NOVEL NEXT Chapter 862: The Malcrist
"Everything you value is a handle someone else can grab."
She muttered it while sitting on his thighs. Her body felt soft and warm, but in a way that was different from Lilith, or even Sylvia.
Damon bit his lip.
'Perish the thought.'
Was this woman deliberately challenging his willpower. Because if she was, this was an obvious attempt.
"Can you get off me."
Renata smiled faintly and instead wiggled her hips.
"What. Feeling—"
"No. You're just heavy," he cut her off before she could finish. The world really did seem determined to test his restraint today.
Renata did not move. Instead, she rested her head against his shoulder. Of course, she was not heavy. Even if she were, Damon had enough strength to tear a building from the ground. Her weight was meaningless.
She leaned closer, her chest pressing into him, her lips near his ear as she whispered.
"Would you allow this if it was Lilith Astranova."
Damon kept his expression deadpan.
"Fair enough. Continue."
The faster she talked, the faster he could escape this awkward situation. It would be even worse if Evangeline walked in and saw him pinned beneath Renata like this.
Renata fell silent for a moment.
"Everything you value is a handle someone else can grab."
Her expression shifted. Gone was the teasing smile, replaced by the serious look she wore when she was all business.
"This was a belief. No, a philosophy. My family has followed it for thousands of years."
Philosophy mattered. A person's worldview shaped their path, their class, even their fate. It was one of many factors, alongside birth, luck, bloodlines, and ambition.
But when an entire family was molded by a single philosophy, the results were far more extreme.
In theory, it was possible to artificially influence one's class that way. In practice, it was rare.
In Renata's case, it was indoctrination.
"My family was a small demon clan loyal to the Demon Lord of Domination, Ashcroft. We were not great. We were hardly noteworthy. In the footnotes of history, we didn't even deserve a mention."
Her voice was calm, almost flat.
Damon could not sense much emotion in it, as if she were reciting facts rather than memories.
"When Ashcroft fell in Soltheon, my ancestors were there. When the invincible Demon Lord of Domination fell, the world descended into chaos. Even the demon continent and its seventy-two demon lords scrambled for power. The invasion collapsed, and the world burned."
Her head shifted slightly against his shoulder, as if she did not want him to see her face.
"No one had time to organize anything. No one kept track of which demon clans survived. Clans fell as easily as leaves in autumn."
He could hear her breathing now. Slow. Controlled. Her chest rising and falling against him.
"No one knew how to move forward in a world without a king. Without order. Different factions tried to rise. The empire was among them, claiming land. The temple grew as well, using fear to fuel religion."
She placed a hand flat against his chest.
"That was when my ancestors settled. They made a name for themselves hunting demons, so no one realized they were demons themselves. They allied with the empire. Demons among humans. Disgraceful, yes. But to us, the goddess races were puny. Small things standing in the way of conquest."
She turned slightly, her face now angled toward his.
Damon wished she would stop moving. Sitting on him was already bad enough.
"Ashcroft made demons feel superior," she continued. "A newer race exploited and dehumanized. Their hatred was justified. He gave them pride. A superiority complex. And why not. Demons were inherently more powerful."
Her gaze softened.
"When he fell, so did their purpose. They were lost. My ancestors were lost. Until…"
Damon placed a hand on her slim waist, steadying her.
"The prophecy."
She nodded, resting her hand on his shoulder.
"That gave them hope. And it put fear into the hearts of the goddess races. The demon who had nearly ruled them all would return. That fear was despair."
Her voice lowered.
"That is why my ancestors stayed in Soltheon. They believed Ashcroft would rise again where he had fallen. Everything they did was an expression of loyalty."
Damon pulled her a little closer, not out of affection, but to keep the conversation quiet.
"All I hear is ancient history," he said softly. "What does this have to do with you."
She shifted her weight, pressing down on his legs as she turned more fully toward him.
"This is my family's history," she said quietly. "And the reason for my suffering. Our suffering."
Her violet eyes lowered.
"Years passed. We became a small, quiet noble house. Not the weakest. Not the strongest. Just average. But hiding in a land that hated demons was never easy."
She clenched her fingers lightly against his armor.
"To survive, we adapted. But not so much that we forgot who we were."
She bit her lip.
"I was raised to be proud of being a demon above all else. We were no longer a new species created by the first demon lord. No longer a minority to be hunted and exploited. Ashcroft showed us our power."
She placed a hand over her heart, pride clear in her posture.
"I, Renata Malcrist, am a demon. And I am proud of being a demon."
Damon felt something twist in his chest.
Being even partially demon had always been his shame. He had refused to let his horns grow. Seeing her pride made his fingers twitch toward his head out of habit.
"It's easier for female demons," she said quietly. "We don't grow horns. For males, it's harder."
She bit her lip again.
"To survive, we had to subtract what we could live without. That's where those words came from."
Her voice softened.
"Everything you value is a handle someone else can grab. Value nothing, Renata, and you will never feel pain when you lose anything."
She exhaled slowly.
"That was my parents' most vital lesson."