Average Mid-Class Devil's POV:
My name is Patrick.
I'm just another face in Lilith, the capital of the Underworld.
Life down here isn't exactly filled with joy.
Work, obligations, endless politics between noble houses…
It gets stale.
So when it comes to entertainment, there's really only one thing that gets our blood pumping—Rating Games.
The pride of devils, the stage where nobility strut their power.
This one was supposed to be no different.
Another arranged match, another clash between noble houses.
Nothing special.
At least, that's what I thought.
This time, there was a twist—a human was part of it.
Normally, such a thing would be unthinkable.
A human in a Rating Game?
That's like letting cattle join a gladiator match.
But rumors spread that this human was the very reason Lady Rias opposed her engagement, so an exception was made.
Not that it mattered.
Humans are prey.
That's the natural order.
Whether he stood in the match or not, the result was already decided.
Lord Riser Phenex against Lady Rias Gremory.
The outcome was as good as written.
Riser, experienced, with his full set of peerage members.
Lady Rias?
Young, untested, and not even with a complete household.
It was like comparing a veteran to a child still learning to walk.
When the game began, Riser's peerage moved with confidence, their formations polished from past matches.
Everything was unfolding as expected.
And then Lady Rias…
…she did what?!
She sent the human out alone!
My jaw dropped.
The tavern I was watching in erupted in confusion.
Was she insane?
The whispers spread like wildfire.
I'd heard the rumors, of course—that Lady Rias had betrayed Lord Riser before the engagement ceremony, choosing some pathetic human as her lover instead.
And looking at this, it all made sense.
She really sent him out first.
Her "lover." A human.
Alone.
Had she lost her mind?!
Does she… want to get rid of him instead?
Is this some twisted ploy?
Some kind of underhanded politics we common folk can't even begin to grasp?
That was the only explanation that made sense.
Otherwise, why throw away a piece so early, especially the one she supposedly staked her honor for?
The tavern around me buzzed with speculation, each voice louder than the last.
But before we could come to any conclusion, something happened that froze all of us in place.
The old school building—the one Lady Rias and her peerage had been stationed in—was suddenly consumed by a black barrier.
Not the usual Phenex flames, not devilish warding, but a suffocating, pitch-black dome that swallowed everything inside.
The moment it formed, the feed from Lady Rias's side cut out.
"What the—?" someone muttered.
My first thought was: Did Lord Riser's side use some kind of artifact? Maybe a trick to force Rias's team out, or to cover a finishing move?
But then—
From the human's own shadow, something began to stir.
At first, I thought it was just a trick of the camera.
A ripple of darkness.
But no—something crawled out, gleaming with golden scales that caught the light, even as a choking black aura coiled around it.
The sight alone sent a shiver running down my spine.
And this was just through the screen.
Those in the actual arena… I can't imagine the pressure they felt.
The creature rose higher and higher, its form stretching, shifting, unfolding.
Until realization dawned on us—
A dragon.
A dragon was standing behind the human.
The entire tavern went silent.
Nobody dared to breathe.
Then, as if the spectacle wasn't already beyond belief, the screen itself began to distort.
Static lines tore across the broadcast, struggling to hold the image.
And in those flickering moments, we saw it—
The human and the dragon… merging.
When the static cleared, the figure standing there wasn't the same human we'd been mocking minutes ago.
No.
This thing… this being looked nothing like before.
As if that wasn't enough to make us lose our minds… what followed was nothing short of a nightmare.
A massacre.
A one-sided torture so cruel to Lord—no, Riser's peerage, so deliberate, that I almost wished the broadcast had stayed static forever.
The way he impaled their limbs, the way he broke their jaws so they can't surrender, and the way he put a holy cross in their mouth...
We had all expected a clash of fire and pride, the usual Rating Game spectacle.
Something to cheer at, place bets on, maybe even laugh about over drinks later.
But what we witnessed was nothing like that.
It wasn't a fight.
It wasn't even a contest.
It was an execution painted in suffering.
The human—no, that thing—moved with slow, terrifying certainty.
Every gesture was calculated, not to defeat, but to humiliate and suffer.
Every strike wasn't meant to kill, but to break.
We saw Riser Phenex, a High-class devil, a noble of the Phenex clan—immortal, arrogant, untouchable—reduced to a thrashing, screaming husk.
His flames, once a symbol of pride and endless regeneration, were turned against him, smothered and mocked as useless.
I could hear people around me gagging.
Someone muttered, "Is this even allowed? Is this still a Rating Game?"
Their voice cracked halfway, and no one answered.
Because deep down we all knew—the rules didn't matter anymore.
Whatever we were watching had already transcended the concept of a game.
When the human dug into Riser's flesh with his bare hands, tearing eyes from sockets, inserting stones where organs should be—my body went cold.
It wasn't the gore alone.
We devils have seen plenty of blood, plenty of cruelty— in fact, most of us have committed as well.
No, it was the calmness behind it.
The way he smiled while doing it, like a child playing with a toy he'd already broken.
Even the feed seemed to strain against showing it, flickering as if the very magic carrying the broadcast wanted to shield us from the horror.
But no—every second came through.
Every scream.
Every ragged breath.
Every expression of madness was carved into that human's face.
And then the words…
The way he mocked Riser.
Promised to enslave his peerage.
To defile his sister.
To treat them all as less than filth.
His voice carried no hesitation, no mercy—just a cold, twisted amusement that sent ripples of unease through every soul watching.
I realized then—it wasn't the pain itself that broke us.
It was the ease.
The way he treated Riser's agony was as nothing more than an afterthought.
Like torture wasn't cruelty to him—it was simply nature.
This wasn't a victory.
This wasn't triumph.
This was a Nightmare.
I turned to look at the others in the tavern, and what I saw etched itself into my mind forever.
Devils, who moments ago had been sneering at the idea of a human competing, were now pale, sweating, trembling in silence.
Mid-class devils like me, who thought ourselves secure in our world, were hugging our arms, shivering like children.
And the worst part?
No one dared to look away.
It was as if turning from the screen would make us the next target of those cold, unfeeling eyes.
By the time it ended, I wasn't even sure what I was anymore—a devil, a bystander, a citizen.
All I knew was this:
That wasn't a Rating Game.
That was a warning.
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