CHAPTER 3: The Fall of the Demon
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The battlefield shook violently.
The demon's attack collided with nothing,
Yet the impact shattered the ground, sending shockwaves rolling across the battlefield.
Stone fractured. Dust erupted. Sparks danced in the air as the demon struggled to force its dark sword through.an attack meant to destroy everything in its path.
The young lord stepped forward, an unshakable force, and the demon faltered.
It stumbled back under the invisible weight of his attack.
Focusing, the demon realized something impossible.
The stance of the young lord was that of a weapon wielder.
He held something in his right hand… yet there was nothing visible.
"What… what is this?" the demon muttered, bewildered.
It tried appraisal magic, again and again, but nothing could pierce the mystery.
The young lord's voice cut through the chaos, calm, almost playful:
"Scared?"
The demon hissed.
"Don't be. You should have known not everything goes as planned on a battlefield."
"In this scenario, you underestimated human strength.
You underestimated how far we are willing to go."
For a moment, he turned, blue eyes blazing, scanning the battlefield behind him.
Distance, space, all irrelevant.
The war was turning in their favor.
The enemy's remnants were already retreating.
"I should finish this quickly… as promised," he murmured.
"YOU IMMIGRANT!!" the demon roared in bitter fury.
But the young lord did not pause, striking at a speed that blurred perception.
The demon dodged to the left, gaining ground.
"Clo—" it began, distracted by the perfectly clean cut along its arm.
Blood spilled, staining the ground black.
Yet the demon's nature, its regeneration, its immunity to pain, its demonic resilience refused to respond.
For the first time, it felt fear.
"This is… bad," it thought.
"I can't see his weapon… can't predict its reach, its shape…"
"I didn't see the attack either… my universal sense skill… couldn't detect a thing."
Fear shook the demon, unrelenting, as blue eyes bore into its soul an emptiness, a void, yet alive with resolve.
Then it blinked.
In the fraction of a moment, the demon's saw it's own body, headless.
It's body neck blood spilling across the battlefield.
Shock froze the demon.
The demon froze, incapable of thought.
"Eh? What… what is this…?"
"This cannot be… I… I cannot die here… not now…"
Blood streamed from its mouth, nostrils, and ears as the young lord held the head aloft.
The demon stared at it's own body falling down to the ground, blood pooling around it.
"No! NO!!"
It screamed, voice cracking, primal and broken.
"This… this was not supposed to happen!!"
"I cannot… die like this! No!!"
It thrashed like a child betrayed, a tantrum of fury and despair.
"He?" the young lord asked casually, curiosity in his tone.
"Who's he?"
The demon continued its tirade, then fell silent.
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"Anything else, Young Lord?"
General Moratta stepped forward with a few knights.
The young lord dropped the head beside the corpse, a final punctuation.
"It's over," he said, voice calm.
"It sure is, Young Lord," Moratta replied, raising his sword high.
The troops erupted, a wave of cheer and relief washing over the battlefield:
"THE YOUNG LORD HAS GRANTED US VICTORY!!"
"ALL HAIL THE YOUNG LORD!!"
"ALL HAIL OUR FUTURE KING!!"
The chants repeated, growing louder with every passing second, filling the air with triumph.
And with the war won, the young lord began his journey home.
A hero, a savior, a ruler, the protector of his kingdom and all allied nations,
standing as a beacon of hope after the darkness.
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To Be Continued...
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