The sky had been burning for as long as anyone could remember.
What began as a war had long since lost its name. For 400 years, humans and demons fought the longest war in human history.
Kingdoms had fallen, generations had perished, and the land itself had grown tired of healing.
Forests no longer regrew, Rivers ran black and the wind carried ash instead of air.
And still it continued.
This day, beneath a fractured sky lit by distant flames, humanity made its final stand.
Thousands had gathered.
Knights clad in shattered armor. Adventurers bearing scars older than their years. Priests whispering prayers that trembled on their lips. And at the forefront—
The Heroes of Salvation.
Four figures, chosen by the Holy Order of Peligrum. Four weapons meant to end the nightmare.
They stood facing a single being.
At first glance, he looked unimpressive. A lone figure standing amidst a field of corpses. He had an overwhelming aura that screamed destruction. His long black hair and massive horns added to the dread.
Yet no one moved.
Because every corpse surrounding him told the truth no one dared to speak.
He had done this, alone without the help of demons.
He was no other than the current demon lord.
Amon, The Twelfth Demon Lord.
He stood silently, his crimson gaze drifting across the battlefield, he looked Indifference.
A soldier screamed and charged.
Perhaps they had lost their mind.
Perhaps they had nothing left to lose, for the sake of protecting their world they had no choice but to fight.
Amon frown seeing the persistence of humanity, even with showing his power they still didn't ran or give up.
Suddenly—
He never reached his target.
Amon took a single step forward.
The ground shattered.
An invisible force surged outward like a collapsing star crushing everything in its path.
Armor folded inward. Bones snapped. Bodies were driven into the earth as if the world itself rejected their existence.
Silence followed.
"Aah, it's over. I can't fight anymore."
Soldiers and adventurers started trembling. Not because the battle had ended, but because hope had.
"Monster."
The word slipped from trembling lips.
One of the heroes stepped forward, her blade glowing with sacred light. Her hands shook, but she did not stop.
"We are the Heroes of Salvation," she declared, forcing strength into her voice. "Your tyranny ends here."
Others followed.
Lightning gathered in the sky. Swords shimmered into existence. Space itself distorted at the edges of perception. Power, humanity's final defiance, rose all at once.
Amon watched.
He tilted his head.
The attacks came. Light,Thunder Steel, Reality Bending. Everything struck to kill him.
For a single moment, it looked like hope.
Then everything vanished.
Not even a single hero remained in sight. They were erased.
As if the world itself refused to acknowledge them.
Amon lowered his gaze.
Blood bloomed across the battlefield. One of them collapsed, cut apart by something unseen. Another followed. Then another.
They never understood what killed them.
Their power meant nothing. Their existence meant less.
Soon, only one remained.
Angelo.
His breathing was ragged. His body trembled. Blood ran down his face, half-blinding him. But his grip on his sword never loosened.
He looked around at the fallen, at the silence, at the being before him.
"So this is how it ends," he said quietly.
Amon's gaze shifted. For the first time, he acknowledged someone.
"Human," Amon spoke. His voice was low and distorted, like something imitating speech rather than using it. "You are the last."
Angelo let out a small breath. Something almost like a laugh escaped him.
"Yeah. I figured."
He adjusted his stance. The sword in his hand began to pulse.
"But I will make sure I do not die alone, you demon."
The air grew heavy. The ground beneath his feet cracked from a heavenly force that shattered the earth. Even Amon paused.
"That," the Demon Lord murmured, "does not belong to you."
Angelo smiled faintly.
"Of course it doesn't."
His grip tightened.
"For the sake of the world… I will borrow it anyway."
He moved.
Amon reacted. For the first time, he stepped forward. Their distance vanished.
The blade pierced his chest.
Silence fell.
Amon looked down at the sword embedded in his heart, then at the human standing before him.
"Strange," he whispered.
Angelo met his gaze with resolve.
"Yeah," he said softly. "You finally noticed."
And then—
" [Self Destruct]"
Light consumed everything. A violent eruption tore through the battlefield, devouring sound, color, and existence itself. The ground vanished. The sky shattered. Time itself seemed to pause under the weight of that single moment.
A human life was converted into a weapon.
When the light faded, Amon still stood. Half of his body was erased.
But something was wrong. His regenerating power had stopped, and his power was gone in that moment. The world felt distant.
"What is this?" he whispered. For the first time, uncertainty appeared in his voice.
Something coiled around his heart. Chains. They wrapped around his existence, tightening, binding, and suppressing.
Amon staggered he felt Weakness. A sensation he had never known.
"Impossible."
He looked down at his hands. They trembled.
"A human did this?"
A sound echoed behind him.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
"Magnificent."
Amon turned.
They stood there. The Five Calamities. His subordinates who had been protecting him.
Amon tried to stretch his hand for help, but several tentacles squeezed his body.
"You have fulfilled your role, my lord," one of them said, her voice smooth as silk.
Another stepped forward, smiling faintly. "But you are no longer necessary."
Silence fell.
Amon stared at them. Something unfamiliar stirred within him.
"I don't understand. Am I being betrayed by my own kin?"
The realization settled not as emotion, but as fact.
They moved. Each extended their hand as their powers formed a massive mass of energy capable of destroying any being.
"We will make sure your death was not in vain, my lord."
Together, they reached out, and the world darkened.
Amon's body refused to respond. The chains tightened. His vision blurred.
"So this is the end," he murmured.
Darkness swallowed him, and the Demon Lord fell into silence.
The war did not end that day. But the king of demons was gone.
••••••
500 years had passed since the first war.
The river flowed quietly beneath the morning light. Clear water, a gentle current, not even a trace of war. Birds chirped, and the gentle wind moved softly through the trees.
A peaceful town rested not far beyond the hill.
It was calm.
A deer ran toward the river. She bowed her head to drink when suddenly a slender arm burst out and grabbed her neck.
The man popped out, his hair dripping wet, and bit into her neck. He drank the blood.
After what seemed like a few minutes, the deer lost its life. The young man walked out naked with his long dark hair and crimson eyes, looking around.
"Mmm. So this is what remains."
His voice was different. Not the distorted echo from before. It sounded more human.
He lifted his hand slowly and flexed his fingers.
"Fragile."
The word carried no disdain. He looked down at the water reflecting his face. It felt strange. Not the form he once held. Not the body that stood above battlefields and erased armies without effort. Something smaller.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Interesting."
Thump. Thump.
He clenched his chest and felt those familiar chains again, coiling around like snakes. His expression did not change, but his fingers twitched.
"Still there."
Silence followed. The river continued to flow as if nothing had happened.
Amon lowered his hand.
"Five hundred years, and I managed to slip from those bastards."
His gaze drifted toward the distant town. Voices echoed faintly, Laughter, Life and a sign of Humans.
He watched.
He took a step forward, then another. Each movement slow.
"Very well."
A faint smile returned.
"Let us begin again."