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Demon Princess: Chapter 15: Doomsday
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 02:34:58 +0000 UTCChapter 15: Doomsday
Deep in the catacombs beneath the Cathedral of Light, the quiet scratch of quills and the rustle of parchment filled a cavernous hall. A hundred men and women sat in concentric circles, each enclosed within a faintly glowing runic diagram. Threads of mana wove between the circles, forming a vast net that pulled in scraps of information from every corner of the continent.
This was the beating heart of the Ecclesia Regnum’s intelligence branch. Spies, inquisitors, priests, and field agents scattered across Pangrea fed the network with constant reports. And here the [Cryptscribes] filtered, categorized, and archived it all.
The [Cryptscribe] class was a humble branch of the Church’s path, a specialized evolution of the [Novice] acolyte line. But in the Council’s eyes it was invaluable. The [Cryptscribe (Analyst / Archivist)] could process floods of raw data and distill it into meaning. Each one sat cross-legged in their circle, murmuring litanies that shifted text into runes only they could parse, weaving the chaos into order.
Miza sat cross-legged in her circle, the faint light of its runes flickering around her like a hesitant candle. Her robes were still stiff from the tailor’s bench, too white, and too clean, broadcasting to everyone that she was the new one here. Last month she’d still been a [Novice]. Now she was officially a [Cryptscribe (Analyst / Archivist)], finally part of the Church’s inner network after years of drills and study that had nearly ground her into dust.
The veterans' circles glowed brighter and more serene, their chants were smooth with habit. Miza's chants still occasionally faltered when she lost concentration. She hated that. She hated the thought of someone noticing her and marking her as a weak link. So, she threw herself into the task with utmost intensity, listening to the news from the north as if every single blow could decide her future.
Most of it was drivel. A priest complaining about waning faith in a rural village. A spy noting that some backwater baron had purchased a forged relic of the Dark Arts. She sighed softly, lips moving as she dismissed them into the archives.
Then another message flickered into her circle. Routine. An Asara Bank branch account check from Tiara. Her colleagues might have ignored it entirely—routine banking traffic rarely meant anything of interest—but Miza leaned closer, whispering the incantation to reveal its details.
Her eyes moved line by line.
Account status: Dormant. (???/???)
Dormancy period: 530 years, 8 months.
Classification: Soulbound Guildmaster Certification. (???*)
*classified information
Her heart skipped. That was unusual. Very unusual. She straightened her back and read on.
The guild name unfurled across her sight in glowing runes.
[Doomsday]
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Doomsday…? Classified information about the account status…?” she whispered.
The word Doomsday alone carried a weight that made her palms sweat. Could that even have been a registered name? And if it had been, how had it survived the centuries untouched?
Around her, the other [Cryptscribes] continued their murmurs, heads bent over their streams of information. None of them had seen what she had just seen.
Miza’s circle burned a little brighter, her pulse hammering in her ears. She knew instinctively: this was not something she could dismiss. Not something she could archive with the usual monotone prayer.
This needed to be elevated immediately.
She reached for the quill at her side, dipped it in sanctified ink, and began drafting the alert that would rise through the channels.
Old account. Guildmaster certification. Five centuries dormant. Name: [Doomsday].
Miza’s eyes lingered on the glowing runes, her pulse thudding in her ears. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t something to quietly shuffle into the archives.
Her hands felt clammy on the quill. It was her first real report since earning the [Cryptscribe] class. If she flagged it wrong, if she wasted senior time, she would make a fool of herself in front of the entire hall. A rookie who cried wolf.
But… five hundred years dormant. A Soulbound guildmaster certification. The name Doomsday.
Her gut told her this was different. More than that—it screamed at her.
She bit her lip, drawing in a sharp breath, then forced herself to steady the quill. If I’m wrong, I’ll be laughed at. But if I’m right…
With shaky strokes, she marked the report and whispered the invocation. “Flagged: extraordinary. Requesting clearance for deeper research.”
The runes flared, carrying her escalation upward into the higher channels. Miza’s heart pounded harder than ever. She had no idea how her superiors would react. All she knew was that she had just made her first mark, and there was no taking it back.
☽⛧☾
The clerk turned back from the stone, his face pale and his voice just a little shaky, though he worked hard to keep it professional.
“Sorry, Lady Greenwood. There seems to be… a slight problem with the account. If you would allow, I need to call a superior who can work this out with you.”
