DMZ
The DMZ had slowly turned into a village. Yurt-shaped tents ringed the conference building, and humans and beastmen mingled freely. Some were merchants chasing new opportunities; others were settlers just trying to survive. Even though they were stuck in the middle of a wasteland, life wasn't half bad thanks to the Muricans installing water pipes, public bathrooms, and other facilities.
Children ran along the dusty road, playing without a care in the world. They weren't afraid of the human soldiers or the demon soldiers—both sides were "the nice people." Especially the demons, who kept handing out colorful sweets the locals had never seen before.
Hannya, the diplomat stationed at the border, was practically a celebrity. Everyone in the DMZ knew her for her friendliness and bright smile. One kid in particular—a wolf boy named Little Timmy—was glued to her whenever she visited.
"Hey, lady, what did you bring today?" Little Timmy asked, tail wagging.
"Nuh-uh, say it nicely," Hannya teased.
"Pleeease, big sis…"
She chuckled and pulled out a few hamburgers from her bag.
"Whoaah! Hamburgers! YEAAY!"
They sat on a bench, sharing burgers while the sun dipped lower.
"Big sis… Do you think Mommy and I can come to your kingdom?" Little Timmy asked between bites.
"I don't know yet, Timmy. My… bosses are still figuring out how to bring you in."
"Really!? Wow! I'd love to live there! Your kind are nice. All these times, people were lying when they said the demons are evil."
Hannya smiled sadly.
"I mean, some humans are okay too," Little Timmy added. "Like the Ravendawn soldiers; sometimes they played with me. But the Vandorians, they are bad people… When Mommy and I were in Vandoria, we were running a lot because they were always trying to make us slaves."
"…Why don't you and your mommy move to Ravendawn?" Hannya asked.
"We tried, but there's not enough food there. That's why Mommy brings me here."
Hannya's heart ached hearing that.
At sunset, she climbed into a Humvee with other diplomatic staff and soldiers.
"Ok, big sis has to go back to the base now. I'll see you again tomorrow, Timmy."
Little Timmy held a bag of hamburgers for his mommy.
"Thank you, big sis."
As the Humvee rolled away, Hannya couldn't stop thinking about Little Timmy's story. Suddenly, she stuck her head out of the window and shouted,
"TIMMY! TOMORROW BIG SIS WILL BRING YOU SOME SWEETS! AND AMAZING FOOD CALLED PIZZA!"
Little Timmy jumped in excitement.
"PROMISE??"
"PROMISE!!"
They waved to each other with big smiles under the warm glow of sunset.
---
Little Timmy's Tent
"MOMMY! MOMMY! LOOK! BIG SIS GAVE US HAMBURGERS."
"Oh, Timmy! Thank you, my boy," his mother said, hugging him tight.
"Oh, and Big Sis said her boss is trying to get us inside her kingdom."
"It would be nice if we could go there."
"I know, right? I bet there'll be a lot of hamburgers there and also pizza!"
"What is pizza?"
"I dunno, but Big Sis said it's an amazing food, and she'll bring it tomorrow."
Little Timmy's mother smiled at her son, and they enjoyed their peaceful evening with love and laughter.
---
Later at dawn, Little Timmy was sleeping. Suddenly, his mother shook him awake.
"Timmy, wake up… wake up."
"Mommy? What's wrong?"
When Little Timmy was fully awake, he realized that many people were screaming and fire was everywhere.
"Timmy, you need to hide," she whispered, her voice trembling.
She shoved him under the bed, piling blankets and junk on top to cover him.
Suddenly, a soldier kicked their door open. Little Timmy peeked from his hiding place. The soldier wore ancient Roman-like armor.
"DIE, YOU LOWLY BEASTMAN!"
"MERCY! OH PLEASE, MERCY!" his mother cried.
The Vandorian soldier struck Little Timmy's mother with his sword, spurting her blood everywhere. The sword came down again and again. Little Timmy watched the slaughter in horror, his hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his cries.
"HAHAHAHA!" The soldier kept laughing while hacking her corpse long after she was gone.
Similar horrors unfolded across the DMZ that night.
---
4 Miles from the DMZ
A few hours later, the sun was rising. A Humvee convoy rumbled toward the village. Hannya sat inside with a stack of pizza boxes in her lap, smiling.
