Blood danced in the air. The slaughter was intoxicating.
Bird hadn't enjoyed soul harvesting like this in ages. Though he bore the title "Prince of the Abyss," his life had been anything but regal. Among the true princes of the Abyss, Bird was still weak—barely worthy of the name.
Life in the Abyss was cruel. To survive, Bird had to grow stronger. And to grow stronger, he had to be cautious—especially around his so-called friends. For a demon born of chaos, restraint and deception were unnatural. They preferred to settle disputes with bloodshed. But Bird had learned to endure. He had learned to lie.
Yet this wasn't the Abyss.
This was the Prime Plane.
Here, humans were plentiful. Their souls were delicious. Their screams, divine.
The town had no warning. The first to notice were the drunks—naturally. The inn's first floor was a tavern, the second floor rented out as guest rooms.
A dwarven warrior was the first to sense something wrong. He was gazing lovingly at his final glass of brandy when he heard a loud crash. Then another.
He froze, eyes locked on the window.
Beside him sat a bearded human warrior. Following the dwarf's gaze, he peered out into the night. The red moon cast a faint glow, but it wasn't enough to pierce the darkness. The human saw nothing.
"Hey, what did you see?" the bearded man asked. Dwarves had low-light vision—under a moon like this, it was practically daylight for them.
"If you buy me a drink, I'll tell you," the dwarf replied, smacking his lips.
"Oh, come on!" The bearded man laughed, slapping the dwarf's shoulder. But the dwarf didn't budge. Eventually, the man gave in. "Damn it! May the devils drag you off! Bartender, another brandy!"
The dwarf grinned, downed his drink, burped, and said, "If my eyes aren't playing tricks, I saw the roof of this tavern."
"The roof? Out there?" The brandy was clearly working—his companion looked confused.
"Right there." The dwarf pointed into the darkness.
The bearded man shook his head. "You're messing with me. You think I'm drunk enough to fall for that?"
The dwarf's eyes were glued to the fresh glass of brandy. His face, already flushed, turned crimson with rage. "You bastard! I'm not lying! Dwarves don't lie! Give me that drink!"
The bearded man dodged the dwarf's short arms. "Ha! You say you're not lying, but your story has a flaw. A perfect lie—except I saw through it."
The dwarf finally tore his eyes from the brandy. "What flaw?"
Grinning, the man pointed into the dark. "How do you know that's our tavern's roof and not someone else's? That's the hole in your story."
The dwarf slammed the table. "Bullshit! I saw the sign on the roof! It's ours! I can't read, but I know it's this tavern!"
"Really?" The man looked longingly at the brandy.
"Yes!" the dwarf insisted.
"You swear you're not lying?" The man's eyes filled with doubt.
The dwarf saw it—and smiled. That drink is mine. It should've been mine all along. "I swear! Dwarves don't lie!"
The bearded man looked him dead in the eye. "Alright then. Let's say I lied to you." He raised the glass and drank it all.
The dwarf went pale. He stood frozen for a moment, then exploded. "You damned liar! May the devils drag you off!"
"No devils," said a voice. "But a demon will do."
"Hell, same thing!" the dwarf snapped.
"No, no. Not the same. But you'll find out soon enough."
A massive sword tore through the wall, slicing tables and bodies in half.
The blade withdrew. The two drunks' upper halves soared into the air. Their lower halves remained seated, perfectly still.
The dwarf's torso hit the ground. He wasn't dead yet. His intestines spilled out, but he was still smiling. Even as his body split, his eyes never left the brandy. "Lucky me. Not a drop spilled." He crawled toward the glass, blood gushing from his wound.
"Hah. No time to waste. Bottoms up."
"No, you're out of time." Bird raised his greatsword. An eye embedded in the hilt opened, casting a wicked gaze on the dwarf.
The dwarf growled, "Bastard. That was my last sip." Then he collapsed. He never tasted it. The sword's eye devoured his soul.
Bird grinned. Under the crimson moon, the massacre began. He sang. He danced.
"Crimson moonlight, a chill in the breeze. I dance tonight, for the beautiful lady. Her beauty divine, her body ablaze. But alas, no heart remains. Alas, no heart remains."