Gideon’s brow arched. “Oh? Well then, I can head to the transaction chamber and wait there, if this is a more private matter.”
The clerk dipped his head gratefully. “Yes, Master Vexley. Thank you for your understanding. I will arrange everything quickly. I apologize for the inconvenience, Lady Greenwood.”
Lily sighed inwardly. Of course. Why did I even try to use the guild account in the first place? But aloud, her voice was smooth. “No problem at all. Shall I wait here?”
The clerk shook his head quickly. “No, please, if you would follow me. And Master Vexley, you know where the transaction chambers are, yes? If you would kindly make yourself comfortable in Chamber One. Refreshments will be brought shortly. Again, my apologies for the trouble, but this matter will be solved quickly.”
He hesitated, then added, almost too quickly, “It is nothing too problematic, Lady Greenwood. Please don’t worry. Your transaction will go forward in our house without issue.”
Gideon gave a small, reassuring smile and inclined his head toward Lily before turning toward the chamber doors. He strolled with the same calm poise he carried everywhere, as though this were nothing more than another routine deal.
Lily followed the clerk instead. He led her down a narrower corridor, lined with polished wood panels and heavy doors marked in runes. It was quieter here, the hum of the bank’s main hall fading behind them, replaced by the muffled sound of quills and soft footsteps. At the very end of the passage stood a tall oak door with a brass plate. The runes etched into it spelled a single word.
Director.
The clerk straightened his uniform, then knocked three times, crisp and precise.
A voice answered from within. “Yes? Come in.”
The clerk glanced at Lily with an apologetic smile. “If you would be so kind as to wait just a moment, Lady Greenwood. I will brief the director so he may address the matter with you directly.”
Lily inclined her head graciously. “Of course.” Her lips said it smoothly, but inside she felt the faintest sting of irritation, annoyance curling up from somewhere deep. It wasn’t her usual kind of impatience. It was sharper, more arrogant. But the moment she pressed out that polite, “No problem at all.” The feeling slid away like smoke in the wind.
While the clerk slipped into the director’s office, Lily lingered in the corridor, her thoughts drifting.
It hadn’t even been half a day. Counting the hours, she realized with a jolt: she hadn’t been in this world more than twelve hours at most. She’d been on shift at the 7-Eleven when it happened… her summoning, or her death, depending on how you looked at it. That had been around 22:30. Then came the endless night, a snatch of sleep, and now morning. Nine? Maybe ten a.m.?
Yet already her life on Earth felt months away, like an old photograph fading from memory.
Strange didn’t even begin to cover it.
Worse, she was certain something was pushing at her, nudging her moods and emotions out of alignment. Her reactions didn’t match who she really was. Especially today.
The suspicion had been gnawing at her since she woke up here: she wasn’t only wearing the body of her Xantia avatar, Lilithia Nocturne—her thoughts were beginning to slide into that role too. And that… that was not the best outcome.
Lilithia Nocturne was an edgy character, crafted to live out every impulse Lily Carter had repressed. Where Lily was shy, Lilithia was bold. Where Lily ducked her head, Lilithia raised her chin. Where Lily tried to avoid conflict, Lilithia dove headfirst into it. Arrogant, flawless, and untouchable. The perfect demon princess, free of the hesitations that chained her real self.
Lily Carter, the struggling university student with only online friends, who hated crowds and doubted herself constantly, that girl was being drowned out.
While she was still caught in that thought, the door opened again. The clerk stepped out, bowing low. “Lady Greenwood, the director will see you now.”
She smoothed the faint crease in her dress and stepped inside.
The office was everything she expected of a banking director: wide windows framed by heavy curtains, polished marble floor, and a massive desk carved from dark, expensive wood. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with ledgers bound in leather, interspersed with displays of polished artifacts, tokens of wealth and power.
Behind the desk sat a slightly corpulent man in well-tailored clothing, his rings glinting as he rose to his feet. He walked around the desk with surprising ease and extended his hand.
“I am Director Durham, of this humble branch in Tiara,” he said warmly. “It is an honor to welcome you, Lady Greenwood. Please, take a seat.”
Lily inclined her head, taking the handshake with practiced RP grace.
“My associate has already informed me of the matter,” Durham continued, gesturing toward his desk. Upon it lay the [Guildmaster’s Black Sigil Card], its obsidian surface still faintly glowing. “This is yours, I believe. It is not every day we encounter a soulbound certification.”
