Aeron had been fighting on the front lines from the very moment the invasion began. He was the lone barrier keeping the demons from reaching Ironhelm's gates before the automatons, Ironguard, and the other specialists arrived. By his own count, he had already cut down nearly four thousand demons, seventeen among them horned elites with names and reputations.
But none of them—not one—gave him the same feeling as the figure now standing before him.
The man wore a long gray coat and dark red dress pants, his deep black hair wild, uncombed, and hanging past his ears. His blood-red eyes burned with fury, but his face…his skin looked wrong. Sickly pale, nearly sallow, like someone who had spent too long in dim places no mortal belonged. He carried himself with a swagger that suggested arrogance, yet it didn't quite match any noble bearing or the polished confidence of a seasoned commander. His posture felt more like someone who believed he was above everyone else, even if his demeanor didn't fully match it.
Still, Aeron could tell with absolute certainty—this man was more dangerous than anyone he'd fought today. More dangerous than all but one other person he had ever crossed.
"You were looking for me?" Aeron asked, tone leveled, his gaze unmoving as the man glared back.
"I came here to kill you!" the Demon Lord shouted. "I am Redgrave—Demon Lord! The one who will take this city in the name of King Dominus!" He raised his fist as if announcing a verdict.
Aeron tilted his head slightly. "Dominus? Is he the one behind all of this?" he asked while stepping forward, movements steady and unhurried.
"You do not need to know," Redgrave snarled, matching Aeron's advance. "Because you will be dying now." His right hand lifted, fingers curling like claws as his lips twisted in a feral sneer. "The One Feared By Death!"
He lunged, swiping for Aeron's face.
Aeron leaned back just enough for the claws to whistle past. Another swipe came from below—he shifted his weight and let it pass. A third tore sideways—Aeron stepped back, letting it slice through empty air. Redgrave struck again, and again, and again, each attack growing faster, more frenzied, his movements blurring into a storm of slashing arcs. Aeron's expression didn't change as he shifted and slipped around every attempt, his steps measured, almost casual.
Redgrave's fury only climbed with each miss. His clawed hands became a whirlwind, swipes cutting the air with crackling force—
—and then another crack suddenly cut through the chaos.
Not a loud one. Not something anyone could hear over the clash of steel and the screams of demons being torn apart by Ironhelm's defenses.
But Redgrave felt it.
The world twisted around him. His vision blurred. His knee slammed into the ground before he even realized he had fallen.
*What—what just happened…? Did he—did he punch me?*
His head throbbed violently. It felt like he'd been rammed by a siege hammer. Aeron stood before him, left fist lowered from a clean follow-through.
*One punch—and I, Redgrave—am on one knee!?*
He glared up at Aeron, fury boiling through his veins—
Just in time to see Aeron's boot snap forward.
The kick connected with Redgrave's jaw, and the Demon Lord was sent hurtling backward like a fired projectile, smashing straight through several demons unfortunate enough to be in his path. Their bodies burst into gore as he tore past them before he finally dug his fingers into the ground, ripping trenches into the battlefield just to force himself to a stop.
He growled, shaking the disorientation out of his skull just as Aeron's shadow fell over him. Redgrave kicked off the ground, retreating in a sharp backward leap—
Aeron's foot came down on the exact spot where Redgrave had been slumped.
The impact detonated outward in a short, brutal shockwave. Dirt blasted away. Nearby demons were flung from their feet like dolls, their bodies tumbling through the air from the sheer force of the stomp.
"Monster," Redgrave spat, eyes narrowing behind his helm as he steadied himself. "What are you? I don't sense any mana—any energy. How are you this strong?"
Aeron kept walking toward him, steps slow, deliberate, unhurried. "I don't know," he said simply. "I just am."
Redgrave tensed, raising his guard—
Aeron closed the distance in a breath and threw a heavy, clean haymaker aimed squarely at his head.
Redgrave ducked beneath it, sliding low and forward. As he passed under Aeron's arm, his fingers snapped upward in a slicing arc. He felt the impact—solid contact. He didn't stop. He pivoted behind Aeron and slashed twice more across the specialist's back, each strike sharp and precise. Before Aeron could fully turn, Redgrave drove a punch into the side of his head, the blow sending Aeron skidding sideways across the battlefield.
Redgrave straightened, a grin pulling at his lips. "How does that feel?" he taunted, savoring the moment.
But then—
Something felt off.
No—something didn't feel off, and that was the problem.
He didn't feel blood. No warmth coating his fingers. No scent of it drifting upward through the battlefield's smoke and dust.
He lowered his gaze, staring at his hands.
They were clean.
"What the hell…?" he muttered.
His eyes snapped back up.
Aeron stood there, back fully visible—and completely untouched. No cuts. No torn fabric. Not even a mark. And as he turned, Redgrave saw the front was the same. Aeron wasn't wincing, wasn't reacting, wasn't even rubbing at a supposed injury.
It was as though nothing had ever struck him at all.
A cold pressure tightened in Redgrave's throat. He stepped back without meaning to.
"Wha—what even are you?" he asked, the edges of fear creeping into his voice as Aeron began walking toward him again.