Warriors stumbled out of the tavern. Not to fight the demon—but to protect the bar. Without the tavern, there'd be no more drinks. They roared incoherently, swinging swords as they charged.
Bird twirled. Firewalls erupted from the ground—Abyssal flame.
The fire pierced the night, lit the sky, and consumed everything: armor, hair, nails, flesh—and souls. The drunks became human torches, writhing on the ground, screaming in agony.
Bird frowned. The chaos disrupted his rhythm. That wouldn't do.
He snapped his fingers.
The burning men stood upright.
Another snap.
They stopped screaming. Their mouths shut. Their flames burned in perfect rhythm.
Another snap.
They began to dance—flames flickering in sync behind Bird.
"Excellent. Now, music."
The poor souls began to wail—each scream a different pitch.
Bird sang again:
"Crimson moonlight, a chill in the breeze. I dance tonight, for the beautiful lady. Pure as snow, hot as flame. Her soul divine, I cannot look away. Alas, no heart remains. Alas, no heart remains."
The night filled with twisted music—screams and song blending into a grotesque symphony. The Warrior's Guild was alerted. Flames lit the sky. Bird's demonic form loomed, terrifying and grotesque.
The warriors didn't fear monsters. Even one from the Abyss wouldn't stop them. They armed themselves quickly—but by the time they were ready, half were already dead. The rest, bleeding and broken, joined the dance.
Bird spun, his greatsword slicing through the air. His dance was a message: You were fast—but not fast enough.
The warriors gritted their teeth. Their eyes burned with resolve. Though only half remained, they were the elite—skilled swordsmen, clad in armor, wielding sharp blades, and hearts full of courage.
At the front stood their guildmaster. Towering, muscular, clad in the finest armor, wielding the sharpest blade—he was their strength, their pride.
He was horrified. The scene before him was beyond nightmare. A hellish ballet of death and madness. Rage consumed him.
"Kill him! Slay the demon! Tear him apart!" He wasn't one for speeches. He simply declared his intent.
"By the gods!" he roared, raising his sword and charging.
"By the gods!" echoed hundreds of voices behind him. Hundreds of blades rose.
The battle erupted in an instant.
The guildmaster led the charge—agile as a cat, swift as a deer. He leapt over fire pillars, rolled past sweeping strikes. His eyes were locked on the demon. The screams, the song, the horror—none of it shook him.
His sword flashed like lightning, a serpent poised to strike. He lunged, driving the blade deep into Bird's chest.
Right where the heart should be.
The song stopped. The dancers froze. The screams fell silent.
The warriors cheered. The opera was over. The nightmare was ending.
The guildmaster smiled.
Bird opened his eyes—and smiled back.
Only one would smile in the end.
The guildmaster panicked, tried to pull his sword free, to leap away. But Bird wrapped his arms around him—like a lover's embrace.
One hand held the sword. The other raised the guildmaster's arm, as if inviting him to dance.
They looked ready to perform a cha-cha.
"Welcome," Bird whispered. "To share this dance with you tonight—it's truly exquisite."
The guildmaster's face turned pale.
"Oh, your expression is divine. Shall we begin? Music, please. Passion ignites. Cha-cha!"
The dance of death resumed.
Bird's puppets scattered, dancing clumsily, killing wildly. Tears streamed down their faces.
They danced with blades, stabbing friends and kin alike.
Cha-cha-cha, loved ones slain. Cha-cha-cha, homes in flames. Cha-cha-cha, blood and bone. Cha-cha-cha, hell on earth.
And Bird? He simply held the guildmaster close, letting the man's firm chest press against his own. He spun, and spun, and spun.
Then he stopped.
Tilted his head.
Cha-cha-cha. A silhouette split in half.
They were a meat grinder—each spin of Bird's blade carving a bloody arc through the crowd. Flesh flew. Blood rained.
Bird sang again:
Crimson moonlight, a chill in the breeze. Scarlet blood, poured over me. Screams of sorrow, my symphony. Strong men, dance with me. Spin, spin, spin. The world spins, blood soars. On such a night, what more could I desire? This beautiful night shall dwell forever in my heart.
