The battlefield raged with chaos, blood, and fire as Asael and his comrades pushed forward, their bodies aching, their souls burning with the desperate will to end this war.

  Giren let out a furious roar, his massive orcish fist hurtling toward the Demon King like a meteor, veins bulging, muscles coiling with raw, unrelenting power.

  But Grion had seen it coming.

  His arm twisted, bones snapping, flesh warping as his limb swelled into something larger, something grotesque—an ogre’s monstrous hand, thick and gnarled with unnatural strength.

  With a sickening crunch, he batted Giren’s strike aside as if swatting a fly.

  The sheer force sent the orc hurtling backward, his body crashing through a mound of shattered stone.

  Blood splattered across the ruins as he lay there, groaning, his vision swimming.

  Before the Demon King could follow up, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

  Steven was already there.

  His thunder-infused sword came slicing from the side, electricity crackling along its edge, illuminating the battlefield in blinding white arcs.

  Grion turned, unfazed, his other arm shifting—scales rippling across his flesh, claws lengthening into jagged talons, the arm of a lizardman warlord.

  He caught the blade.

  Lightning surged through his body, searing his flesh, veins burning with divine agony. But he did not cry out. He did not flinch.

  With a single, monstrous swing, he hurled Steven away, sending him spinning through the air. His body slammed against a ruined pillar with a gut-wrenching crack, dust and debris exploding around him.

  Then—Asael struck.

  His golden swords gleamed in the night, their edges humming with celestial power as they carved toward the Demon King’s exposed back.

  But Grion had already anticipated it.

  He twisted, moving with an unnatural grace, and his claws lashed out in a brutal counterattack.

  Steel met flesh.

  A wet, tearing sound filled the air.

  A deep gash split across Asael’s torso, golden blood spraying in a brilliant arc across the battlefield. His breath caught in his throat, pain ripping through his very soul.

  But it was not enough to stop him.

  Even as he staggered, even as the agony threatened to pull him to his knees, golden light flared around him. His wounds sealed shut within moments, divine energy coursing through his veins like liquid fire.

  Grion’s eyes narrowed.

  Healing wouldn’t save them.

  He would tear them apart faster than they could recover.

  Then—arrows rained from above.

  Lily’s enchanted shots buried themselves into his flesh, piercing through muscle and bone, embedding deep into his arms, his legs, his chest.

  He did not stop.

  He lunged forward, ignoring the weapons protruding from his body. His six monstrous eyes locked onto the elf archer as his claws extended, reaching for her throat.

  Then—fire erupted around him.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Sirius’s magic surged forward in a blazing inferno, swallowing the Demon King whole. The flames licked at his flesh, melting it away, the stench of burning meat thick in the air.

  He did not slow down.

  He pushed through the fire, the embers clinging to his body, his own flesh melting and regenerating at the same time.

  Lily’s breath caught in her throat.

  He wasn’t stopping.

  Just as his claws were about to tear into her—

  Anne stepped between them.

  The Saintess raised her hands, and a radiant shield of golden light burst forth, forming a barrier between her and the advancing demon.

  As soon as his flesh made contact with the divine wall—

  A terrible hiss filled the air.

  His skin blackened, smoke curling from his hands, the holy energy searing him like acid.

  But he did not care.

  With a guttural snarl, he slammed his fist against the shield. Cracks splintered across its glowing surface.

  Another punch.

  The barrier shattered like glass, shards of golden light scattering into the wind.

  Anne gasped.

  Grion’s claws lashed forward, ready to tear through her—

  Then—Giren struck.

  The orc warlord came crashing in like a living avalanche, tackling the Demon King mid-air. Their bodies collided with the force of a landslide, the ground beneath them crumbling from the sheer impact.

  They grappled.

  Grion’s claws plunged into Giren’s stomach, tearing through muscle and sinew.

  A sickening squelch.

  A choked gasp escaped the orc’s lips as blood spilled from the corners of his mouth.

  But he did not let go.

  His massive hands clamped down on the Demon King’s arms, holding him in place with sheer, brute force.

  Then—Asael struck.

  With a battle cry that shook the heavens, he drove his divine sword straight through the Demon King’s chest.

  The blade pierced through flesh, through bone, through the very core of the monster before them.

  Grion’s six eyes widened.

  A choked, gurgling breath rasped from his throat as black blood gushed from the wound.

  Still, he tried to move.

  But more arrows found their mark.

  Lily’s enchanted shots struck again—piercing his legs, his shoulders, pinning him further in place.

  Then—Sirius raised his hands.

  Golden chains of blazing fire erupted from the ground, wrapping around the Demon King’s limbs, his torso, his throat, dragging him down like an executioner’s bindings.

