Dæmon.
The first time you hear that word, you probably assume someone just misspoke and meant to say demon, right?
But surprisingly, that's not the case at all. The word dæmon has little to do with demons as we usually imagine them. If memory serves, it actually refers to an animal manifestation of a person's soul, physically present alongside them. That idea comes from Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series.
Not that I was a fan or anything. Just one of those random pieces of information I picked up somewhere along the way.
Now, in a lot of fiction and storytelling, the terms dæmon and demon are sometimes used interchangeably and in those cases, it makes sense. The context usually allows for it.
But stepping back for a second — what even is a demon?
Well, without a doubt, they're nothing like humans.
One thing's for sure: they're not human.
That much is obvious.
Thanks to the countless stories, games, and shows shared across the world — or more accurately, the internet — you don't need much more than a vivid imagination to summon the image of a demon.
Not all demons look the same, of course. But they almost always have wings and horns, right?
They're bound to have an intimidating presence, aren't they?
They're usually cruel, proud, and merciless, correct?
And let's not forget absurdly beautiful in a sinful, seductive kind of way.
Fierce, unpredictable, and always looking for the perfect moment to unleash chaos.
If your answer to all of that was yes, then congratulations.
You're absolutely right!
But here's where things start to get interesting.
What if I told you that everything you thought you knew about demons — the wings, the horns, the arrogance, the beauty, the chaos — was only scratching the surface?
What if demons weren't just monsters to be feared…
but rulers, scholars, soldiers, and kings?
What if, in their world, we were the ones seen as strange?
That's the kind of truth they don't tell you in bedtime stories.
That demons have empires. That they have laws. That they have academies.
Yes, you heard that right.
Academies.
Places where young demons go to master their power, hone their magic, perfect their bloodlines, and rise through the ranks of infernal society.
And at the top of it all, there's one title that echoes like thunder through the Nine Circles:
Demon King.
A title so grand, it could only be earned, never inherited.
Across legends, ancient tales, and even the cheesiest TV shows, the Maou stands as the ultimate symbol of power — feared by enemies, worshipped by allies, and respected by all.
Here in the Netherworld, the death of the previous Demon King over a thousand years ago left a void that no ordinary devil could fill. Ever since, it's been the obsession of demonkind to raise a being worthy of the throne, a Blasphemous Devil strong enough to shake heaven and hell alike.
This goal gave rise to countless demon academies, each one more ruthless than the last, all dedicated to producing the next king.
And now you're probably wondering...
How the hell do I know all this?
Or maybe you think this is all just some twisted fever dream, dreamed up by a half-conscious lunatic lying in bed, doomscrolling on his phone at an ungodly hour.
Oh, how I wish it were a joke.
But sadly... it's not.
Every word is true.
And do you know why?
Because I, Lu Zhaoxing, am currently sitting in a classroom…
surrounded by demons.
Not figuratively.
I mean, literal demons.
And in front of me, behind a blackstone podium stands a reddish, hulking demonic instructor who looks like he stepped straight out of a nightmare.
Two massive bull-like horns curved outward from his head, making him resemble some mythic beast that learned to walk upright. His enormous body strained beneath a tattered black robe, and the shadows of his hood barely concealed the sharp glint of his glowing scarlet eyes.
His name was Professor Mor'Karav, and he was what you'd call a furiataur or more crudely put, a fiend bull.
The words carelessly scrawled on the blackboard were:
[Advanced Techniques in Human Torment and Terror Resonance]
"Terror is different from charm, but they share the same fundamental properties… Our energy also stems from human fear but that is worship too, meaning a good source of energy. A dead worshiper is meaningless, as only a living one can provide us with continuous energy.
"Oi! Jot this down at once! We must instill fear in our prey while avoiding excessive torture that could lead to death or undesired madness.
"The moment our prey ceases to respond to external stimuli, our efforts lose value. Therefore, the ideal form of torture is the kind that lingers painfully, but survivable. Push too far, and you lose your source. Too soft, and the prey might start to enjoy it. Those kind of perverts that enjoy physical torment are rather rare to come by, but it would still categorize as a failure, do you understand?