"That sure is a lot of pizza, ma'am!" the driver said.
"Yeah! I promised it to a little kid… I'm his big sis, you know," she replied proudly.
Suddenly, the radio crackled.
"10-33, 10-33, we've got visual of smoke coming from the DMZ."
"Copy that. Proceed with caution," the driver replied.
Hannya stared at the rising smoke, dread tightening her chest.
---
DMZ
The DMZ was now in ruins. Many tents had already turned to ash, while others continued burning. Dead bodies lay scattered everywhere—humans, beastmen, and even the demon soldiers who had been stationed there. Murica's Rangers advanced in a sweeping formation, while Hannya trailed behind them from a safer distance, visibly shaken.
From behind a corner, laughter echoed. A group of Vandorian soldiers were mocking a bloodied Ravendawn soldier.
"Contact, 2 o'clock," a ranger whispered.
The Vandorian soldiers remained oblivious as the Murican Rangers closed in.
"You beast-lover scum. You should go to hell with them," one soldier sneered.
Another raised his sword, ready to strike.
RATATATATATATATA
Gunfire erupted. The Vandorian's head jerked back, blood bursting from the impact as a bullet tore through his skull. His comrades fell in the same instant, riddled with rounds before they could react.
Silence returned. All the Vandorians were dead.
The Rangers approached the trembling Ravendawn soldier.
"You. Tell me what happened here," a ranger demanded.
"They… they ordered us to kill the demon soldiers and the civilians," the soldier choked out. "I refused. So they tried to kill me."
"Who are they?"
"The Vandorians. Their main force already left."
Hannya's fear detonated into panic. She bolted forward.
"TIMMY! TIMMY!" she screamed, sprinting deeper into the wreckage.
"MA'AM! IT'S DANGEROUS!" the Ranger captain shouted.
She ignored him. Her voice cracked as she continued yelling, desperate, praying the wolf boy was still alive.
"TIMMY! …TIMMY, WHERE ARE YOU?!"
A frail voice answered.
"Big… sis…"
Hannya spun around. A small hand trembled upward from beneath a pile of corpses.
She ran.
Little Timmy lay in the dirt, drenched in blood.
"Timmy! Don't worry, I'll get help. You'll be okay!" she said, dropping to her knees.
"…Big… sis…"
"No, no. Don't talk. Save your strength, please," she pleaded, tears streaking her face.
"I NEED MEDICAL SUPPORT HERE!" she yelled at the approaching Rangers.
Timmy forced a tiny smile.
"Did you… bring the pizza…?"
Hannya nodded rapidly, sobbing.
"Yes. Yes, I brought the pizza. So many kinds. And sweets too."
Timmy's breathing thinned. His body slackened.
"You're… the best… big… sis…"
His hand fell.
His eyes faded.
"Timmy… no… no…" Hannya pulled him into her arms, clutching his lifeless body.
And then, Hannya screamed her lungs out to the sky.
"WHYYYYYYYYYYYY~!!"
"CUUUT! CUT! FUCKING CUT!" a booming voice shouted through a megaphone.
The scream came from an obese demon sitting in a director's chair. He stomped angrily toward the scene.
"Who the fuck told you to scream like that!?? I said I want a subtle cry! A muffled, heartbreaking cry!"
"I'm so sorryyy!" Hannya whimpered.
"We're taking a break!" commanded the obese director.
The film crew sighed in relief. "Hannya" transformed back into a succubus actress. The "dead bodies" stood, stretching and shifting back into their succubus and incubus forms. "Little Timmy" leaned casually on a crate, smoking a cigarette beside his hooker/assistant.
Meanwhile, the real Hannya stood beside the obese director, Belphegor, who flopped back into his chair.
"Mr. Belphegor, may I ask you something, sir?" she said cautiously.
"Mm? What is it?"
"Why the hell are you turning me into this crybaby big-sis material?"
"Tch, you government people just don't understand art. It's called character development!"
Even though Belphegor's official title was Minister of Culture, he spent most of his time outside the office making his own "cultural products." Solo had complained once, but Belphegor had simply argued, "Demons don't have culture. I'm fixing that." Solo had lost the argument immediately.
"Say, is your office really sure this will go international?" Belphegor asked. "Those humans don't even have TV."
