FOB Doors, Base Hospital
Ivy lay on the softest bed she had ever touched, still unsure if the last day of her life had been a nightmare or someone's twisted joke. Yesterday she was running for her life in the DMZ. Now she was in a clean, bright room, with a goblin doctor poking her with what looked like demon-forged medical toys.
The goblin pressed a cold metal disk against her chest and shined a thin beam of light into her eyes. It didn't hurt—just uncomfortable and weird.
"Surprisingly, she's not in any state of shock," the goblin said to the demon woman beside him. "Pretty weird, considering I heard humans break easily."
Ivy recognized the woman, she'd seen her many times walking through the DMZ. One of the demon officials.
"So what's the Foreign Office going to do with her, Miss Hannya?" the doctor asked.
"Hm. Don't know," Hannya replied. "Mr. Belphegor said he doesn't need her anymore. Maybe I'll send her to Ravendawn or somewhere."
The words hit Ivy like a blade. Ravendawn meant death—or worse. Her mind scrambled, racing through memories she wished she could forget.
---
Her mother had once been the bright daughter of a respected merchant in the city of Dawn—until Duke Pierre's arrival reshaped the city with forced "economic reform." Ravendawn merchants were replaced by Vandorian ones, their businesses stolen, and families destroyed.
Her mother's family was killed. She was taken as a personal slave by the Vandorian merchant who ruined her family.
Four years later Ivy was born from him—a child of violence, raised in a house that hated her existence. Even so, her mother taught her everything she knew: reading, trading, and most importantly, how to read people. How to say what they wanted to hear. Some days it spared them from a beating.
But when Ivy turned fifteen, the Vandorian merchant started asking her to come to his room at night. Eventually, his sons are doing the same. Even knowing she was blood.
Her mother finally tried to save her. She begged an old merchant friend for help—only to watch him betray them, dragging Ivy to the DMZ to sell to demons who refused to buy slaves. So he turned her into a prostitute to recover his "investment."
Last night he died with Ivy's blade in his throat.
---
"M-Miss… please," Ivy whispered. "Don't send me back. There are bad people looking for me. I… I was—"
"What makes you think I want to hear your story?" Hannya cut in, cold and sharp.
Ivy flinched. Humans usually softened when she played the helpless girl. But demons had no reason to care.
She swallowed hard.
Then choose a different strategy.
"…You can't send me back," Ivy said quietly. "Because you need me."
"Oh?" Hannya raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"You need an example."
"Do elaborate."
"You demons are trying to change your reputation. That's why you let humans live in the DMZ. But it isn't enough. So you need a fairy tale. A damsel in distress… and a knight in shining armor."
Ivy nodded toward the security camera in the ceiling.
"That box with the round glass—same as the ones in the village. It was always pointed at me during the raid. And when I got here, the demons called "reporters" pointed another one at me.
Hannya's expression didn't change.
"They record things," Ivy continued. "And along with the strange 'miracles' that saved me last night… everything points to one conclusion: you wanted me to be the only survivor."
Hannya smirked.
"Mr. Belphegor does have an eye for talent. Yes. You figured it out. But we've already got the footage we needed—damsel is saved, knight is heroic. So it's time for the damsel to go home."
She turned to leave.
"…But what if the damsel talks?" Ivy said.
Hannya stopped. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.
"Are you threatening US?" she asked, voice icy.
"Not against you," Ivy said softly. "For you. When villains say they're not a villain, everyone thinks it's a lie. But what if those words come from the poor damsel instead?"
"A human… speaking on behalf of demons?"
"And you already know," Ivy said, confidence returning to her eyes, "that the damsel has a way with words."
Hannya considered her for a long moment.
"…interesting proposal," she finally said. "I'll think about it."
She left the room.
Vandoria Army, Heavy Magic Division
Dozens of magic ballista still remained after the Apache assault. As the helicopters retreated, the ballistas shifted to new targets: Murican ground forces.
"Avian Warriors! Don't chase the hell-dragonflies! Swarm the demon elephants! Magic Ballista, target those elephants!" Archmage Durac shouted.
Mages hurried to imbue bolts with explosive enchantments. Shooters took aim at the M1 Abrams.
"Fire while they're still in range! NOW!"
WHIIIIZZZ~
BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM
Explosions engulfed the tanks as they advanced.
Murica, M1 Abrams "Bison" Company
Inside the lead Abrams, everything shook. Especially the bird-skull bobblehead on the dashboard danced violently.
"OH WHAT A DAY! WHAT A LOVELY DAY!" the driver—Morsov—shouted gleefully.
"Cut the chatter, Morsov," the tank commander said.
He opened comms.
"This is Bison 1-1 to all Bison Company. Let's show them what true firepower looks like."
All the Bison company tanks rotated their turrets 75 degrees to the left while driving full speed through the enemy bombardment.
Vandoria Army, Heavy Magic Division
"They can turn their head…" an artillery mage whispered as every Murican turret pointed directly at them.
BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM
The tanks fired in perfect unison. Their shells carved clean lines through the battlefield, blowing ballistas apart like toys. Crews vanished in fireballs.