The warriors charged in waves—only to be torn apart in waves. The guildmaster's eyes burned red. His heart twisted with grief. His sword was gone. But he still had fists. Fists failed. He had nails. They'd been trimmed yesterday. He had teeth.
He lunged, biting into Bird's neck like a rabid beast.
Bird frowned. "You cling to me like a woman, and now you fight like one—with your mouth?" He shook his head. "How utterly grotesque."
White ribs burst from Bird's chest, piercing the guildmaster. Not even the finest armor could stop them.
Blood gushed from the man's mouth. He stopped biting. He hung limp in Bird's arms, twitching like a broken doll.
The song continued. The dance did not stop.
Bird tore through the warriors, armor and all. Their swords were sharp—but no hands remained to wield them. He shattered their courage, their resolve, and wore their bravery like trophies on his chest.
Just as the last line was about to break—reinforcements arrived.
Knights and priests from the temple had finally come. The holy warriors were ecstatic. To them, evil was a gift—a chance to fight, to purge, to prove their faith. They left the priests behind and charged, shouting the name of the Holy Light, spurring their horses toward the demon.
The warriors breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike foot soldiers, mounted knights brought devastating force. Even the most fearsome Abyssal fiends avoided a paladin's charge.
These were temple guardians—not paladins—but Bird wasn't a true Abyssal lord either.
The horses thundered forward, hooves pounding in rhythm, as if accompanying Bird's twisted symphony. The knights lowered their lances, gleaming with holy light, ready to skewer the demon.
Then disaster struck.
Bird didn't dodge. He didn't counter-charge like a man. He stood tall, unmoving, and roared.
The roar was tangible—an explosion of sound that rippled outward.
The horses faltered. Their legs trembled. They collapsed.
They were cowardly beasts, unfit for war. Bird's roar shattered their nerves.
The knights, caught in the momentum, were launched from their saddles like cannonballs—landing in a heap before Bird.
"Damn it! I told them we needed better horses!" one knight cursed as he lay beside his comrades. "These nags have the spine of jelly!"
Bird, ever helpful, stepped forward and popped their heads like balloons—mercifully ending their suffering before they could stand.
The priests tried to cast holy spells to banish Bird back to the Abyss. But they lacked the power. Their magic was little more than a spotlight—illuminating the demon as he danced.
Bird sang louder. His puppets screamed harder. They tore the priests apart.
By the time the mages arrived, the town was already lost. The Nine Temples lay in ruins. The streets were ablaze.
Even with the mages' timely arrival, it was too late. The battle had raged through the night. The mages were groggy, half-asleep, unable to focus their spells.
The survivors fled with the mages to the high tower—the town's last bastion. Built by wizards, it was designed to withstand brute force. Against savage foes, it was nearly impenetrable. Most enemies were incinerated before reaching the base.
But not this time.
There was only one tower. Inside were two mages and three apprentices. One of them had just rolled out of bed, still in his favorite bear-print pajamas.
"Achoo!" he sneezed, blinking sleepily. "What's going on? Why all the noise? Don't people know mages need quality sleep? And who are you all?"
Then the ground shook.
"What the hell? An earthquake? And seriously, who are you people? Why are you in my house?"
No one had time to answer.
The tower collapsed.
Bird had no intention of climbing. Why bother, when he could bring it down?
He pulled the guildmaster's corpse from his chest and hurled it at the tower's base. The body exploded on impact—magic-enhanced.
The tower wobbled.
Bird spun again. His greatsword struck the weakened base.
The tower fell.
Bird sang:
Skittish horses, knights unseated. Mighty mages, half-asleep. Tower so tall, piercing the sky, Crumbles down, crumbles down. Tonight, crimson flows. Tonight, my heart soars. Tonight, I am free.
And so, the town's defenders were annihilated.
Only flames remained—painting the sky red. Only screams echoed—high and shrill.
Bird raised his arms like a conductor. The cries and wails rose and fell with his gestures, forming a grotesque symphony.
The red moon climbed higher. The night deepened. The music swelled. The slaughter continued.