  And—Asael’s weapons returned.

  Blade after blade tore into his flesh, golden light spreading through his body like a deadly poison, burning through his veins.

  His regeneration faltered.

  His monstrous flesh withered.

  His strength—vanishing.

  For the first time—

  Fear flickered in his eyes.

  Then—

  A shadow loomed from above.

  Steven descended like a falling star, his sword gleaming with the wrath of the storm itself.

  Thunder roared.

  Lightning crackled along his blade, illuminating the battlefield in a blinding surge of power.

  And then—he struck.

  The thunder-infused sword cleaved through the Demon King’s form, divine energy tearing through every muscle, every nerve, every fragment of his being.

  A scream erupted from Grion’s throat—a raw, guttural sound of agony and defiance.

  His body disintegrated.

  Flesh burned away, reduced to ash and light.

  The ground trembled. The battlefield fell silent.

  But the war was not over yet.

  Not yet.

  Giren roared, his massive axe carving through flesh and bone.

  The Demon King's legs were severed in a spray of dark blood.

  The monstrous tyrant stumbled, his balance broken, his form shaking under the weight of his own impending doom.

  But they didn’t stop.

  Steven rushed in, his blade a streak of silver and lightning, cutting through the thick air like a promise of death. His strikes were precise, merciless.

  Schlack. Schlack. Schlack.

  One by one, the Demon King’s six arms were sliced away. The severed limbs writhed on the ground, fingers twitching like dying serpents, their nerves still alive with residual malice.

  Asael followed, his golden blade glinting under the dim light of the battlefield, divine power surging through his veins.

  He clenched the hilt tighter, feeling the weight of fate in his grasp. With a single, blindingly fast slash, he cleaved through the Demon King’s neck.

  The air split with a sickening hiss.

  Black ichor exploded into the air, thick and pungent, spraying over the scarred battlefield.

  The monstrous head tumbled down, rolling across the dirt, its mouth frozen in a silent snarl.

  Then another strike.

  Asael’s sword carved through the waist, splitting the Demon King’s torso from his lower half. The pieces collapsed, lifeless, scattered like remnants of a nightmare torn apart by waking light.

  Silence fell over the battlefield.

  The warriors dropped to their knees, their breath ragged, their bodies trembling from exhaustion.

  The scent of blood, burnt flesh, and sweat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Their weapons, once an extension of their will, now felt like dead weight in their hands.

  They had won.

  And yet, none of them moved to celebrate.

  Their gazes locked onto the scattered remains, hearts pounding against their ribs. Something wasn’t right.

  Then, the pieces twitched.

  The severed flesh darkened, veins bulging, twisting unnaturally. The limbs, the torso, the head—they melted into thick, ink-like sludge, pooling together in the center of the battlefield.

  It slithered. It crawled. It breathed.

  Giren swallowed hard, gripping his axe as his knuckles turned white. “What the hell…?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  The black mass pulsed, swelling, shifting, bulging outward in grotesque shapes. A sickening squelch filled the air as it congealed, expanding, something terrible taking shape.

  Then—a mouth.

  No eyes. No nose. No ears. Only a mouth.

  Massive. Twisting. Endless.

  Rows upon rows of jagged, spiraling teeth gnashed together in an eternal, mindless hunger. The very air around it wavered, as if existence itself recoiled in terror.

  The ground beneath it withered, dissolving into nothingness wherever the nightmare touched.

  The battlefield, once broken and bloodied, was now vanishing, swallowed piece by piece into the abyss.

  Sirius’s breath caught in his throat. “By the gods…”

  Lily’s hands trembled as she drew back her bowstring, but even her sharp eyes could barely comprehend what she was seeing.

  Anne’s light flared, radiant and warm, but for the first time, doubt flickered in her gaze.

  Because this thing—

  This was not a king.

  Not a monster.

  Not even a demon.

  This was something worse.

  A nightmare given form.

  And it was still moving.

  Still growing.

  Still hungry.

  Asael exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around his sword. His arms burned, his legs ached, his body screamed for rest. But there was no time. No choice.

  They were battered, wounded, barely standing. But none of it mattered now.

  This was the true end.

  He forced himself upright, eyes blazing with defiance. “We fight.”

  Steven gritted his teeth, his blade crackling with lightning once more.

  Giren rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck, his muscles coiled like steel cables. “Damn right we do.”

  Sirius began weaving spells, his mana roaring to life, his voice steady even as his fingers trembled.

  Anne raised her staff high, light surging like a beacon against the abyss.

  Lily drew her bow, arrows gleaming, her breath measured despite the terror clawing at her chest.

  And as the nightmare’s endless maw moved, the earth crumbling into oblivion beneath it—

  They charged.