The land had once again been bathed in blood—but that was nothing new.
This was the Demon Realm.
Death, despair, bloodshed—these were not aberrations. They were constants. They were truths written in bone and fire, carried on every breath. Demons were creatures of chaos, born from the endless cravings of sentient beings. Immortal to an extent, resilient beyond reason—so even in devastation, there was always the return. The cycle was unbroken.
But not this time.
Something had changed.
This time… they would not come back.
Why?
Because their deaths had been administered by a Sin.
And not just any Sin.
The Sin of Lust.
And this destruction—it was, ironically, their own doing. Their pride. Their blindness. Their arrogance.
