The night stretched endlessly across the Abyssal Citadel, a fortress carved from obsidian and bathed in the crimson glow of the Blood Moon.
It was a realm untouched by time, where shadows pulsed like living things and whispers of ancient horrors slithered through the halls. The air was thick with the scent of fire and decay, a reminder that even the stones beneath her throne had been forged in suffering.
And yet, amidst the swirling darkness, she sat—unchallenged, unshaken, and utterly, utterly bored.
The Demon Lord rested against her throne, chin propped upon one delicate hand, her crimson eyes half-lidded as she listened to Virion's droning report.
"Our forces were repelled at the Solmarian border," her advisor stated, his voice carefully measured. "The hero and his companions arrived sooner than anticipated. The defences are holding—for now."
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
Virion flinched.
She did not need to look at him to feel the subtle shift in his posture—the way his gloved fingers tensed at his sides, the way his tail flicked behind him in careful restraint.
Ah, fear.
Even among her own, it was ever-present.
The Demon Lord let the silence stretch, long enough for discomfort to coil in the air like a tightening noose.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"So," she murmured, tapping a single black nail against the armrest of her throne. "The so-called hero has finally entered the game."
Virion bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Her lips curled—not into a smile, not quite—but something akin to amusement.
"He killed our last commander, didn't he?"
Virion hesitated. "…Yes."
"Mm."
She had not expected that.
Oh, she had known the humans would summon their little "saviour." It was an old pattern, one that played out with the predictability of a tired legend.
A hero is summoned. A kingdom places its hopes upon their shoulders. They march forth, filled with righteous fury and reckless bravery.
And then?
They break.
Some faster than others. Some after watching their comrades fall, their spirits shattered by the weight of expectation. Some after realizing that this world was cruel, that no matter how bright their light burned, the darkness would always be waiting to swallow them whole.
She had watched it happen before. Many times.
But Leon Yuuki…
He was different.
Not in power—no, not yet—but in his nature.
Most heroes accepted their role without question. They wielded their swords and their holy magic with unshaken conviction, marching forward with the blind faith that the gods had chosen them for a reason.
But this one?
He had rejected the world itself.
She had seen it in the reports. The way he had challenged the king. The way his fury had nearly drowned the throne room in raw power.
And the girl—
The slave he had been given.
A cruel gift, wrapped in chains, meant to mold him into a proper king's pawn.
But instead of accepting it, instead of bending, he had raged.
How interesting.
The Demon Lord allowed herself a small chuckle, her voice echoing through the chamber.
Virion, to his credit, did not ask why she was amused. He had served her long enough to know that her thoughts ran deeper than what she chose to reveal.
Still, he was not without his own observations.
"My Lady," he ventured carefully, "I have studied the reports on the hero's battle. His sword… it is unlike any we have seen."
"Oh?" Her interest sharpened. "Go on."
Virion straightened. "It resonates with him. It reacts to his emotions, growing stronger with his rage. If he were to lose control completely—" He hesitated. "—it is possible that it would consume him."
Now that was intriguing.
A blade that fed off its wielder's emotions. Not forged. Not granted. But awakened.
A fragment of memory stirred in the back of her mind.
She had seen such power before. Long ago.
But that was a different era. A different war. And that hero…
He had not survived.
She rose from her throne in one slow, deliberate motion. The air itself seemed to tremble as she moved, the very shadows bending to her will.
Virion bowed deeper, pressing a fist to his chest.
"My Lady—"
"I will see him for myself," she said.
Virion stiffened. "…You intend to engage him?"
"No." She smiled—a cruel, knowing thing. "Not yet."
Not while he was still finding his footing. Not while he was still questioning himself.
No, it would be far more delicious to wait.
To watch.
To let him grow stronger—to let him taste victory, only to take everything from him when he least expects it.
That was how you broke a hero.
That was how you turned hope into despair.
Virion remained silent for a long moment. Then, he spoke—his voice careful, but undeniably curious.
