Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Lindarion didn't waste the opening.

He surged upward, blades reversed in both hands, one swing crashing across the demon's ribs, the other driving for their throat.

This time they didn't dodge.

They caught the strike.

The one aiming for the throat stopped mid-air in the demon's palm. Fingers closed around the golden edge, searing flesh with a hiss. Black blood sizzled, but the grip didn't falter.

Lindarion growled and pushed harder.

The demon's smile was thin, cold. "Still not aiming."

Then they twisted.

Lindarion's weapon snapped in half, clean break down the middle. Before he could pull back, the demon drove their forehead into his.

CRACK.

Stars.

His ears rang.

The world tilted.

He stumbled, but didn't fall. His divine aura flared just enough to keep him upright. "You're starting to piss me off."

"Good." The demon lifted their hand. "Now I'm not the only one."

Black lightning twisted along their fingers again, slower this time, denser, like it was folding in on itself.

Lindarion narrowed his eyes. 'That's not just darkness.'

Ashwing's voice echoed low and sharp. "It's mixed. Void-touched. Whatever they are, it's not a natural affinity."

'I figured.'

The next blast wasn't aimed at him.

It hit the ground between them, and then ripped upward, turning the cobbled street into a spiraling column of jagged stone and screaming mana.

Lindarion leapt aside just in time, but the concussive shock still sent him skidding across the cracked plaza. His boots tore long gashes through the ground.

Civilians screamed in the distance. What was left of the city burned behind him. Every impact sent out another tremor, another quake. Another loss.

Lindarion stood again. Breathing heavier now.

The demon stepped from the smoke. Calm. Not even a scratch on their face despite the cut still weeping dark blood across their ribs.

"You want a leader," they said. "But you act like a hammer."

Lindarion spat on the ground. "And you talk like you're clever."

He raised one hand.

Ashwing dived.

A blur of wing and flame, no longer small, no longer hiding. The dragon burst into full form in mid-air, cutting a burning arc through the sky. Gold and orange streaked across the black cloud, and the demon looked up only a second before the impact hit.

Ashwing's breath weapon roared, pure pressure and heat, not fire, compressed divine force in a beam straight from his chest.

The demon raised both arms to guard.

Too late.

The blast engulfed them, threw them back, burned a hole through the plaza and cratered the road beyond.

Lindarion leapt into the smoke with what remained of his broken blade, no time to wait for the dust to settle.

He found the demon on one knee, steam pouring off their shoulders, one horn cracked at the tip.

"You talk a lot," Lindarion muttered, voice low.

He flipped the blade in his grip. "Try bleeding instead."

The demon didn't answer.

They stood.

One hand bleeding. One leg trembling slightly.

And then they laughed.

Not loud.

Not deranged.

Just quiet. A single exhale of disbelief.

"You really are angry."

Lindarion didn't move.

The demon stepped forward, blood dripping from one wrist now, staining the cobbles beneath them.

"This time," they said, "I'll aim."

—

The plaza was already a ruin.

Streets cracked. Statues shattered. The air was thick with smoke and mana, layers of affinities carved into the sky like scars that hadn't healed yet.

Ashwing circled high above, wings dragging fire in lazy arcs.

Lindarion rolled his shoulders once, the broken blade still in his hand.

His other palm opened slowly.

Not for drama.

But to gather.

The demon tilted their head. "You going to try the sun trick again?"

Lindarion didn't answer.

Because fire bloomed in his palm.

Then lightning, writhing between his fingers.

Then darkness, folding the light away.

Then ice, like a second skin pulling tight over the sparks.

The ground rumbled.

The demon took one step back.

"…That's not fire."

"No," Lindarion said.

"It's not divine either."

"No."

The energy surged up his arms, dancing across the bones under his skin. Light and shadow. Heat and frost. Divine and profane, layered together in threads only he could hold without shattering.

Ashwing's voice echoed in the back of his skull.

"You're going to go too far."

'I don't care.'

The demon's jaw tightened slightly. Their hands flexed, gathering black lightning and void once more.

But Lindarion moved first.

No sound.

No signal.

Just movement.

A flash of ice underfoot, and he vanished.

He reappeared behind the demon with a streak of blood red curling around his arm like smoke. His broken blade, now charged with blood affinity, punched into their back, just under the ribs.

The demon screamed and whirled around, only to find nothing.

Because Lindarion was already above them.

Lightning cracked the sky.

He brought his hand down—

And fire followed it.

Not a spell.

Just raw elemental fury, compressed and held too long. It hit the demon like a hammer of heaven, cratering the ground beneath them and sending a column of flame spearing into the clouds.

They tried to stand.

He froze their legs.

They tried to phase out.

He sliced through the shadow with divine light.

They turned to counter—

And he punched them across the plaza with a fist wrapped in astral energy, his body glowing faintly with the unseeable threads of a realm above even light.

Their back hit the wall.

And stayed there.

Smoke curled from their mouth.

They looked up at him, breathing hard, chest rising in sharp, painful rhythm.

"…What the hell are you?"

Lindarion stood still.

Steam rose from his coat. Blood ran down his knuckles. His aura flickered, still too bright. Too many colors. Like it didn't know which one to settle on.

He walked forward, no dramatic strides, just steady.

The demon reached for their blade.

Lindarion stepped on their hand.

The bones crunched.

They hissed.

His voice was quiet now.

"I'm tired," he said.

The demon stared up at him.

"I'm tired of cities falling. I'm tired of my people dying. I'm tired of being told to wait, to plan, to be patient."

He leaned closer.

"I'm not patient anymore."

The demon didn't answer.

Lindarion lifted his foot from their hand. Let them scramble back slightly, one leg dragging, one wing twitching uselessly.

He could've finished it.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

Ashwing circled lower.

'You done?' the dragon asked quietly.

'Almost.'

Lindarion turned, letting the demon crawl away into the alley shadows. They weren't a threat anymore. Not really.

And he'd made his point.

He glanced up at the burning skyline, eyes narrowing.

'Now bring me someone that matters.'