The battlefield held its breath.
Even Duke Lark and his troops froze, unsure whether to fight or run.
A pulse of power cracked the silence.
Daemon's demonic aura surged, rippling in shades of crimson and black. The ground trembled beneath him. The bodies around him—men, women, even children—seemed to cry out, their souls shrieking as the energy rose like a storm. Wind howled through the field, spiraling upward until it punched a hole through the clouds above.
Daemon flexed his fingers, tilting his head.
"I'm back... but still too weak," he muttered.
The sky dimmed.
Duke Elias shielded his eyes from the swirling red light.
"He's not human anymore," he said grimly. "We have to stop him before—"
Daemon disappeared.
In a blink, he was among the soldiers, tearing through them with inhuman speed and violence. Swords clashed. Blood painted the earth.
Clang!
Duke Lark barely blocked a strike before being thrown back, skidding across the stones.
"What the hell kind of strength—?!"
Nyxtriel stepped beside Elias, calm in the chaos.
"Our business here is finished. I'll be taking him back."
Elias turned, jaw clenched.
"You can't possibly control that thing."
Nyxtriel didn't answer right away. Her voice came soft.
"His body is still human. He'll burn out soon... and while I'm stopping him—"
Schlick.
In one clean strike, she sliced off Elias's head.
It hit the ground with a hollow thud.
She didn't blink.
"I won't let word of what happened here reach the Holy Kingdom," she whispered.
Nyxtriel stood still in the smoke, her cloak fluttering from the force of Daemon's destruction.
Screams echoed through the ruined city as Daemon tore through the last pockets of resistance. Soldiers tried to run. None made it far.
Duke Lark raised his sword one final time—
But Daemon was already in the air.
"Hell's Echo."
His voice cracked like thunder. The ground beneath him glowed red, then white.
BOOM.
A mushroom of black fire erupted, vaporizing the center of the battlefield. Flames twisted into faces—souls trapped in their final scream—before shattering like glass. The survivors turned to flee.
Daemon didn't let them.
He moved like a demon unleashed, cutting them down mid-step, his body soaked in blood and seething aura.
Nyxtriel blurred forward.
A clean strike to the back of his neck.
Daemon staggered, eyes flickering with something—recognition? Rage? Relief?
"Nyxtriel... you traitor..."
And then he collapsed.
She caught him before he hit the ground. His body was heavy, trembling.
All around them, silence fell.
What was once a kingdom was now a graveyard.
Nyxtriel lifted Daemon into her arms. His body radiated heat—far hotter than any fever. She gritted her teeth, eyes softening.
"Lord Seraphiel... if you're trying to claw your way back, then... maybe you two really aren't the same," she muttered. "I still don't understand you."
She made her way to the stables. The scent hit her before the sight—blood, burnt hair. Every horse lay dead, including Daemon's.
She sighed. "Figures. Guess we're flying."
Just as she turned, a powerful pulse of holy energy washed over the ruins. Nyxtriel froze.
She ducked behind a crumbling wall of the castle, cloaking her presence in shadow. Quietly, she peeked through a gap in the stone.
Four figures in white robes walked into view—three women, one man. Each wore a silver mask over their eyes, save for the tallest woman. Her mask was gold, ornate, gleaming in the half-light.
Holy Temple agents. Nyxtriel recognized the aura instantly.
She narrowed her eyes, listening.
"Thank the gods the citizens are safe. We'll bring them to the Holy Land for now," one said.
"Yes. At least they were spared."
"But what of the nobles who died fighting the demon?" another asked.
"We're still unsure if this was even a true demon," the gold-masked woman replied. "The energy left behind—it's nothing compared to the old ones. Still... we should investigate."
"You think it could be him?" the younger woman whispered. "The demon king's reincarnation from Veyrndor?"
"You mean that prince?" The leader tilted her head. "Perhaps. I'll contact Lilac.He should still be there."
Nyxtriel's foot shifted against loose stone.
Crack.
The four turned.
"Who's there?"
Nyxtriel held her breath and covered her mouth.
After a tense pause, the gold-masked woman stepped back. "Just a rat. Let's move."
The group walked on.
Nyxtriel waited a full minute before exhaling.
"That was too close..."
She looked down at Daemon, unconscious in her arms.
"The Holy Land knows now..." Nyxtriel whispered, brushing a hand over Daemon's forehead as he groaned in his sleep, sweat beading at his brow. His temperature was rising fast—too fast.
"No time to fly. They'll sense us."
She hoisted him onto her back and took off running, feet pounding against broken stone as she blurred through the ruins. Her speed was inhuman—less like a person and more like a phantom gliding through a dead city.
She needed to find Samuel.
Damn it... where is he?
The streets were empty. Collapsed buildings leaned against each other like dying trees. Fires still smoldered in some places. Nyxtriel turned a corner, skidding to a halt.
"Samuel!" she called, almost forgetting herself. "Human—I mean, Samuel!"
Suddenly, light.
A holy radiance exploded across the rubble just ahead. Nyxtriel ducked and rolled behind a fractured wall, keeping Daemon shielded with her body.
"Did you see something?" one of the women asked.
"I sensed demonic energy," said the man with the silver mask, scanning the wreckage. "Faint... but close."
The gold-masked woman narrowed her eyes. "He's right. It's strange, but it's here."
"Should we split up?" the man grinned. "I'll be the first to find them."
Nyxtriel clicked her tongue and gently laid Daemon on the ground, her hands glowing red as she readied for a fight.
But then—
"Who goes there?" a sharp voice rang out.
All four holy agents turned as an old man stepped into view, cane tapping against the broken stone.
Samuel.
Nyxtriel's magic fizzled out as she ducked her head. From behind the ruined wall, she saw him glance in her direction—but he pretended not to.
The woman in the golden mask stepped forward, eyeing him carefully. "You're a survivor, old man. Are you hurt? Did you lose anyone?"
"Lose someone?" Samuel scratched his scruffy beard. "Nah, just me. I was taking a nap when the sky fell down. Woke up and half my city was gone. Hell of a wake-up call."
The four exchanged looks, pity softening their guarded stances.
"You should come with us," one of them said. "We'll take you to the Holy Land. It's safer."
Samuel waved them off with a grumble. "Thanks, but I'm staying. This city raised me. If the gods want me gone, they can send better company."
They hesitated again. Then the gold-masked woman nodded.
"Very well. But should you change your mind, the gates of the temple are open."
The group turned and walked off into the mist.
When their footsteps faded, Samuel let out a long sigh and turned toward the ruins.
"You can come out now, girl."
Nyxtriel stepped into view, cradling Daemon again.
"Thanks," she said, her voice low.
Samuel grunted. "That's the second time you've thanked me. Save it." He crouched beside her. "Let me take a look at him."