His smile was professional, but the faint gleam in his eyes betrayed curiosity, and perhaps a touch of caution.
Lily sat down smoothly, waving one hand over the desk. With a simple thought, the Sigil vanished back into her inventory in a shimmer of light.
“Yes,” she said, voice even. “Mine.”
The director folded his hands in front of him, the smile on his face polite but edged with caution. “As you have likely guessed, Lady Greenwood, there are… complications with your account. Allow me to personally apologize for the inconvenience. But I must explain the situation clearly.”
Lily inclined her head, letting him speak.
“Our banking system,” Durham continued, “is one of the oldest functioning magical networks in the world. It predates even the collapse of the Xares Empire. You may already know this. But when someone claims ownership of an account that has lain dormant for more than a century, we require extraordinary proof of verification before granting access. And in this case…” His eyes flicked briefly toward the place where the [Guildmaster’s Black Sigil Card] had lain. “The account in question has been untouched for over five centuries. Its last activity dates back to the Obsidian Age, and was conducted by the guildmaster at that time.”
He spoke carefully, his wording vague—suggesting without saying that he assumed leadership had changed. Lily gave no confirmation. She neither denied nor admitted, simply watched him.
“The second complication,” Durham went on, his voice tightening, “is that the main vault tied to your account was registered under our branch in Xerathene. As you surely know, after the fall of the Xares Empire we lost all access to those vaults. At the time, Asara instituted a generous compensation policy for customers who had lost their holdings. Any registered owner could claim reimbursement within a hundred-year window. Unfortunately…” He hesitated, offering a strained smile. “…that window closed several centuries ago.”
Lily tilted her head slightly.
The director added quickly, almost stumbling over his words. “But of course, we have meticulous records of every deposit and vault item. I am confident that the Bank would find a way to honor your claim in some form. To do so, however, you would need to present yourself at one of the main branches, as I lack the authority to access the original vault data here in Tiara.”
He drew in a breath, his hands tightening together. “And now… the third, and gravest complication.”
For the first time, Durham looked uneasy. “Your guild, Doomsday, is officially flagged in our system as an entity tied to the Empire of Xares.”
He paused there, as if the statement itself explained everything.
Lily narrowed her eyes. “And…?”
The director cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, well, yes. The status was never lifted. So even after the Empire fell, your guild remains listed as a hostile party in the records of the Confederation Nations. As far as the system is concerned, you are still… at war.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “And?”
Durham winced. “While the Asara Bank prides itself on absolute neutrality in all realms, this case is… exceptional. After the collapse of the Xares Empire, every entity aligned to it—guilds included—was officially dissolved. Any guild that refused was legally deemed a warring party. That is why no official guilds from that age exist anymore. There accounts were all absorbed into the state treasuries of the victors. And so…” His words trailed off, his voice lowering. “…your guild account was dissolved on record. Its funds seized and redistributed as war spoils. The fact that your guild persists, with a functioning soulbound Sigil, is… highly problematic.”
Lily closed her eyes, forcing herself to digest the torrent of information.
So. Her guild had been tied to the Empire of Xares. No surprise there, Xerathene had been her home, after all. But when the Empire collapsed, a war had torn the continent apart. And because she had never formally dissolved Doomsday or surrendered its crest, the banking system still considered her guild a combatant. A war party. And for that, everything they had built had been stripped away, seized by “some bunch of idiot kingdoms.”
A hot ember of anger stirred in her chest. She remembered how long she and her people had worked. The endless raids, the brutal grinds, the sleepless nights to push harder and farther until they had finally been recognized as one of the best guilds in the world. And now, all of it had been stolen.
Before she could think better of it, she was on her feet.
Her hand shot forward, seizing the director by the collar. With effortless strength she dragged him over the desk and lifted him clear into the air. His legs kicked uselessly, eyes bulging as her emerald gaze bore into him, flickering with something far sharper than human or elf in this case.
“Mr. Durham,” she hissed, voice low and dangerous, “you are telling me that everything belonging to my guild was claimed by some third party… and your puny little bank went along with it?”
Sweat broke out across his brow. His hands clawed at her wrist, trying to pry himself free, but her grip was iron. He realized in a flash there must be a vast level difference between them.
“L–Lady Greenwood,” he stammered. “I–I… there was a transitional period, and had anyone lodged a complaint then, we would never have acted so. But is it not reasonable to assume none were alive when no claim was made for centuries—”
“Oh, stop it. Stop this shit with me, you fat idiot.” Her voice cracked like a whip.