"…And if he does not break?"
The Demon Lord let out a soft hum.
If Leon Yuuki did not break…
Then, perhaps—just perhaps—he would prove worthy.
Not as an enemy.
Not as a pawn.
But as something far more entertaining.
Her crimson eyes gleamed beneath the Blood Moon's glow.
"Then," she murmured, stepping into the shadows, letting the darkness swallow her whole, "I will simply have to claim him myself."
*
*
*
The roar of war had not ceased.
Even as the first demon commander fell, even as its severed head rested in the blood-soaked earth, the battle was far from over.
Leon barely had time to catch his breath before the air itself trembled.
A crushing wave of power rippled through the battlefield—heavy, suffocating, oppressive.
Then—
A new shadow loomed over the field.
No—two.
Leon's heart slammed against his ribs as two massive figures descended from the darkened sky, their wings spreading wide like harbingers of death.
Two more commanders had arrived.
And they were far stronger than the last.
The first landed in a crash of shattered stone and splintered earth.
A giant, its body covered in dark, chitinous armour, limbs unnaturally long, claws crackling with black lightning. Its head was twisted, elongated, a mockery of a human skull with empty, glowing blue eyes.
When it spoke, its voice rattled the air like rolling thunder.
"Your struggle is meaningless. Your deaths are inevitable."
The second landed with far less sound, but with no less presence.
It was smaller, more refined—a knight clad in jagged obsidian armour, its helmet featureless except for two burning crimson eyes. A massive black greatsword rested across its back, its surface humming with a terrible curse.
Unlike the first, this one did not speak.
It only moved.
One second, it stood across the battlefield.
The next, it was among them.
"Incoming!" Darius roared, swinging his greatsword just in time to clash with the black-armoured knight.
The impact sent shockwaves through the battlefield, the force so great that the ground cracked beneath them.
Leon barely saw the knight move—it was too fast, too precise. Darius was pushed back, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold his stance.
"Selene! Do something!" Lyra shouted as she weaved between the fight, trying to land a hit on the enemy but finding only air.
The sorceress was already casting.
"Incinerate—Solar Flare!"
A massive wave of fire exploded from her staff, engulfing the black knight in golden flames. The very air boiled under the intensity.
But when the fire cleared—
The knight stood unharmed.
And then—it struck back.
Faster than any human could react, its blade blurred, slicing through the air like a shadow given form.
Darius barely managed to block, but even his strength was not enough—he was sent flying back, crashing into the wreckage of a fallen building.
"Damn it!" Gaius rushed forward, slamming his shield down in front of the others. "This thing's no joke!"
Leon clenched his fists. He had to help.
But—
A new scream tore through the battlefield.
He turned—just in time to see a squad of warriors emerge from the shadows.
They came in silence, their presence a shadow among shadows.
The Night Reapers.
A name whispered in the dark. A legend of assassins who had long abandoned the concept of loyalty, serving only those who paid the highest price.
And leading them—
A woman clad in a dark battle-scarred cloak, her face obscured by a cracked, featureless mask.
Her presence alone turned the tide of battle, sending an unspoken message to the demons.
We are not your prey.
You are ours.
The giant, the black-eyed monstrosity, tilted its head, studying the newcomers.
Then, it laughed.
A deep, inhuman sound that made even the bravest knight's shudder.
"More rats have come to die."
The masked woman tilted her head slightly. Then—she moved.
Faster than even Leon could track, she vanished—only to reappear above the demon, twin daggers glinting in the moonlight.
She struck—once, twice, thrice, carving deep gashes into the creature's armoured flesh before twisting in the air and landing gracefully on the other side.
The demon staggered, its wounds oozing black ichor.
But it was not dead.
Far from it.
It snarled, its body pulsating—
And then, chains erupted from its flesh.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds, like writhing black serpents, lashing out in all directions.
The battlefield became a death trap.
