Evil. The word itself was a weapon, sharp enough to cut through flesh but vague enough to leave scars on the soul. It branded races, condemned kingdoms, and painted entire histories in shades of black and red. Dragons were evil because they burned villages. Dark elves were evil because they thrived in shadows. Humans? Oh, humans were the worst kind of evil—cunning, selfish, and endlessly greedy.
But demons? Demons weren't just evil; they WERE Evil incarnate. From the dawn of time until this very moment, their existence defied logic, morality, or balance. They didn't belong to the mortal realm—they invaded it. A cancerous anomaly spreading chaos wherever they tread.
Splash!
"…such fragile beings…" the shadow growled, his claws slick with blood as he slid them free from the dark elf leader's corpse. Around him, fire licked hungrily at the ruins of what had once been a thriving settlement. Destruction stretched as far as the eye could see—houses reduced to ash, bodies scattered like broken dolls, silence so thick it pressed against the ears like cotton soaked in death.
The giant hulking demon turned toward a burning house nearby, its flickering flames casting grotesque shadows across his already monstrous form. Something about the silence emanating from within drew him closer. With unnatural gentleness for hands that could crush boulders, he pushed open the charred door.
"…they killed themselves?" he muttered under his breath, tilting his head slightly at the scene before him. Naked dark elves lay sprawled on the floor, their chests pierced by their own sigil knives. Blood pooled beneath them, sticky and dark, while a hungry and lustful hobgoblin continued humping against one of the corpses even as life fled completely.
Prideful fuckers. Their arrogance hadn't saved them—it had slaughtered them.
"…they could have lived for a few more months," he sneered dismissively. "Just needed to give birth to new hybrids every day… idiots."
"##@#$###@&*&!"
Someone called his name—perhaps a fellow demon in the flesh, or maybe a coworker.
"#@$$$#... What happened? I thought you'd be late. Did you Massacred everyone?" the giant demon questioned.
The demon with many horns adorning his helm smiled, his red eyes gleaming with pleasure.
"...My shadow found something... interesting. I'm going to look into it," he muttered. "Take care of this place and get going..." With that, he vanished instantly.
"Wait, ##$#$#&*!! That fucker!" The giant demon seethed. "Dumping all the work on me... Why the hell did he look so happy? That bastard—I'm gonna bitch about him to the General."
Still fuming, he waved his hand. An epic-tier mana circle materialized before him, its structure woven from broken symbols that matched their names.
"&$$$ explosion %!$#$"**
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.
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...BOOOOOOOOMM!!!
.At the edge of the forest.
Something in the distance caught his attention.
Atlas froze mid-step, his golden eyes narrowing as the distant explosion tore through the night like thunder ripping apart clouds. He turned sharply to the group behind him, their faces pale and drawn tight with fear.
"Did you guys hear that?" he demanded, voice low but edged with urgency.
Silence greeted him. Not the comfortable silence of camaraderie, but the suffocating kind—the kind born of dread clawing at your throat. Everyone stood frozen, half-expecting the demon to reappear and finish what it started. But there was nothing. No sound. Not even the wind dared move.
"…only me," Atlas admitted finally, exhaling slowly. "It sounded like an explosion. Apologies, let's keep moving." His tone carried authority now, leaving no room for argument. He adjusted the weight of his pack, which held nearly a third of their camp supplies, and pressed forward without waiting for confirmation.
The captain fell into step beside him, her burden heavier than his both literally and figuratively. Her gaze darted between him and the horizon, searching for threats lurking in the darkness. She opened her mouth once, hesitated, then spoke softly.
"…Atla… Your Highness," she corrected herself quickly, swallowing hard. "Things aren't looking well. You know the demon will eventually reach us. And we're far away from any town with enough military might to take down a higher demon."
Atlas sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off an impending headache. Of course, he knew all this. Every single one of them did. What choice did they have? Running wasn't an option—not when running meant abandoning hope altogether. Still, her words stung because they rang true.
He glanced back at the group trailing behind them, studying their faces carefully. Some wore expressions of determination, others masked fear poorly. But a few—too many—looked haunted. The demon's promise lingered in their minds like poison seeping into veins: 'Whoever gives me that boy gets the power to use an epic-tier skill.'
'That fucking demon said he'd grant an epic-tier spell,' Atlas thought bitterly, shaking his head. 'Fuck me. That's a demon for you…'
Atlas felt the weight of inevitability pressing down on him like a collapsing sky. He knew what was coming. They all did. The air smelled of sulfur and despair, thick enough to choke on, and every heartbeat seemed to echo louder than the last. Fear wasn't just an emotion here—it was a living thing, writhing inside their chests like worms burrowing deeper with each passing second.