"Don't assume this lesson is beneath you just because you're not a furiataur. Even a succubus has a thing or two to gain here. Fear isn't always brutal. Sometimes, it's subtle. Never let your prey feel they've figured you out. The moment they believe they understand you, they cease to fear you.
"Only by staying above them will the simps continue to treat you like a deity. I trust you've learned more than just crude seduction techniques from that damn succubus, Ophyria."
Professor Mor'Karav spoke those final words with noticeable passion. It was clear he shared a history with the so-called succubus instructor, but if anything, he seemed far from pleased about it.
This was the Netherworld's highest institution of infernal education, the Demon King Academy.
As the name implied, it was a place meant to cultivate future demon kings. Or at least, that's what was written on the official records. In truth, no demon had proven worthy of that title in over a thousand years. The academy had yet to produce a single new Demon King since the last one perished, making the name more of a relic than a reality.
These days, most graduates of the academy went on to become civil servants in the Demon Capital, slipping into bureaucratic roles and living rather cushy lives.
Simply put, the academy had become less of a crucible for kings… and more of a factory for desk demons.
Even knowing all that, I couldn't shake the unease crawling up my spine. This was, after all, a place where a sadistic furiataur instructor casually discussed the best ways to torture humans.
However, the tricky part of all this was the fact I wasn't actually human myself.
…At least, not anymore.
I'm what you'd call a "Transmigrator". It's a trope so common, in fact, that I'm not sure it even needs much explaining. Still, for the sake of context, I'll give you the short version.
My name is — or rather, was Lu Zhuoxing, 21 years old male. I was a college graduate that was in the process of getting a decent job. Getting a job shouldn't be too difficult. I graduated with a degree in computer science, had decent grades, a passable résumé, and just enough social skills to survive interviews without releasing a fart under pressure.
In other words, I was your typical, painfully average guy. Not a genius, but not a loser either. Just someone cruising through life, trying to make things work.
Then, one rainy Tuesday evening, everything changed.
I was heading home after a long day; interviewed at a mid-tier software company, grabbed some takeout, and was halfway through a lukewarm bowl of noodles when I saw it: a notification on my phone. Strangely enough, there was no sender and the message didn't belong to a message from an app.
Just a black screen with blood-red text that read:
[You have been selected.]
Next thing I knew, my body froze. I couldn't move or speak as though bound by some foreign mystery.
My vision blurred, then… darkness.
I woke up to fire.
Skyless, starless, suffocating fire.
That was my first glimpse of the Netherworld.
I don't remember much about the transition, only that I felt like my soul had been ripped out, rearranged, and stuffed into a new shell — stronger, yes, but alien. It was similar to when you remove the cotton from a stuffed animal and shove it into another. The first time I looked into a mirror, I didn't see Lu Zhuoxing anymore. I saw… a different reflection.
My skin was unnaturally pale, almost vampiric in appearance. My hair, a striking shade of midnight blue, shimmered faintly under the light like moonlight on still water. And my eyes — golden, with crimson rings swirling within — were perhaps the most striking of all. As for my voice, it carried an odd resonance, one that occasionally echoed when I was angry.
I was no longer human.
For mysterious reasons, I didn't look all that different from my former self, aside from the change in hair and eye color, most of my features remained intact. It likely had something to do with my transmigration and this suspicion of mine was confirmed because I don't have any lingering memories of this body.
According to the academy's registration crystal, my name and race were recorded as:
Cassian, Anathema-Born — a rare breed of demon hybrid with unknown origins… and undefined potential.
So, yeah.
Transmigrated. Enrolled in a demon academy. Living among literal monsters.
And somehow, expected to compete for the title of Demon King.
No pressure, right?
But here's the twist; while most demons are born into bloodlines and clans with centuries of tradition and magical mastery, I came in with zero training, no noble backing, and a mind full of outdated Earth logic.
In other words, I was no different from a low class demon. This was evident in the absence of a last name, solidifying my position on the hierarchy.
How the hell am I supposed to survive in a place where fear is currency, magic is blood, and failure means permanent dismemberment?
Somehow, I was still alive and considering this was just my first year in the Demon King Academy, anything could happen.
On the bright side, I take very good notes.