Imp to Demon King: A Journey of Conquest

The obsidian throne room materialised around Adam as he completed his teleportation, the familiar dark stone providing a stark contrast to the devastation he had left behind in the fairy realm. The air still crackled with residual energy from Thor's final explosion, and Adam's clothes hung in tatters, electrical burns marking his pale skin like a network of lightning scars.

He moved with mechanical precision, his face a mask of controlled fury as he gently lowered the unconscious forms of Mab and Merlin to the floor beside his throne. The fairy queen's breathing was steady but shallow, her ethereal beauty marred by the violence she had endured. Merlin lay nearby, his ancient robes torn and his broken staff clutched protectively against his chest.

Achilles stirred slightly as Adam approached, the Greek hero's golden hair matted with dried blood. The greatest warrior of the Olympian pantheon had survived the battle atop Mount Olympus, though his injuries would take time to heal. Adam arranged him carefully beside the others, creating a makeshift infirmary in the shadow of his throne.

"Watch over them," Adam commanded, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.

Mordred stepped forward, his scarred face grim but determined. The black knight's armor was still partially melted from Thor's final attack, but his grip on Clarent remained steady. "They'll be safe," he said simply, positioning himself between the unconscious figures and the throne room's entrance. "Go do what you must."

Adam nodded once, then turned toward the massive windows that dominated the eastern wall. What he saw beyond the glass made his hands clench into fists.

Atlantis burned.

His city—his kingdom—was wreathed in flames and smoke. The elegant spires that had reached toward the heavens now lay broken and twisted, their dark metal superstructure exposed like the bones of some great beast. Walls that had stood for years crumbled under the relentless assault of Asgardian magic, their protective enchantments overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of the divine invasion.

Houses that had sheltered his people were reduced to smoking ruins, their contents scattered across streets that ran red with a mixture of mortal blood and divine ichor. The air itself seemed to burn, thick with sulfur and the acrid smell of destroyed dreams.

But one thing was notably absent from the devastation: bodies.

Adam's eyes swept the burning streets, and despite the destruction, he felt a flicker of pride. The civilians—his people—were nowhere to be seen. They had followed the protocol that Ozymandias had implemented years ago, when the former pharaoh had applied his strategic mind to the defense of Harmony.

The Necropolis Nexus stretched beneath the city like a vast underground honeycomb, its tunnels and chambers designed to shelter every citizen in times of crisis. The dead who rested there would protect the living, and the living would endure until their emperor returned victorious.

"Smart," Adam murmured, his voice carrying both approval and grim satisfaction. Ozymandias had planned for this moment, had prepared for the day when the gods would bring their war to their doorstep. The pharaoh's foresight had saved countless lives.

But that didn't diminish the rage that burned in Adam's chest as he watched his soldiers and city suffer.

His eyes began to swirl, the chaotic energy within him responding to his fury. What had once been merely dark orbs now resembled twin pools of liquid night, filled with stars that died and were reborn in an endless cycle of destruction and creation. The very air around him began to distort, reality bending under the weight of his mounting wrath.

"I'll burn Asgard's golden halls to the ground," he spat, his voice carrying the promise of absolute destruction.

Draconian wings unfurled from his back—not the feathered appendages of angels, but the membrane-stretched pinions of a creature born from chaos itself. They were midnight black, shot through with veins of crackling energy, each wingbeat creating miniature storms in the air around him.

Adam shot upward like a meteor in reverse, his ascent so sudden and violent that the windows of his throne room shattered from the displaced air. He burst through the palace roof, through the smoke and flames that choked the sky above Atlantis, and into the clear air beyond.

The aerial battle that had been raging around his city came to an abrupt halt. Aesir warriors on their flying steeds turned to stare at the ascending figure, their divine senses recognising the power that radiated from him like heat from a forge. His own generals—Zephyr, Silas, Victoria, Sarah, Ifrit, Maven, and all the rest—paused in their fighting to watch their lord's passage.

But Adam ignored them all. His focus was singular, his purpose crystalline in its clarity. He would not waste time with individual battles, would not be distracted by the war that raged around his city. There was a more direct solution to the problem of the Asgardian invasion.

He would destroy Asgard itself.

The rainbow bridge met his feet as he reached the appropriate altitude. The Bifrost stretched out before him like a road of pure radiance, connecting the mortal realm to the domain of the gods.

Twin blades of dark plasma erupted in his hands, the weapons humming, eager to taste divine blood and tear through celestial flesh.

As Adam's feet touched the rainbow bridge, a figure stepped forward to meet him. Heimdall, the all-seeing guardian of the Bifrost, emerged from the swirling mists at the bridge's far end. The Norse god was exactly as the legends described—tall and imposing, with skin that seemed to be forged from pale gold and eyes that held the light of distant galaxies.

His sword, Hofund, gleamed in his hand, its blade forged from the same cosmic forces that powered the rainbow bridge. The weapon had been designed for a single purpose: to guard the gateway to Asgard against anyone who would dare approach uninvited.

Heimdall's all-seeing eyes pierced Adam with a gaze that seemed to look through flesh and bone to the very essence of his being. When he spoke, his voice carried the authority of one who had stood guard for millennia.

"You walk the rainbow bridge uninvited, Dragon Emperor," Heimdall said, his words echoing across the cosmic span. "I have watched you since your first breath, seen your rise from mortal to god-slayer. But this path leads only to your destruction. Turn back now, while you still can."

Adam's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, only the promise of violence. His chaotic eyes swirled with increasing intensity as he raised his plasma blades, their dark light casting strange shadows across the crystalline bridge.

"I've killed two thunder gods today, Heimdall," he said, his voice carrying across the infinite expanse with absolute confidence. "What makes you think one guardian will slow me down?"