The Chained Titan stood at the center of the carnage, its massive, elongated body writhing with living chains, each one moving with a mind of its own. A mockery of a god, stitched together with curses, pulsing with a black energy that made the very air feel heavy.
It had no fear.
No hesitation.
Because it had never known an enemy it could not break.
Until now.
Until them.
The Night Reapers had come.
They moved like ghosts.
Black-cloaked figures, their steps silent, their weapons already slick with demon blood. Some materialized from the shadows themselves, slipping between the chains as if they were dancing through mist. Others struck from a distance, their arrows and throwing knives flashing like falling stars.
And at their head—
A woman in a battle-worn mask, cracked down the center, revealing only a glimpse of ashen skin and cold, calculating violet eyes.
Sylva's former leader.
Cassandra, the Phantom Queen.
The giant roared, its body convulsing, and the chains struck outward like whips, tearing through the battlefield in every direction.
Some knights and soldiers were too slow.
They screamed as they were impaled, dragged into the air, their bodies ripped apart like paper dolls.
But the Night Reapers?
They did not die so easily.
Cassandra vanished in a flicker of movement, reappearing behind the Titan's leg, her twin curved blades flashing in the moonlight.
SLAASH!
Her attack was merciless, slicing deep into the Titan's armored hide, black ichor spilling onto the ground.
The Titan staggered, but it's chains moved faster than thought, twisting toward her in retaliation—
Only to meet nothing but air.
She was already gone.
A second later, she reappeared above its head, twisting in midair, her daggers aimed for the beast's glowing blue eyes—
Only for a wall of chains to intercept her, blocking her path.
A lesser assassin would have died.
Cassandra simply used the chains to propel herself higher, flipping midair, landing gracefully on a nearby rooftop as if she had never fallen at all.
And then—
Her command rang out.
"Break it."
The Night Reapers moved as one.
A shadow-cloaked archer knelt on a broken pillar, his hands already drawing back the string of his blackwood bow.
One arrow.
One kill.
The shot fired—not toward the Titan's heart, not toward its skull, but directly at the center of its chains.
The moment it hit—
BOOOM!
A burst of violet magic erupted from the impact, severing dozens of chains in an instant. The Titan screamed, its writhing limbs flailing as its own body was thrown off-balance.
A second assassin—a masked twin-blade user with golden eyes—darted underneath the beast, her daggers flashing faster than humanly possible as she severed tendons, cutting through exposed weak points in its grotesque anatomy.
Another Reaper leaped onto the Titan's back, a massive war axe in his hands, carving into its spine-like ridges with bone-crunching force.
Blood sprayed.
The Titan stumbled.
And then—
The trap was sprung.
Cassandra's voice rang through the battlefield.
"Now."
From above—
A dozen assassins rained down, their enchanted blades aiming for one single point.
The Titan's core.
A grotesque, pulsing blue heart visible through the gaping wound they had carved into its chest.
Their blades struck at once.
And the Titan howled—a deafening, ear-splitting sound that made even the demons pause in terror.
The Night Reapers landed gracefully as the monster collapsed to one knee, black ichor pouring like rivers from its broken form.
It was dying.
But not fast enough.
Cassandra landed directly in front of it, staring up into the beast's fading blue eyes.
For a moment, there was no sound except for the wheezing, broken breaths of the dying Titan.
Then, she tilted her head slightly.
"…You talk too much."
And with one final, precise strike, she drove her dagger straight into its skull.
The Titan stopped moving.
A second passed.
Then another.
And then—
Its body collapsed, crumbling into dust, leaving only its broken chains behind.
The battlefield fell into silence.
For the first time since the fight began, the demons… hesitated.
They had watched their commander fall.
Not to knights.
Not to holy warriors.
But to assassins from the dark.
And they feared them.
As they should.
Cassandra flicked her blood-stained blade, turning her gaze toward the remaining demons.
Her next words were spoken softly.
But the entire battlefield heard them.
"Run."
And they did.
The demons broke rank, fleeing into the night like hunted beasts.
And just like that—
The battle was won.