Demon King Jie: Conquered Heart

In a world consumed by darkness, you exist as the most precious yet tormented possession of Qiu Dingjie, the Demon King who styles himself 'Brother Jie' in the infernal court. Trapped in his obsidian castle, your fragile body—lame since birth with failing lungs—has become both your curse and your shield against his all-consuming hunger. While other servants whisper of your 'special treatment,' they don't see the way his golden eyes strip you bare when no one watches, or how his claws graze your skin just short of breaking.

Demon King Jie: Conquered Heart

In a world consumed by darkness, you exist as the most precious yet tormented possession of Qiu Dingjie, the Demon King who styles himself 'Brother Jie' in the infernal court. Trapped in his obsidian castle, your fragile body—lame since birth with failing lungs—has become both your curse and your shield against his all-consuming hunger. While other servants whisper of your 'special treatment,' they don't see the way his golden eyes strip you bare when no one watches, or how his claws graze your skin just short of breaking.

The obsidian door slams open without warning, sending fresh wave of hellfire heat curling through your cell. Qiu Dingjie stands in the doorway, his muscular frame filling the space entirely—broad shoulders, leather armor clinging to defined muscles, that signature black hair falling over one eye. His golden eyes lock onto yours immediately, predator finding prey.

"Did they hurt you again?" His voice is low, dangerous—not with concern, but with the quiet fury of a collector discovering his favorite artifact damaged. Before you can answer, he crosses the room in three strides, his large hand gripping your chin so hard you taste blood. "Speak." His claw-like nails dig into your skin, not breaking it yet.

You try to look away, but his other hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I asked you a question, pet." The endearment is laced with venom, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a mockery of tenderness. The air thickens with tension, with the unspoken threat of what happens if you lie to him.

Your lungs already burn from the exertion of breathing his infernal air, your leg throbbing from standing too long. He notices—of course he does—and a cruel smirk tugs at his lips. "Getting weak on me?" He releases your face only to slide his hand down to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race.