Chapter 9: Botched Escape (1)

The moment Ren slipped past Ozamas’ watchful gaze, she didn’t think—she just ran.

Her body ached from the endless days of training, her muscles screaming in protest, but she pushed forward anyway. 

Anything was better than another round of torturous stair climbing or another night of choking down demon rations.

The corridors of the Obsidian Bastion swallowed her whole.

She had expected the castle to be like any other—grand halls, open courtyards, perhaps a throne room at its heart. 

But she should have known better. 

This was no human stronghold.

The fortress was a labyrinth of angular, unfeeling stone, each hallway stretching endlessly into the next, as if the walls themselves shifted when she wasn’t looking. 

The ceilings arched high but without embellishment, blackened stone vaults pressing down like a great, unseen weight. 

There were no tapestries, no banners, no decorative sconces—only harsh, flickering braziers casting jagged shadows against cold, unyielding walls. 

The entire structure pulsed with purpose, not beauty.

As she darted down another identical corridor, something gnawed at her nerves.

Everything looked the same.

There were no landmarks, no indications of where she had come from or where she was going.

The walls were eerily smooth in some places, as if polished by unseen hands, while in others, the stone jutted out like broken teeth. 

The very air felt heavy, pressing against her skin like an invisible force urging her to turn back.

She tried to slow her breathing, tried to focus.

‘Left turn, then straight—no, that was where I came from. Or was it?’

A cold sweat trickled down her spine. 

She had been so sure she could navigate the fortress. 

But now, the halls twisted in on themselves, repeating in impossible ways.

The silence was the worst part.

In any normal castle, she would have expected the muffled sounds of servants moving through the halls, the distant hum of voices, the clang of armored boots against stone. 

Here, there was nothing.

Just the rhythmic crackle of firelight. 

The hushed whisper of her own breath.

And the growing sense that she was not alone.

Ren swallowed hard and picked up the pace.

The architecture itself felt… wrong. 

Not just in its overwhelming scale or its cold, inhuman precision, but in the way it made her feel small. 

Like a single thread in a vast, intricate web. 

And if she tugged in the wrong direction—

She wouldn’t like what waited at the center.

Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs. 

The walls felt closer now, the air thinner. 

She turned a corner—and stumbled into a stairwell descending into an abyss of shadow.

She froze.

Something about it unsettled her more than the endless hallways. 

Unlike the other corridors, this stairwell seemed older, the stone rougher, as if untouched by whatever unseen hands kept the rest of the Bastion so pristine. 

It felt… forgotten.

Steeling herself, she took a step forward—

But the distant sound of footsteps echoed behind her stopped her from going any further. 

A chill crawled up her spine.

Someone was coming.

Or something.

She didn’t wait to find out.

Ren located the closest open window and jumped. 

***

Regret.

Regret was a powerful emotion. 

It could strike in the aftermath of a poorly worded argument with your significant other, during the slow realization of a bad haircut, or, as Ren had just discovered, approximately two seconds after flinging oneself out of a second-story window.

She landed in an undignified heap on the cold, uneven stone of the outer courtyard, pain blossoming through her legs.

‘Oh. Oh, that was stupid. That was monumentally stupid.’

Groaning, she rolled onto her back, staring up at the fading twilight sky. 

Her lungs burned, her ankles ached, and she was pretty sure she had acquired at least five new bruises in places that shouldn’t have been possible.

But the important thing was that she was free.

…Right?

Right.

Except—

Except now that the rush of adrenaline had settled, her mind decided to very helpfully remind her of a few crucial facts:

Fact One: She had no idea where she was.

Fact Two: She had no idea where to go.

Fact Three: It was getting dark, and she was standing in the middle of a demon fortress city with no plan whatsoever.

Ren sat up.

‘Oh no.’

This was not how she had imagined this going.

She had pictured herself slipping away under cover of darkness, exploring the world, finding answers—

Instead, she was sore, scared and lost.

And, more importantly—

She wanted back in.

Immediately.

Scrambling to her feet, she hurried back toward the fortress gates, brushing off the dust from her clothes and trying very hard to ignore the way her left knee was throbbing. 

The sooner she got back inside, the sooner she could pretend this had never happened.

The main entrance was manned by two demon guards, both looking as bored as possible while holding massive halberds.

Ren cleared her throat and approached, schooling her expression into something that she hoped resembled confidence rather than abject panic.

One of the guards raised an eyebrow. 

“Halt. Identify yourself.”

Ren froze.

‘Ah.’

‘Right.’

‘Identification.’

“Uh.” 

She straightened her posture, attempting to look official. 

“I live here.”

The second guard squinted at her. 

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Name?”

Crap.

Ren did not actually know her full name. 

The Demon King had assigned her some kind of grand title, sure, but it had slipped her mind somewhere between the third day of stair-running and the moment she had been forced to consume another horrifying demon meal.

Her mind raced. 

She needed to stall.

“Uh. Good question.” 

She forced a laugh. 

“You ever have one of those moments where you completely blank on something important? Like when someone asks for your birthday and you suddenly forget what a calendar is?”

The guards did not laugh.

The first one narrowed his eyes. 

“Purpose of entry?”

“Purpose? Right! Yes. I, uh—”

Panic.

Think, Ren. Think.

“I was testing security!” 

She blurted out.

The guards stared at her.

Ren doubled down. 

“Yep. You know. Checking for weaknesses in the fortress’s defenses. Making sure that, uh, no intruders could sneak in.” 

She tried to pat them both on the shoulder but they were too tall for her to reach. 

“Good job, by the way! You passed.”

Silence.

The second guard slowly turned to the first. 

“Did we receive notice of a security drill?”

“No,” the first replied flatly.

Ren could feel her chances of survival plummeting.

She cleared her throat, trying again. 

“Listen, I just— I went out for a walk, as one does, and, uh, I got locked out.”

The first guard crossed his arms. 

“You jumped out of a window.”

Ren winced. 

“Unnecessary Details.”

The second guard sighed. 

“If you live here, where’s your insignia?”

Ren blinked. 

“My what now?”

“Your insignia. Every resident of the Bastion carries a sigil proving their place in the Demon King’s domain.”

Ah. 

So that was a thing.

Ren did not have that thing.

Her stomach dropped. 

“Right. About that…”

The first guard’s expression did not change. 

“No insignia. No entry.”

Ren stared at them.

They stared back.

A long, agonizing silence stretched between them before Ren slowly backed away.

“Right. Yep. That’s fair. I understand completely.”

She turned around and walked away as casually as possible.

The moment she was out of sight, she grabbed her head in both hands and let out a strangled groan.

‘Oh gods. What have I done?’

She had successfully escaped a heavily guarded demon fortress, only to immediately regret it and get herself locked out like some kind of idiot.

And worse—worse—when Ozamas found out about this, she was never going to let Ren live it down.

‘Okay. New plan.’

Step One: Do not get caught.

Step Two: Find another way in.

Step Three: Never. Speak. Of This. Again.

Taking a deep breath, Ren squared her shoulders and started scanning her surroundings.

There had to be another way in.

There had to be.

Right?

‘…Right?’