He glanced at the captain, expecting to see the same dread mirrored in her eyes. But no. Her gaze met his, steady and sharp, though a faint blush crept across her cheeks when he spoke.
"…you are different, Captain," Atlas said quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and something darker—something akin to longing.
She turned slightly red, biting her lip as if trying to suppress some unspoken truth. "I know," she replied after a pause, her tone firm despite the tremor beneath it. "Our only bet is the salt. I don't know what kind of higher demon he is for the salt to work against his original body. So pray, Atlas. Pray for whatever God or faith you have left."
Her words hung there, heavy and raw, cutting through the suffocating tension like a blade slicing silk. And yet, they weren't wrong. Prayer—or desperation disguised as prayer—was all any of them had now.
By nightfall, the camp resembled a fortress carved out of fear itself. Every grain of salt had been poured into intricate patterns around their makeshift perimeter, forming barriers that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. To make it stronger, the medic from the church sprinkled holy water over the lines, muttering prayers in a language none of them understood. It might not work. Probably wouldn't. But everyone gave it their best shot anyway.
They waited. And waited. The silence grew heavier, pressing against their eardrums like cotton soaked in dread. The stench of decay grew stronger, clawing at their nostrils until breathing became unbearable. Still, the demon didn't show himself.
"…that shit fuck!" the captain cursed suddenly, breaking the oppressive quiet. "He's playing games."
Atlas clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Yes, he already saw the demon—the red light glowing faintly behind the trees, watching them like a predator sizing up prey. But he kept silent, letting the others stew in their terror. Telling them would only push them closer to the edge they were already teetering on.
Finally, night fell fully, wrapping the forest in suffocating darkness. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional crackle of embers from their dying fire. Then came the voice—a low whisper cutting through the void like a knife.
"…I'm sorry, Your Highness…" someone muttered, stepping forward hesitantly before lunging at Atlas from behind, a dagger flashing in the dim light.
But before the blade could find its mark, the captain intervened, shoving the attacker away with enough force to send him sprawling. The knife clattered to the ground, skittering out of reach. She stood between them, her sword drawn and gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
"You fool," she spat, her voice dripping venom. "That's exactly what the demon wants. You're just playing into his hands."
The man scrambled to his feet, tears streaming down his face as he stared at Atlas with wild eyes. "So what? What can I do? What should I do? I have my daughter Leny waiting for her dad to come back. I'm dead either way. At least sacrificing you gives her hope. If this buys me even a sliver of safety, then I'll gladly take it…"
His voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his own guilt and desperation. More murmurs rose among the group, hesitant at first but growing louder. Eyes darted nervously between Atlas and the captain, weighing options they knew were futile.
Atlas stepped forward, his golden eyes blazing like twin suns. "How many of you feel the same?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the chaos like thunder splitting the heavens.
One by one, people began moving toward him, abandoning their posts near the salt barrier. Only three remained steadfast—the fake prince, one loyal guard, and the captain herself, who now stood protectively in front of Atlas, her sword raised defiantly.
"Atlas," she whispered urgently, never taking her eyes off the approaching mob. "You and I can take all these traitors."
But Atlas didn't respond. Instead, he struck her swiftly across the back, knocking her unconscious instantly. He caught her before she hit the ground, laying her down gently. His expression softened momentarily, filled with admiration and regret.
"…such honor and valor," he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You should've been a knight or a queen."
Then, turning to the crowd, his voice hardened again, sharp enough to cut glass. "Learn something from her, you bunch of cowards!"
His shout forced everyone to take a step back, their resolve wavering under the weight of his fury. For a moment, the clearing was utterly still, save for the sound of Atlas's ragged breathing.
Casually, almost carelessly, Atlas exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Death terrified him—had always terrified him—but tonight, fear would have to wait its turn. With one final glance at the unconscious captain, he stepped out of the salt circle, leaving the fragile protection behind.
"Come on, fucker!" he roared into the darkness, his voice echoing like a war cry. "You wanted all this meat? COME AND FUCKING TASTE SOME!!"
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
"Well done, bravo…" the demon purred, finally emerging from the shadows in his true form. Long legs like those of a goat supported a grotesque torso covered in crimson spikes, while darker horns crowned his helm like twisted thorns reaching for the stars. His grin stretched unnaturally wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth dripping with malice.
"...Bra....VO"