DMZ
The DMZ was slowly growing into a village. Yurt-shaped tents surrounded the conference building, and humans and beastmen lived together. And no, children were not running around the streets carefree. No parent in their right mind would bring their children anywhere near the literal gate of hell. The DMZ had become a safe haven for fugitives, runaway convicts, slavers, and prostitutes.
Sure, there were still children in the DMZ—but they were slaves brought by the merchants. At first, the merchants were eager to sell child slaves at an inflated price, believing that demons loved to eat children. The demons found this insulting. Why pay more for something smaller? By the time the merchants lowered the prices, the demons had already inspected the children's hygiene—which they found questionable. Politely, they refused, fearing it would upset their stomachs.
Hannya and Belphegor sat on a sideroad bench, watching the passersby. Every time someone walked past, Belphy muttered a comment.
"Nope… nope… nope… nope… nope… nope… nope… nope…"
Hannya stared blankly. "Sir, is this how you do it every time?"
"No. I hired a casting director for this shit. I'm doing it myself because of your office's ridiculous deadline. Are you sure Luke isn't working there?"
"No, sir. His Highness is not a member of personnel in our department. Please blame this on the Vandorians marching here."
"Tch. Someone needs to tell those savages that you can't rush art."
"But aren't you being told to do a documentary? I'm not from the movie industry, but I sure know there's nothing natural about this."
Hannya pointed to a group of Jehovah's Accusess stepping off a bus—all wearing short-sleeved white shirts, backpacks, and dark Bibles tucked into their chest pockets. They looked around the DMZ with wide-eyed wonder.
"Or those," Hannya added, pointing to the other side. There, many of the DMZ's population were lining up to enter an empty field surrounded by a barrier. A large banner outside read:
"4 Gold Coins for Playing House—see reception for details."
Small print: "We're sorry, Ravendawn soldiers are not eligible."
Inside the barrier, Belphy's production teams worked like madmen. Male DMZ residents were made to look less threatening; makeup artists covered scars, wardrobe upgraded children's rags to "less tragic," and prostitutes' outfits were made "less naked." Ravendawn soldiers reported the event, but no one could explain exactly what the demons were doing.
"Well," Belphy said, "do you feel sad when a killer or rapist is being slaughtered?"
"…why should I feel sad watching a human being killed? I'm a demon."
"Fair enough. But you're missing the theatrical point. Ugh, this is hopeless. Fly with me."
---
Behind a big rock at the outskirts of the DMZ, a 17-year-old human girl is being cornered by three thugs, which is a pretty rare event for today's DMZ. Before, the lowlives at the DMZ weren't scared to create trouble, but the demon soldiers always quickly put it to a stop by killing both the perpetrators and the victims, sending a clear message to the whole village that the demon soldiers really hate to write a report.
"Oh, come on, Ivy, stop running," Thug A taunted. "You know we can always find you."
"You fuckers, stop chasing me! You already have my gold." She snapped, pointing at the pouch in Thug A's hand—the one the demons had given her.
"Hehehe, I know, but look at you. You're so pretty now after the demons pampered you."
Thug A forcefully grabs her face, while Thugs B and C hold both her hands.
"My dick misses you, you know." He said. "I know that you miss it too."
Thug A starts kissing Ivy forcefully with his wet mouth, making it hard for her to breathe. But then she bit him. Hard.
"AAAAAAGH!!"
Ivy spat out a chunk of Thug A's lips from her mouth. She then grinned, brandishing Thug A's blood in her mouth. Thug A is screaming in pain.
"YOU BITCH"
He punched her to the ground and kicked her over and over.
"You slutty pig! You dare to do that to me!?"
Above the scene, Hannya and Belphy float while watching the whole ordeal quietly.
"This is such a cliché." Hannya comments
Tired of kicking, Thug A then decides to strip his pants.
"A lowly bitch like you doesn't deserve my dick! You deserve this instead."
Thug A starts peeing on the weak and bloodied Ivy on the ground.
"Dude, gross!" Thug C complained. "How can I fuck her like this? Disgusting!"
After a few minutes, all the thugs then leave Ivy's motionless and dirty body.
"Boring," scoffs Hannya. "Let's continue looking somewhere—"
"Not yet," Belphy interrupted.
On the ground, Ivy began to laugh—painfully, hysterically. She pulled out not one but two gold pouches: her own and the thugs.
"Keehehe… idiots…"
Belphy made a rectangle frame with his fingers, framing her.
"Oh yeah," he said, smiling. "I found my Little Timmy."
---
60 miles south, FOB Doors
FOB (Forward Operating Base) Doors is a large base that accommodates 3,000 Murican soldiers. Tanks and artillery are being parked while the crews are busy moving shells and ammo to each of them. The runway on the south side is also having the same activities, where ground crews are busy doing maintenance and arming their aircraft.
Inside the briefing tent, Stan, General Hanz Lamda, and several officers studied aerial photographs.
"The enemy ground force is thirty thousand strong," a lieutenant reported. "Infantry, cavalry, magicians, artillery. In the air: three hundred wyverns and three thousand avian warriors."
"Huh, that's bigger than their welcoming party three months ago," Stan muttered.
"Yes, sir, this small group here is their raiding party—they'll reach the DMZ around midnight."
Everyone paused and showed a worried face. Stan took a deep breath to calm himself.
"Commander, how were our preparations?" Stan asked General Hanz.
General Hanz rubbed his face.
"To be honest, sir, even though we had fought countless battles against many rebel tribes and warlords… this is the first time we're having this kind of war. My men are still doing the preparation, but to be frank… I don't believe that we have enough time…"
Everyone in the briefing tent looked in the direction of the training ground across from them. A platoon trained with a drill sergeant and a civilian standing next to him.
