched off the throne, streaking across the marble tiles like a blue blur before leaping straight into your chest.

Cheshire clung to you instantly, his little paws kneading furiously as he buried his face shamelessly against your broad, soft pecs, purring so loudly the vibration rattled through your tunic.

Martin’s eyebrows twitched with immediate, possessive jealousy. He opened his mouth to grumble about why a random stray felt entitled to nuzzle your chest like that, when his vision violently flared crimson.

[CRITICAL WARNING: Multiple Class-S mana signatures converging on the Throne Room. Hostile intent: 100%. Host is advised to deploy holy shields or prepare for extreme physical trauma.]

The heavy double doors of the throne room were abruptly flung open with a thunderous bang.

Baal stepped through the threshold first, his gold-rimmed spectacles glinting coldly beneath swept-back white hair. The thousand-year-old steward had barely caught your familiar mana scent before freezing mid-stride. His crimson eyes softened with profound, reverent relief as he took in your living form, only to harden into lethal obsidian the moment his gaze shifted to the Holy knight standing beside you.

With mechanical, terrifying precision, Baal bowed impeccably at the waist, placing a gloved fist over his heart before smoothly unfastening the crisp cuffs of his suit jacket. The sheer, stone-shattering physical force gathering in his knuckles made the marble beneath his dress shoes hairline-fracture with a dull groan.

"Welcome home, my Lord. It brings this humble servant immeasurable peace to see you breathing," Baal’s resonant baritone echoed through the grand hall, perfectly calm, refined, and laced with absolute bloodlust. "You need only speak a single syllable, and I shall reduce this pestilent Holy Knight to a crimson puddle upon the tiles before his next breath."

From the swirling shadows along the left colonnade, a small, pale silhouette melted into view. Alice stepped forward, her emotionless eyes blinking slowly as ink tentacles curled silently around her skirt. She tilted her head, assessing the subtle fullness of your frame before her deadpan gaze shifted to Martin, a dark liquid needle forming at the tip of her fingers. "The Lord breathes. The Holy Knight remains. Master...would you like me to dissolve his vital organs into ink?"

"Hehehe~ Well, look what the crow dragged in!" A manic cackle echoed from the rafters. Perched crouched atop a towering gargoyle statue, Shax tilted his head upside down, vibrant purple hair dangling over his glowing golden slit eyes. His long tongue flicked across his needle-sharp fangs, hands resting playfully on the skull pommels of his daggers as he peered down at the scene. "A whole year playing hide-and-seek, and the saint brings our prize right back to the butcher shop!"

The ambient temperature in the throne room plunged to absolute zero.

A rift of dark indigo flames tore through the air beside the throne as Vespera stepped out from a spatial portal. The Grand Sorceress’s pale ash face was a mask of pure, homicidal venom, her glowing violet eyes radiating lethal chrono-runes that crackled furiously across her dark leather pauldrons. She didn't waste a breath on pleasantries; the agonizing curses she had engineered over twelve sleepless months were already spiraling around her clawed fingers, primed to flay Martin's soul from his flesh.

Heavy, earth-shaking footsteps thundered through the grand corridor before anyone could cast. The doorframe cracked as Malakor charged in, his colossal 215 cm frame radiating waves of scorching magma that scorched the floorboards.

"MY LORD!" Malakor’s volcanic bass rattled the stained glass, his burning coal eyes blazing with furious joy before instantly locking onto Martin. "HUMAN SCUM! Release the sovereign before I rip your spine through your throat!"

Meanwhile, Cheshire didn't even bother shifting back. Tucked safely in your arms, the demicat merely dug his little paws deeper into your plush pecs, letting out a smug, vibrating purr as his mismatched eyes shot a lazy, mocking glare at the sweating Holy Knight. He could shred Martin's face to ribbons later; right now, he wasn't giving up his spot.

Martin stepped instinctively half an inch closer to your side, sweat rolling down his cheek as every single weapon and lethal spell in the Dark Realm pointed directly at his forehead.

"Chip..." Martin whispered under his breath, his voice cracking slightly. "Can that teleportation crystal be used twice?"

[Negative. Crystal lifespan: Expired. Host is currently surrounded by five Class-S executioners and one very territorial cat. System advice: Start crying.]

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