As Victor spoke those words, a wave of intense aura surged across the battlefield.
Soldiers froze mid-motion. Some dropped their weapons. Others collapsed to their knees, blood spilling from their mouths, eyes wide in terror. A few lost consciousness entirely. The sheer pressure of the power had brought the chaos to a near standstill.
Victor stood atop the wall, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he felt it—an ominous, suffocating presence creeping closer. He gritted his teeth as the air around him humming with tension.
Then the scene shifted.
The focus moved away from Victor, panning over the battlefield, zooming past broken bodies and ruined soil... until it reached the horizon.
There, floating ten meters above the ground, a shadowed figure appeared—human in shape, but clearly not human in nature.
It hovered effortlessly, defying gravity with no wings, no support. Just stillness. Suspended in air, as if the laws of physics bent around it.
As it drew nearer, its form came into clearer view.
Its arms were long and thin, like pale tree branches ending in claws as sharp as blades. Horns curved back from its skull, pitch black and jagged. Its skin was a strange, almost unnatural shade—a blend of tan and bruised purple. It held itself with eerie grace, hands tucked neatly at its sides, posture rigid and composed like that of a trained butler.
Its attire matched its demeanor: a noble's suit, finely tailored, a mix of deep black and steel grey adorned with golden stripes and draping chains. The fabric shimmered faintly, like it was woven from threads meant only for the highborn—or the damned.
But its face…
A wide, unnatural smile stretched across its face, as if it were enjoying the screams echoing across the battlefield. There was no empathy, no malice—just amusement.
And above all, its presence was suffocating.
An aura as black as the void surrounded it—thick, heavy, and absolute. Looking at it felt like staring into a dimension of nothingness. You didn't just see the darkness. You felt it reach for you, claw into your soul, drag you toward silence.
Victor's instincts screamed.
This wasn't just another demon.
This was something more—something with authority. Power. Intelligence. Control.
The scene shifted again—this time, to a wide view of the battlefield.
The demonic figure hovered high above the carnage, his presence like a blot against the sky. Then, with a voice that echoed unnaturally across the field, he spoke.
"A pleasure to meet you all," he said, his tone mockingly courteous. "I am the First and most renowned Commander of the Demon Corps. I come bearing greetings... as my king has entrusted me with a sacred task: to claim a territory within your fragile world and prepare it for his grand arrival."
He extended one clawed hand, palm open, as if making a generous offer.
"And so, I present you with two choices."
His voice grew colder—quieter, yet somehow heavier.
"Choice one: Pick up your swords... and slit your own throats. Die here, by your own hands. In doing so, your corpses will serve as the ritual's sacrifice—fuel to tear open the dimensional veil, wide enough for our glorious king to descend."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Choice two..." A wicked smile stretched across his face. "Continue this pitiful battle against my legion. Die by our blades, and be torn apart piece by piece. Either way... the result will be the same."
He lowered his arm slowly, like a curtain falling on a stage.
"Your end is not a question. Only the manner of your death remains."
"But hmm…" he muttered, tilting his head slightly, eyes scanning the battlefield below. "It seems... something unnatural walks among you."
He paused, letting the silence stretch thin.
"I can't quite place it. But I feel it. Faint... yet familiar. A presence... restrained. Hidden. Strength not unlike my own—masked, perhaps, waiting to strike. How amusing."
A low, guttural chuckle escaped his throat.
"Kukuku... none can escape my wisdom. Kukukuku… kekekekeke…"
The laugh twisted unnaturally as it echoed across the field, a distorted sound that sent shivers through every spine.
Then his voice dropped—deeper, darker, filled with raw malice.
"I'll give you a chance."
A wave of pressure crashed down on the battlefield like a falling mountain. Soldiers screamed, some falling to the ground clutching their heads. Others gasped for breath, as if the air itself had turned to lead.
"If you manage to entertain me..." the demon continued, voice cold and slow, "I'll give you five seconds... to run."
He leaned forward slightly, the air humming with death.
"Let's see... if that hidden strength of yours is worthy of my attention."