Rena began to rise—slowly. A black aura enveloped her body, cold and empty. Her eyes lost their luster and remained only emptiness.
Like a doll that had just been brought to life.
"Where am I? Who am I?" she said softly, her voice flat and emotionless.
I stepped closer, staring at her calmly.
"You were my bodyguard," I said in a calm, deep, and compelling voice. "You were killed by the Bow Hero."
She frowned slightly. "Bow Hero? Who was he?"
I smiled faintly.
"It doesn't matter. He was an enemy. And now… you've come back to life not to remember, but to avenge."
I extended my hand toward her—and she took it without hesitation.
Her grip was cold, yet steady.
I pulled her to her feet. Her gaze was blank, yet full of obedience.
"Do you still remember all your abilities?" I asked, staring into those dead eyes.
Rena shook her head slowly. "I… can't cast moon magic."
I narrowed my eyes.
So that's it… Moon magic can only be used by those still bound to the gods.
"Good," I muttered to myself. "That means you're truly mine now."
I sat back on my throne, surrounded by the scent of blood and the ruins of destruction.
A few minutes later, Zereth came and bowed before me.
"Reporting, My Lord. Of the two hundred demons, only 120 remain. Eighty fell in battle."
I stared at him silently for a moment before asking, "Zereth, how do I create a new demon?"
Zereth raised his face slightly. "There are two ways, My Lord. First, through a demon birth ritual—like the one we used to resurrect you. But that ritual requires a great sacrifice."
He paused for a moment before continuing, "The second method... is to transfer some of the Demon King's aura to another living being. However, the success rate is only twenty percent."
I tapped my fingers on the arm of the throne, pondering.
"Are there any slaves still alive in this village?"
Zereth nodded.
"Yes, My Lord."
"Take me there," I said coldly.
"With pleasure, My Lord," Zereth replied, bowing deeply.
I rose from the throne, my steps firmly moving down the ruined corridor. Rena followed behind, silently, emotionless.
We walked to one of the few remaining houses in the village.
The building was rickety, but sturdy. The rusted iron door creaked as we pushed through. Inside, a damp, fishy air greeted us. It turned out to be a slave market.
Behind the iron booths, dirty, emaciated bodies lay piled up. Most were dead and rotting. Only a few were still breathing, lying weakly with blank eyes.
"Are you ready?" I asked coldly.
Zereth nodded.
I raised my hand, my demon king aura beginning to pervade the air. A dense energy enveloped the room like a dark mist.
"The ritual begins."
The aura seeped into the bodies of the remaining slaves.
Their bodies convulsed.
Their eyes rolled back.
Screams of pain pierced the walls, the sound of bones bending, skin peeling, flesh writhing, forming new forms.
Ten minutes passed.
The sound of their screams slowly faded, replaced by a tense silence.
Of all the slaves involved in the ritual, only one remained standing.
Her steps faltered as she emerged from the iron chamber, her body covered in blood and a dark, unstable aura surrounding her.
My eyes narrowed. "Vampire," I murmured softly.
She looked down, her body trembling, but her eyes glowed red—not with fear, but with bloodlust.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"I have no name," she replied softly. "I was born a slave."
I smiled faintly. "Then, from now on, you have a name."
I stepped closer, staring directly into her empty eyes.
"Your name is Clarissa. And you are mine."
She fell to her knees. "Yes, My Lord."
I stepped out of the slave market, followed by Clarissa, Zereth, and Rena.
We walked along the ash-and-blood-strewn path, toward the central square where my troops had gathered.
The demons' bodies were covered in wounds—some missing limbs, others barely able to stand.
While demons' regeneration was powerful, wounds of this magnitude took time.
Selena, Nana, and Malrik all now had only one arm. But none of them complained.
I stood before them, tall and composed.
Then I asked, looking each of them in the eye—
"How does it feel to fight against heroes?"
A cold smile spread across my face.
"Heroes are powerful, aren't they?" I said, my voice calm yet piercing.
"They crushed us, trampled on our pride. Do you think with your current strength, you can win?"
No one answered. Silence.
All that could be heard was the sound of the wind and the weak breathing of the wounded soldiers.
I smiled faintly.
"From now on, I will train you with methods known only to hell. Training that will destroy your bodies, before reviving them."
I stepped forward, a black aura enveloping my body.
"Are you ready?"
Without hesitation, they shouted in unison:
"READY, MY LORD!!"
"Zereth," I called softly, but it was enough to silence the entire area.
"Yes, my lord," Zereth replied, stepping slowly up from behind me.
"Starting tomorrow, prepare all the tools needed for training."
I extended my hand toward him—information about the tools and brutal methods we would use flowing directly into his mind.
Zereth bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."
Without another word, I turned and walked back to the house I had occupied.
Rena walked behind me silently, following like a faithful shadow.
I returned to my throne, cool and majestic amidst the ruins.
Rena stood quietly behind me.
"Noa," I called softly.
"Yes, my lord," the voice from my gauntlet responded quickly.
"Is there a way to make a demon a hero?" I asked, my gaze blankly piercing the wall, considering an idea that even seemed impossible.
Noa's voice was deeper than usual.
"Yes, my lord. But this method is extremely risky, and could even kill you if it fails."
"I don't care. Explain how."
"You need one thing: a demon body with incredible power and a soul strong enough to withstand the transformation."
He paused, then continued,
"And most importantly, you must sacrifice a piece of your own soul to bind the hero's essence to that body."
I paused.
Trading a piece of my soul to create a living weapon that fights the gods with their own power?
Interesting.
I stared at the image of Rena standing silently behind my throne.
An idea flashed through my mind like lightning.
"What if… I make Rena a Hero?" I asked Noa softly.
The gauntlet in my hand trembled lightly before Noa's voice answered, calm yet heavy:
"Rena's body is indeed incredibly strong, My Lord… But to create a Hero from a demon, you must sacrifice a small part of your soul. Are you willing?"
I smiled sarcastically.
"What a foolish question… I will do anything, even sacrifice my soul, to avenge this."
Then I called out, quietly but with a shudder that shook the air.
"Rena."
She stepped forward, kneeling with her head bowed.
"Yes, my Lord."
I stared at her, determined and furious.
"From this day forward… you will be the Hero of the demons. The sword of darkness that will slay the gods."
I took a deep breath, then began to recite a forbidden spell from the time of Amon—the summoning spell for the Hero of the Abyss.
[I swear upon the throne of ruin…
Thou art I, and I am thou.
From the shadows of forgotten legends,
Heed the call of the forsaken king.
Let the pact be forged in black flame.
Let the chains of fate be severed.
Let your soul rise from the ashes of despair—
Not as a savior,
But as my blade of vengeance.
Come forth, Hero of the Abyss.
By my blood, by my wrath, by my will…
I summon you!]
The sky shook. The wind stopped blowing.
The entire world lost its light.
A black and red aura enveloped Rena's body.
From that darkness, chaos energy was born—wild, pure, and ferocious.
Rena's body rose in the air, burning with that energy without burning.
Her eyes opened.
A heroic light—yet twisted by a demonic will.