She shook him once, hard enough to rattle the desk. “I bet you earned plenty for ‘transferring’ those accounts to the ‘winners,’ didn’t you? You little bankster parasite.”
“P–please, Lady Greenwood,” he gasped, his face turning red. “I understand your anger, but—”
“Understand?!” she snapped, eyes blazing. “If Doomsday had been present, we would never have surrendered. Not for the so called Confederation Nations, not for anyone. And since none of us agreed to your horse shit, you simply decided it was fine to steal? Didn’t you?”
She shook him again, harder this time.
“Please, stop!” he begged, his voice cracking. “I’ll have to call the guards. I understand your fury, but this is too much, Lady Greenwood—”
Her lip split as her teeth clenched down. She tasted blood.
Her anger was justified. It wasn’t about money, nor items. It was deeper. They had trampled the legacy she and her guildmates had built with years of blood and sweat. They had erased her memories, her pride.
And yet… it wasn’t Durham’s fault. He hadn’t been there. And this wasn’t his crime.
With trembling fingers, she forced herself to let go. He crumpled to the carpet, wheezing, shivering, his dignity hanging by a thread.
Lily pressed her lips together, tasting the copper tang of blood. That wasn’t me. No… I would never. She was sure, yesterday, in her old life, she never would have done that. She had never grabbed a stranger by the throat just because she was angry. She wasn’t the type to explode, to lose control. But the heat still lingered in her chest, like embers refusing to die. It hadn’t felt like a choice. It had felt natural.
Her hands trembled faintly in her lap as she tried to steady her breathing. This wasn’t her, the awkward student who kept her head down. This was something else bleeding through. Lilithia Nocturne—the character she had once treated like a game, the mask of arrogance and confidence she could slip on in Xantia—wasn’t a mask anymore. It was bleeding into her skin, reshaping her, pulling her strings.
The realization made her stomach twist.
She exhaled shakily, forcing her hands to unclench in her lap. This isn’t me. I can’t let it be me.
The director pushed himself back to his feet, he smoothed down his vest, adjusted his collar, and tried to stand straight again. “I… I understand your anger, Lady Greenwood. But this is a matter only the main branch can truly resolve. However…” He managed a nervous smile. “I can at least accommodate you here. For that, I need the official status of your guild. And as Guildmaster, you are the one best suited to provide it.”
He returned behind his desk with shaky hands, pulling out parchment and quill.
Lily sank back into her chair, ashamed of the outburst, though impressed at how quickly he had returned to business mode. Does this happen often? she wondered absently. Do high-level clients threaten him until he learns to treat it as routine?
Durham cleared his throat. “So, the first question. Is Doomsday still active?”
Lily didn’t hesitate. “As long as I’m here, it is.”
His quill scratched.
“And… while it is still active, do you accept the ceasefire and dissolution imposed on all entities tied to the Empire of Xares?”
Lily’s sigh came sharp and final. “No. I will not accept dissolution under any means.”
Durham paled again, but wrote it down. “Then by your declaration, Doomsday remains the last recognized entity aligned to the Xares Empire. That allows you to lodge a complaint regarding the treatment of your account.” His eyes flicked up to hers, heavy with warning. “But be advised—it also means your guild is still, officially, considered a party in the war. Even if that war ended more than three hundred years ago.”
Lily leaned forward, voice like steel. “I don’t care. Just give me our stuff back.”
Durham gulped and nodded quickly. “Y–yes, Lady Greenwood. I’ll send the matter to the main branch on your behalf. But…” his voice wavered, then steadied again as he straightened his vest, “…I fear you will have to appear there personally to settle it.”
He sank back into his chair, quill already scratching across parchment with a hand that still shook faintly. It was almost impressive—after being hoisted into the air like a ragdoll, the man still forced himself to play the professional.
Durham cleared his throat. “Until then, Lady Greenwood, your account will remain flagged. But with your declaration that Doomsday still exists, you are now eligible to contest the dissolution and seizure of its assets. I’ll mark it accordingly.” He swallowed again, then forced a polite smile. “I must also caution you, however… as long as your guild refuses the ceasefire conditions, the records will list you as a hostile entity. For most that is only a relic of history, but…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking briefly to hers.
“But it could become… complicated,” Lily finished for him.
“Exactly so,” he admitted, bowing his head.
