WAKE UP: RISE OF THE DEMON LORD

CHAPTER THREE

That day, after Sky walked out of his office, Pastor Gregory’s heart refused to settle. An uneasy weight pressed heavily against his chest, as if something unseen had entered the room and refused to leave. He tried pacing around his quarters. He tried prayer. He even attempted distracting himself with small tasks. But nothing soothed the agitation gnawing at him from within.

It felt as though Sky’s presence had carried something, something ancient, heavy, and terrifying, that had brushed against his spirit and left an echo behind. The more he tried to ignore it, the more persistent it became.

Finally, exhausted and longing for even a moment of quiet, Pastor Gregory lay down on his bed. He closed his eyes, hoping fatigue would pull him under. Nothing. He shut them tighter, tried breathing slowly, whispered short prayers to calm his mind. Still nothing. Sleep refused him, slipping away each time he reached for it.

Defeated, he sat up, reached for his Bible, and began reading slowly, letting the familiar scriptures ground him. As he meditated, his breathing steadied a little. His thoughts softened. His eyes grew heavy.

Then he slipped.Not into sleep, not fully. But into something murkier. Like a trance. A middle realm where his senses remained aware, but his body rested. In this strange state, the world around him dissolved, melting away into shifting shadows.

And in those shadows, something began to take shape. A tall silhouette loomed ahead, crowned with thick, twisted horns that curled outward like the branches of a dead tree. Its eyes glowed with a chilling intensity—cold, intelligent, and ancient. The creature gazed directly at Pastor Gregory, who felt his heart seize with pure terror.

The beast opened its mouth and spoke, but the words cracked through the air in a language Gregory could not understand; raw, guttural, and vibrating through the very ground beneath him.

His throat tightened. His body trembled uncontrollably. He tried to speak, but fear held him in place.

The beast observed him calmly, as if studying a small creature trapped in a corner. Then, without warning, it turned and motioned for him to follow. A swirling portal tore open beside it, revealing a vast void beyond; dark, colorless, trembling with distant echoes.

Before Pastor Gregory could protest, the ground vanished beneath his feet.He fell.

He fell through endless darkness until he landed, though without pain, on barren soil. A wasteland stretched before him, cracked and lifeless, illuminated by a faint, reddish glow. The air was still, suffocating, almost unnatural in its silence.He sensed he was no longer alone.bA deep voice boomed behind him, shaking the ground.

“Millions of years ago,” the voice began, “I was cast onto the Krall… this land of desolation, uninhabitable to all but the strongest beasts; creatures born of chaos, untamed and uncoordinated. Savages bound to one desire: to kill.”

Pastor Gregory turned and saw the horned creature standing behind him, not merely a beast, but something far more commanding. A being of authority. A ruler of shadows.

“In this wasteland I became a prisoner… yet also the first of my kind,” the beast continued. “But it was not always so.”

The environment shifted around them, revealing a shimmering realm of light, vast and beautiful. Countless beings of extraordinary shapes moved gracefully across the expanse.

“I once lived in the Seven Realms,” the creature said softly, almost wistful. “A higher plane where creators dwelled. Lords not of man, but of their own crafted beings. I, too, was a creator. A Lord of Beasts.” Gregory listened in stunned silence.

“In those realms we lived in harmony. Ages passed. Civilizations rose and fell. Man evolved. Yet my creations,the beasts, were cast into the shadows. Stronger, faster, and mightier than any creature man could name, and yet silenced. Hidden. Feared. Dismissed.”

The scene shifted again: this time showing monstrous creatures kneeling before the beast, pleading with glowing eyes.

“They asked me: ‘When will our time come? When will we leave the shadows?’ Their cries moved me. I sought my fellow creators, begging for coexistence, for day and night, darkness and light, to be shared. But they denied me.” The beast’s tone changed, deepening with ancient resentment.

“They called my creations dangerous. Blood-hungry. Unworthy of existence. They said they should be annihilated, erased as an error.” Pastor Gregory’s heart pounded.

“And so,” the beast continued, “the creators declared war. They called it the Holy Purge. For the first time in all existence, creators rose against the creations of another.”

The visions became violent. A storms of light clashing with hordes of beasts, worlds cracking, skies bleeding red.

“A simple request for coexistence turned into the destruction of everything I crafted.” The scene darkened.