"Oh no~, they are killing the civilians," the platoon droned.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?" the drill sergeant roared.
The person who wears a cap that reads "acting COACH" whispered to the drill sergeant. The drill sergeant nodded and then approached his troops.
"You! Step forward."
He pointed at the unlucky PFC Bella—a tiny vampire girl who was in the front because of her small frame.
"YES SIR!"
"Now do it again."
Bella trembled.
"Oh no, they are killing the civilians. We have to stop them."
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? I WANT EMOTION! I WANT DISTRESS."
"OH NO! They are killing the civilians." Bella started to stress.
"MORE STRESSED! THOSE ARE YOUR MAMA THAT ARE BEING KILLED! YOUR BABY SISTER BEING KILLED!" the drill sergeant screamed at Bella's face.
"OH NO!! THEY ARE KILLING THE CIVILIANS!!" Bella wailed.
All the officers at the briefing tent felt hopeless watching how the training went.
"God help us…" said Stan.
---
10 Miles North, Vandoria-Ravendawn Camp
Over a rocky hill, Duke Pierre, Archmage Durac, Prince Luxius, and several officers watched as Archbishop Antonio prayed at the edge of the cliff.
"Our scouting party should reach the DMZ village around sunset and launch the raid after midnight," Luxius said. "I have also ordered the soldiers stationed there to retreat secretly before midnight."
"Good. We don't want those mercenaries accidentally killing your troops. So don't say I don't care about your people," Pierre chuckled.
Luxius clenched his fist but said nothing.
"How many demons are guarding the village?" Pierre asked.
"After nightfall, they usually leave around twenty guards," Luxius answered. "But today, reports say a new type of guard has been deployed. They wear white uniforms and actively speak to every villager."
"Hmm. Maybe a different branch of their army. Still, twenty is low. It shouldn't be a problem."
"My soldiers also reported that the demons are holding a charity event today. Villagers are being given new clothes and gold, and demon healers are removing visible scars from their bodies."
"Tch. A devil's trick," Durac scoffed. "They're trying to turn the people into demon sympathizers."
"You are absolutely correct, Archmage Durac," Antonio said, stepping forward, fresh from prayer.
Everyone was startled. A brilliant holy aura surrounded the archbishop.
"The Goddess has answered my prayer," Antonio declared. "She is on our side. Nothing will stop us from delivering justice upon the evil demons."
Pierre bowed slightly. "Thank you, Your Grace. And even if the demons tried to stop us, they would face an army far too large to handle."
They all turned toward the cliffs. Below, thousands of soldiers filled the encampment. In the sky, wyvern riders circled on patrol.
---
NASA, Mission Control Center
The atmosphere in the Mission Control Center was tense. Every officer was locked on their monitors. Bub stood beside the NASA director, restless, waiting for the final report.
"…instrument calibration confirmed."
"Orbital position verified. No deviation detected."
"Data validation complete. No anomalies found."
All officers faced the director and Bub.
"Mr. Beelzebub," the director announced, "Devil's Eye is 100% operational and ready for deployment."
The room erupted in applause. Bub grinned wide and shook the director's hand firmly.
"Thank you, Director," Bub said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must report to the Prime Minister. We are officially ready for war."
---
DMZ—Sometime around midnight
In one of the tents, a male human was riding a female beastman.
"Ah… ah… this is the second time, alright… ah… I'm going to put it in your bill," she moaned.
"Oh, don't be so stingy. We're still a husband and wife until tomorrow."
"Ah… no fucking way."
Their "son" sat at the table, watching with bored eyes.
"I still don't get why the demons want us to play 'family.'"
"You brat! Stop watching me naked for free!" the beastwoman snapped.
"Hahaha, he's our 'son.' Let him watch. I think this is what those demons call 'sex education.'"
THUMP
A heavy thump echoed from the door.
"I think somebody's outside," the boy said.
"Go check it out," the man replied, still moving. "Probably another Jehovah something. Third time today—so annoying."
The boy opened the door. Standing there was another Jehovah Accusess, a sword embedded in his stomach, turning his white shirt red. The man fell, and behind him loomed a massive, mysterious figure, eyes glinting with bloodlust.
---
FOB Doors, Production Control Room
One of the barracks had been transformed into a makeshift TV studio. Monitors displayed camera feeds from all angles, while crew members manned the controls. Belphy stood behind them, headset on, with Hannya at his side.
"By the way, sir, there's a message from Sir Mammon: 'Don't fail, or I'll slash your yearly budget.'"
"Tch, like I have a budget. I'm already the poorest department in the country," Belphy muttered.
"Another message is from His Highness: 'Good luck. Make a good show—'"
"…or I'm going to fly there and kill you," Hannya added.
"Yep. There he is."
"Sir, all cast entering the set," a staffer called.
Belphy straightened.
"Okay, everyone, be ready! We're live in ten… nine… eight…"
---
The Black House, Master Bedroom
Lilith sat on the couch in her cozy sweater, eyes glued to the TV, brimming with excitement.
"HONEY, HURRY UP! IT'S ABOUT TO START!"
"Waa~it! Popcorn's not ready!" Solo shouted from the pantry.
---
A Bar Somewhere in Southern Murica
"Hey, barkeep, give me a beer."
The customer paused as he noticed a crowd gathered around the bar's TV.
"What are they watching?"
"It's the first-ever live satellite broadcast—something's being filmed at our northern border."
"What? That far?"
"Yup. Crazy," the bartender said, handing over a cold beer.
Intrigued, the customer joined the crowd to watch.
---
FOB Doors, Production Control Room
The countdown hit its climax.
"…three… two… one…"
Belphy grinned.
"And… ACTION!"