A mother clutched her four-year-old son tightly as she ran through the streets, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The air reeked of blood and smoke. Corpses lay sprawled across the cobblestones—neighbors, friends, strangers—all torn apart or defiled by the demons rampaging through the city. Behind her, distant screams echoed through the chaos. Her arms trembled from exhaustion, but she didn't dare slow down. Tears blurred her vision, mixing with the streaks of blood that covered her face and clothes—her husband's blood, from when he'd stayed behind to fight so she could flee.
She glanced over her shoulder. Three imps darted after her, their twisted faces split with cruel, gleeful grins. Their laughter carried through the air like broken glass. Her son cried uncontrollably, his small hands clutching at her dress as she tried to run faster. But she wasn't faster than them. She could hear their feet scraping the stones, getting closer and closer—until one lunged forward and grabbed the hem of her dress.
She screamed as the pull sent her stumbling. Her knees struck the ground hard, pain lancing up her legs, but she twisted her body at the last second to shield her son. He hit the ground safely atop her arms as she took the full force of the fall. The boy wailed louder.
The imps surrounded her, their clawed hands twitching in anticipation. One licked its lips while another snickered, eyes gleaming with perverse delight. "Ple-please… just me," she begged, her voice shaking, "d-don't hurt him!" She curled around her child, pressing him tight against her chest, waiting for the pain to come.
But instead of claws, she heard a sharp crack—the sound of a gunshot. Then came a hiss of electricity. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. When she dared to open her eyes, the middle imp was lying dead with a smoldering hole in its chest, while the other two convulsed as arcs of residual current danced across their charred bodies.
A shadow loomed over her, followed by the swift, clean sound of blades cutting through air. Two heads hit the ground before the bodies even knew they were dead.
She looked up. The man standing before her was dressed like a pirate, twin cutlasses in hand, in a confident stance. Recognition struck her immediately. She'd seen his face on wanted posters. The Bandit Lord. Ulrich.
He glanced down at her. "Now's not the time to stare at me. Now's the time to get up and run," he said sharply, reaching down to haul her to her feet.
"Is she alright?" another voice called out.
She turned to see a man standing nearby, revolver still raised, his long coat and hardened expression giving him the look of a bounty hunter.
"She's fine, I think," Ulrich answered.
Amos stepped closer, giving her a quick once-over. "Th-thank you," she stammered, still trembling.
He shook his head. "Don't thank us. Just get out of here—quickly."
She nodded shakily, clutching her son tighter. The boy's cries had softened to quiet sobs as she ran off down a side street, disappearing from sight.
Ulrich and Amos watched her go for a moment before turning back to the horde of demons now converging on them.
"Goddess, never thought I'd be doing something like this," Amos muttered, sliding a bullet into his revolver's chamber. "Standing next to you of all people."
Ulrich gave a short, humorless laugh. "Well, the world doesn't make much sense anymore." He lifted his cutlasses, pointing them toward the oncoming swarm. "Now let's get these things."
Amos nodded once. The demons roared and charged, claws and teeth flashing. Ulrich sprinted forward to meet them head-on, while Amos raised his revolver, took aim, and fired.
Somewhere else in the city, "Come on~ Why are you all so scared~?" Mae sang as she sauntered toward a cluster of trembling demons, holding two halves of a drakorath by its spine in each hand. Before the creatures could even shriek, Zee slid in from the side and cleaved two of them in half with the sword she was still learning to wield.
"Mae! Stop playing around so much!" Zee snapped, turning toward her twin. "We were split into pairs for a reason! You slowing down defeats the whole point!" Mae sighed, dropping the drakorath halves with a wet thud. "Fine, fine. Let's kill them quickly." With a lazy wave of her hand both elf sisters moved as one, and the demons, frozen in outright horror, were cut down before they could react.
Elsewhere in the city, "I enjoy a good fight, but there's no end to these guys," X muttered with clear irritation, shaking demon blood from his hands. He rubbed a smear off his skull mask with his thumb, standing over the mangled corpse of a once-horned, once-named demon.
"The majority of them are nameless runts," Sarandel said coolly. She stood nearby with one foot planted on the chest of a massive demon nearly ten feet tall. It thrashed beneath her, slashing and punching wildly, but its blows might as well have been gusts of wind. Sarandel didn't even flinch.
"They can only swarm," she continued, pressing her heel down until the pavement cracked. "Alone, they die like insects."
The giant demon let out a guttural scream before her boot sank deeper, ribs snapping like brittle sticks. Then she stomped once—clean and final. The creature went still.
Sarandel lifted her foot, its surface gleaming spotless despite the carnage beneath. Her gaze shifted toward the distance, her expression sharpening. "Now, enough talking. I feel the presence of very powerful demons. Three Demon Lords."