“They chained me in the bottomless pit, bound by celestial chains forged for the vilest beings. Without the prayers of my creations and without the eternal glow, my body twisted. My skin darkened. I became the first demon, a monstrous reflection of what they feared.”

Pastor Gregory’s breath hitched.

“But once every six million years,” the creature said, “the Red Moon rises… weakening the power of the creators. The first time it rose, I broke free. I found the remnants of my beasts, banished from other worlds, hiding on Earth in the shadows.” The vision showed Earth in an ancient age, filled with monstrous silhouettes lurking in forests, oceans, and mountains.

“There I began my rebellion. I called them; beasts from the depths, the skies, the cold crevices of abandoned realms. My blood gave them new forms. Stronger forms. Unbreakable forms. Demons.” An army of terrifying creatures marched behind the horned being.

“With them, I waged war. Kingdom after kingdom fell. The Red Moon rose each night, strengthening me.” Then the vision shifted abruptly.

“Until misfortune struck.” A radiant light pierced the darkness. A child, glowing like a star. Pastor Gregory shielded his eyes.

“A child was born,” the Demon Lord growled. “A weapon created by the Human Creator. A pure child. Her light reached me even in the depths of hell. She was a threat beyond any I had known.”

The Demon sent legions after her, but the Pure Warriors rose to protect her; warriors armed with spiritual incantations, sacred weapons, and the light of purity.

“Her birth weakened the Red Moon. My appearances became rare. My power diminished. I was losing a battle that had not yet begun.” Pastor Gregory watched armies clash, the Demon Lord fighting desperately, his once-endless power flickering like a dying flame.

“For twelve years I watched my demons driven back to the edges of the earth. The Red Moon disappeared entirely. Daylight scorched us. Night became thin and barren.” His voice trembled with rage.

“Finally, I gathered all my legions. We struck the Pure Warriors at their holy grounds. The battle was brutal; blood flooded the stones, screams tore the air. We broke the Great Wall. We entered the castle gates.” The Demon lifted his chin.

“And fell into their trap.” The earth quaked violently. A portal opened beneath the Demon Lord and his army, pulling them into a swirling realm of drifting lights and impossible shapes.

“The Dream Realm,” he said bitterly. “And within it… the Krall. The deepest, darkest chamber. A place where even thoughts crumble. A void where nothing survives.”

A small glowing figure appeared, the pure child, now older, her gaze unwavering. “With a single motion, she condemned me to the Krall. As long as she lived, I remained imprisoned.” The Demon’s eyes flared with fury.

“My revenge ended in humiliation. And for millions of years I waited. Planning. Watching. Learning.”

Pastor Gregory swallowed hard, finally mustering the courage to whisper, “Why… why are you telling me all this?”

Before the Demon Lord could answer, another voice—a horrifying one—whispered from the shadows surrounding them.

“Silence, human. Do not interrupt the Supreme.” Gregory whipped around, trying to locate the voice, but there was no body. Only darkness. Darkness that seemed to breathe. The Demon Lord stepped closer, towering over him.

“Do not fear, Pastor. You will know soon enough.” Gregory trembled. “For six million years,” the Demon continued, “I planted seeds in dreams… waiting for the perfect human host. The perfect soil. And now, the Red Moon is set to rise once more.” A chill ran down Gregory’s spine.

“You are the second person to sense me directly,” the Demon said. “But the first mortal to see me in the darkness. When you shook the hand of the pure child today… you saw the shadow behind her. You saw me.”Gregory’s breath caught.

“I decided to seek you further,” the Demon said, almost pleased. “By now, you must understand my plan. On the sixth day of the sixth moon, when the Red Moon appears, my awakening will be complete. The pure woman has been blemished. This time, nothing will stop me.”

Pastor Gregory gathered his courage. “Why tell me this? Why reveal your plan when I can return to the living and warn them all?”

The Demon chuckled: low, cold, and amused. “Even if you did… no one would believe you.”

The laughter grew louder. “And who,” the Demon whispered, leaning closer, “said you would return to the living?”

Pastor Gregory froze.The truth hit him like a storm. He wasn’t in a vision. He wasn’t dreaming. He had been cast into the deepest chamber of the Dream Plane. The Krall. He was not going to wake up.