"RETURN FIRE! RETURN FIRE!" Durac screamed.
Another volley of enchanted bolts arced across the sky.
WHIIIZZ~ BOOM BOOOM BOOM
The impacts shook the ground, but the tanks remained unscathed.
"WHY ARE THEY NOT FALLING?!" A mage cried.
More bolts hit the tanks. Uselessly. Their 250-mm side armor shrugged everything off.
Durac realized, with a cold shock, that their bolts were bouncing off—
Volley after volley traded—but only one side was dying.
They were outgunned. Outranged. Outclassed.
"CURSES!!" Durac roared, face contorted with rage and fear.
Inside Bison 1-1
"Eight enemy artillery remain," the commander said calmly. "Bison company, finish the first objective."
He leaned to the gunner and pointed at his screen.
"You see the angry human with the big pointy hat near the ballista? Nine o'clock."
"Identified."
"Shoot him."
"On the way!"
BOOOM
The explosion swallowed Archmage Durac's position.
"Direct hit," the gunner confirmed.
"All tanks—first objective completed. Continue west for the second objective. Eliminate the left flank."
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
Stan watches from above as the Murican tanks continue moving west while being chased by the enemy Avian warriors.
"Hoho, it seems our boys have finished their first objective."
An arrow whistled upward—straight toward his head.
Without looking, Stan caught it casually.
"Oh?"
"Sir! for the third time—PLEASE GET OFF THE CHOPPER!" the pilot begged. Several arrows stuck out of the helicopter's hull.
"Alright, alright. Kids these days," Stan waved dismissively. "Release the cargo."
A button clicked.
A massive crate detached from the transport's belly and plummeted until a parachute snapped open, slowing its descent, and veered off.
"Right, I'm off. Bring my whiskey when you pick me up," Stan said casually as he stepped off the ramp.
And fell.
"War Daddy is entering the playground," the pilot reported, turning the Chinook away. "Repeat, War Daddy entering the playground."
---
Below, Stan's body twisted mid-drop. Veins bulged black beneath his skin. Cracks spread like molten spiderwebs across his flesh as glowing demonic light leaked out.
THUMP
He crashed, sending up a pillar of dust. A crater erupted on impact.
Soldiers stared as a massive silhouette emerged.
Something enormous moved inside.
Bull-like legs stepped out first.
A humanoid torso broader than a carriage followed.
A goat-like head with two colossal horns emerged last.
Blood-red skin
Muscles like boulders.
Two stories tall.
"RRROOOOOOAAAAAAARR"
The soldiers broke.
"I-I've seen that… in the picture book…"
"S-Satan…!"
"It's real… the demon god of war…"
"Oh goddess, save us…"
Vandoria Army, Center
"Nightmare… it's a nightmare…" Duke Pierre trembled. "Our heavy magic… gone…"
Then he heard the roar.
"W-what… what was that?!"
"SATAN! SATAN IS HERE!" an Avian lookout screamed.
The center rippled with terror.
"N-Not Leviathan… Satan himself? Is this the end?"
The Duke's legs nearly gave out, his fear spiraled until—
"GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, DUKE!" Archbishop Antonio rode up, eyes blazing, and glared down at him.
"We lost the heavy division, yes—but that is the Demon God of War! The ancient enemy of humanity! It is our holy duty to destroy it!
He wheeled his horse.
"My holy knights and I march to the right flank. And you—you will do YOUR duty as a general! Retreat, and even the church will refuse to protect you and your family from Vandorian persecution! I've warned you!"
The archbishop galloped off, holy knights forming around him.
Pierre stared at them. CURSES! He knows!
Then he saw the Murican tanks moving west, misreading the movement.
They're leaving the valley… They're giving us an opening…
His fear twisted into desperation.
"Sir? Shall we assist the archbishop? or continue to the gate?" an officer asked nervously.
"The gate!" he replies.
"We are going with plan B… We're pushing through the Demon Gate and heading east to meet with our Navy…" He remembering admiral Lorenzo. "If we're lucky… we might find some demon villages along the way and capture us some demon slaves. Relay my command—WE MARCH FOR THE VALLEY!"
If I pass through the gate and round up some demon slaves… It's not a complete loss… I still can find some excuses…
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
"Knock! Draw! Loose!" The archers' captain yelled.
Hundreds of arrows darkening the sky before it rained onto Stan.
He shielded his head with one arm. They bounced harmlessly off his skin.
"Ugh—hold on, hold on… not ready yet," he grumbled.
He reached the crate and tore it open.
He smiled. "Oh, I missed you."
Inside was a customized GAU-8 Avenger, scaled for his true form. He slung the enormous ammo drums onto his back and hefted the autocannon.
"Now I'm ready."
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTT
Hundreds of high-explosive incendiary rounds turned the right flank into a blender of fire and metal. Shields, armor, magic—nothing stopped the shells for more than a heartbeat.
BRRRRRRRRTTT
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, WELCOME TO BATTLEFIELD HUMANS! WELCOME TO MY HOME!"