“Ugh! Is there no end to them?” Lancelot snarled, his spear lashing out to fell another beast.

The two Demonkin had torn a rent in the barrier, and through it poured a ceaseless tide of monsters.

Every instinct screamed at Lancelot to go to his captain’s aid, but he was pinned. If he abandoned his post, the men behind him would be slaughtered.

He shot a venomous glare at the other knights, cursing them.

The Grand Duke’s elite guard? Pathetic!

They had frozen when Solamio first appeared. Even after finally finding their courage, their performance was still abysmal.

These were the same men who had looked down on his company as undisciplined brawlers. The irony was so thick he could taste it.

If he were in their position, shame alone would have killed him.

He shook his head in exasperation, tightened his grip on his spear, and charged back into the fray.

A gale of pure force erupted from the tip of his weapon, a technique he called Tempest Tail.

The blast shredded the front rank of monsters, leaving a chaotic gap in their lines.

Kai and Roxen surged into the opening, their blades a silver blur as they cut down the dazed survivors.

Finally, the horde was thinning. At this rate, they could finish here and reinforce the captain.

If he can just hold on until then…

Lancelot cast a worried glance toward the heart of the battle. Louis Berg, their captain, was facing Solamio alongside the Divine Archer.

He had no doubt about his captain’s skill, but the Demonkin’s unnatural regeneration was a problem no amount of prowess could solve alone.

“Stubborn bastard, isn’t he?” Lancelot muttered, parrying a clawed strike.

“What was that?”

Lancelot didn’t spare the Praha Guard Commander a glance. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

The man leading the Duke’s Guard was weaker than him. A novice in raw combat instinct.

The memory of ever feeling a flicker of respect for him was laughable now.

“Forget it,” Lancelot said, his voice clipped. “What’s our plan for dealing with that thing?”

The commander’s jaw tightened. “You are a remarkably insolent knight.”

“Who has time for courtesies? The Grand Duke is about to die. Answer the question.”

Lancelot’s tone was pure, undisguised annoyance.

The commander’s face furrowed, but he couldn’t very well punish the most effective soldier on the field.

He sighed in resignation. “We can do little but hold. Our only real hope is for reinforcements to arrive.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Yes. I dispatched several knights after the first wave. They should be nearing the edge of the Demonic Realm by now.”

Lancelot nodded.

The nearest border crossing wasn’t far from the duke’s estate. While the men he sent might be poor fighters, they were still Experts.

Unless disaster struck, they should have already reached the border.

“It shouldn’t be long, then.”

“Indeed.”

“Tsk. Still can’t believe you sent him,” Lancelot grumbled, running his spear through another creature. “Everyone knows he was working with Venom.”

Paul. The man who had tried to kill them.

He’d seen the look on the captain’s face—Louis had intended to deal with Paul personally, so Lancelot had let it lie. He never imagined the Duke’s Guard would hand the traitor a perfect opportunity to escape.

Not that it mattered. Paul was useless; they were better off without him.

“Still, you sent a few who weren’t part of the Guard,” Lancelot added casually. “For a moment, I thought you’d only sent your own men to give them a head start on running away.”

A strange expression crossed the commander’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said I sent someone who wasn’t part of the Guard.”

“I did. That man who came with us was among them, wasn’t he?”

“This mission required traversing the Demonic Realm. The detachment was comprised solely of members of the Duke’s Guard.”

“…Come again?” Lancelot stared at the commander as if the man had just claimed the sky was green.

A moment later, his face twisted into a scowl. “Ah, hell.”

“…What is it?”

“Not about you. Don’t worry. No, wait. This might concern you after all.”

“Speak plainly. What are you trying to say?”

“It’s Paul. That scum isn’t here.”

The commander’s eyes swept their defensive line. Paul was gone. Only then did the man’s posture stiffen, a flicker of alarm in his eyes.

“…Did he desert?”

“Desert?” Lancelot scoffed. “You think any of these others could slip away from you or me? They’re fighting because they know they’re trapped. There hasn’t been a single opening.”

To escape the notice of men like Lancelot, Kai, or even the commander required a level of skill none of these knights possessed.

The chaos of the initial assault would have been their only chance, but the monster’s first attack had locked them down too quickly.

There had been no opportunity to flee… yet Paul had vanished.

A cold knot of dread formed in Lancelot’s stomach. Something was deeply wrong.

“Hmph. For now, stay sharp. Focus on the monsters,” Lancelot said, his gaze fixed forward. “Their numbers are finally breaking.”

He was right. The flood of beasts had dwindled to a trickle.

He gathered his Aura, preparing for one final, decisive push.