"They have something called a comm crystal; it works pretty much the same," Hannya replied.
"I hope those things have decent resolution," Belphegor muttered.
An attendant approached Hannya, delivering her mail. She opened the envelope and examined the photographs inside.
"Sir, there's mail from Mr. Asmodeus's office. They sent some pictures of the Vandorian military."
"Hmm, let me see."
Belphegor examined them closely.
"WHAT THE FUCK!?"
---
The Black House
A green orc hunched over his computer, wearing reading glasses, trying to recreate an MQ-9 Reaper drone blueprint. One problem with his unique skill was that there was no download feature. Basically, he had to redraw everything manually down to the smallest detail—and the bigger problem was that he sucked at drawing. Before computers were invented, his most epic failure had been an oil refinery that exploded three months after completion due to a "faulty design," killing hundreds of demon workers. The surrounding city, however, declared it a beautiful fireworks event and made it an annual celebration.
Lilith and Mo burst into Solo's office.
"Solo, we have a problem," Lilith said.
"What is it?" He folded his glasses.
"I just got an angry call from Belphy saying he needs another month to finish the productions due to, quote-unquote, 'fucking wrong wardrobes.' Apparently, the Vandorian references we gave him are a couple hundred years outdated."
"And? We just need to wait, right?"
"Unfortunately, we don't have time for that, sir." Mo handed over a couple of aerial photographs.
"Our spy plane caught the Vandorian fleets being amassed at the port of Dawn. Meanwhile, we also see a lot of movement at Ravendawn Castle. Every day a battalion marches into their castle, and we predict more will come."
"We can't wait for Belphy anymore," Lilith concluded.
"Damn… but what about our PR?"
Murica had recently managed to make contact with some other kingdoms. But the problem was that being a Demon Kingdom meant everyone already considered you the bad guy, shutting doors to Murica's diplomats. That's why Levi and Mo came up with the idea to use the upcoming conflicts with the Vandorians as PR material. They could soften the world's opinion by showing that the demons were the victims. Hence, they asked Belphy to make a promotional video about it.
"Maybe… rather than making fiction, we just record a real one?" Lilith suggested. "I mean, Belphy's storyline shouldn't be that far off from reality."
"You're thinking about a false flag operation?" Solo said. "Well… it's kind of hard to make demons look like victims without… actual demon victims. I can't just let our soldiers or diplomats be killed and take a picture of it. They're expensive."
Mo shrugged. "Hmm, how about demons that nobody will miss?"
"Who?"
"Maybe… the Jehovah's Accusess?"
"..."
Even demon nations had annoying religious cults scattered everywhere, spreading the teachings of some random demon god. Many of them weren't dangerous—just plain annoying.
"Yeah, that can work," Solo said instantly.
"Yep, totally. No one will miss those door knockers," Lilith agreed.
Later that night, Belphy reportedly transformed back into his true demon form and rampaged on the set after being told he needed to redo the production, changing it from a war drama into a documentary.
---
Ravendawn Kingdom, Raven Castle
Duke Pierre and Archbishop Antonio stood on the balcony, watching fresh troops pour into Raven Castle. Most were mercenaries—men who carried unrest like a profession. Ravendawn citizens and even the castle's own soldiers suffered under them, but numbers drowned every protest before it could grow teeth.
"…Are you sure this will be the last one?"
Duke Pierre turned back to answer King Luxtor's question, patience wearing thin.
"How many times do I have to repeat myself? Yes. The king promised you your sovereignty back after this. Vandoria won't need this backwoods territory anymore once the war ends."
King Luxtor exhaled, the weight on his shoulders only shifting, not lifting.
"…Thank you, Duke Pierre."
He gave a stiff nod, then turned and walked away. The Duke smirked, quiet but sharp.
"Are you truly prepared to let go of this castle?" Antonio asked, arms folded inside his ceremonial robes.
"Let go? No," Pierre replied. "This place is perfect for rounding up the slaves before they're shipped to Vandoria."
Antonio frowned. "And you believe the owner will agree to such use?"
"Which owner?" Pierre chuckled softly. "None of them will be alive after this war to argue otherwise."
His eyes returned to the courtyard below, where the line of mercenaries seemed endless—marching in like iron-gray ants through the castle gate.
He smiled as they passed, already imagining a future built from the bodies they would soon replace.