CRRAAASH!

A tidal wave of storm energy surged from his spear, blasting a wide path through the remaining monsters as Lancelot threw himself into their midst.

It was then that the sky began to bleed to black.

“…What?” Lancelot looked up.

He saw it then: a colossal shadow blotting out the heavens—the form of the Demonkin, swollen to a grotesque, unbelievable size.

“…Shit,” Lancelot breathed, a stunned laugh catching in his throat. “What the devil is that?”

In the next instant…

BOOOM!

The Demonkin’s body exploded.

* * *

Moments before Lancelot witnessed the cataclysm, the battle against Solamio had found a rhythm.

Louis, the Divine Archer, and Lea moved in a deadly, coordinated dance.

The Divine Archer’s arrows harried the Demonkin, forcing it to waste precious energy regenerating superficial wounds.

Lea’s precise strikes kept it pinned, creating openings.

Mihaila’s divine power flared, shielding the Grand Duke and weakening the creature’s defenses.

It was this synergy that allowed Louis’s own shots to finally find purchase, inflicting true damage.

Crack! Sizzle!

He loosed an arrow crackling with electricity.

KRA-KOOOM!

The bolt struck Solamio’s face, searing the flesh. Mihaila’s divine power washed over the wound, preventing it from healing and forcing a shriek from the Demonkin as it unleashed a wave of dark energy.

“Aaaaargh! It hurts! It HUUUUURTS!”

Louis let out a steadying breath, his eyes sharp.

They could win this. Their coordination was flawless, and more importantly, he could feel the Demonkin’s power beginning to weaken.

Though his own Aura was limited, victory was no longer a desperate hope. It was a tangible possibility.

From here, it’s a battle of attrition.

Whose reserves would expire first? His, or the monster’s? The entire battle hinged on that question.

Louis drew his bowstring again, focusing his Aura with painstaking efficiency.

It was then that Solamio, its face already knitting itself back together, began to thrash like a rabid animal.

It smashed its head against the ground, babbling a frantic, looping mantra. “It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.”

Then, just as Jin had, it began to transform.

Crrunch. CRRRRUUUNCH.

With a sickening sound of rending flesh and snapping bone, its body swelled, bloating grotesquely. No longer growing taller, it expanded outward, a tumorous mass of raw power.

“…What is this?” a knight gasped.

The sky above grew dark as the creature’s shadow eclipsed the Demonic Realm. The barrier the Divine Archer had erected began to crack and splinter under the strain.

“…It’s become a complete aberration,” Louis murmured.

It was a living mountain of flesh. No other words could describe it.

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and hastily drew on his Aura.

Just then, Solamio’s voice echoed, distorted and slow, as if dredged from the bottom of a tar pit.

“I… haaaaate… huuuuumaaaaans.”

The sound was so vile it made everyone who heard it recoil.

In the next moment, Solamio lowered its head, its eyes rolled back into its skull, and its body began to inflate like a corpse’s bladder.

And finally…

BOOOOOM!

A shockwave of sound and force ripped through the air.

Where the monster had been, a thick, black fog billowed outward.

Louis stared at the spreading fog, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.

Beside him, the Divine Archer began to tremble.

“No,” he whispered, his face ashen. He took an involuntary step back, shaking his head. “It can’t be…”

“What is it?” Louis demanded.

The archer’s gaze, wide with terror, snapped to him. “R-retreat! Order a full retreat! Now!”

Though stunned, Louis reacted on pure instinct.

He bellowed, “Lea! Gather the knights!”, grabbed the Grand Duke and Mihaila, one under each arm, and fell back.

Seconds later, the fog swept over their former position.

Fwoooosh!

The black mist spread with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path. Yet within the Demonic Realm itself, nothing seemed to happen.

“W-what’s happening?” one of the knights stammered as the fog washed over him. 

He blinked, unharmed as it passed through. “Huh?”

Then—Crrunch.

With a wet, grinding sound, his limbs began to twist. His bones snapped and reshaped themselves under his skin. He let out a gurgling scream as his jaw unhinged, his mind dissolving into primal madness.

Where the knight had stood, a newly formed Demonkin cackled, its eyes burning with malevolent light.

“…What is this?” Louis breathed, his voice filled with horror.

“Abyssal Bloom,” the Divine Archer said, biting his lip so hard it bled. “The power that annihilated the Eastern Continent.”

Meanwhile, a final, fading voice whispered from the dissipating fog.

“Noooow… me… doooon’t… neeeed… wooooork… anymoooore.”

With that final, damning sentiment, what was left of Solamio faded into nothing, lighting the fuse on the Empire’s demise.

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