Arkanis stirred with a low groan, forcing himself upright through a spike of pain that rippled through his body. Broken and scorched trees lay scattered around him, their trunks split and uprooted, while the park floor beneath him was torn apart—soil gouged deep where his body had struck and dragged across the ground. He pressed a hand to his chest, fingers brushing torn, blackened fabric where the blow had landed, heat-scorched and shredded.
"He used astral magic like it was a flaming stick to be swung around," he muttered.
Gripping his staff, he planted it firmly against the ground and leaned on it for support, hauling himself to his feet. The motion was slow and uneven; his legs protested as he steadied himself, still reeling from having only just regained consciousness.
"I can't believe I allowed myself to get careless like that."
His gaze lifted toward the sky, locking onto the rift he had torn open above Arcadicia. For a moment, he considered closing it—ending the strain, sealing the wound—but the thought of the fear and panic it would cause among the residents made him hesitate. He left it open. Turning away, he began the slow walk back toward the city's center, staff tapping against the ruined ground with each step.
"Just how many more of us are going to have to die for this one world?"
The death of yet another Demon Lord weighed heavily on him, a presence he had felt vanish alongside countless demons—named and unnamed, horned and hornless alike. Combined with what Sarandel had told him, the toll was becoming impossible to ignore, and the doubts creeping into his mind were no longer small ones.
---
Kharveth tore his blood-soaked fist free from the chest of an undead demon and straightened, the corpse collapsing lifelessly at his feet. He surveyed the street around him. Bodies were everywhere—piles of demon corpses strewn across the stone, limbs twisted and broken, ichor pooling between cracks in the road. A thick, rotting stench hung in the air, heavy with decay from the unmoving undead.
He scanned the battlefield, counting what remained. Where four hundred demons had once flooded the street, no more than two hundred still stood—if that.
Nilus descended from above, landing nearby. "I don't see anymore coming towards us commander."
Kharveth turned to him and signed, "Or maybe we are not the only ones they targeted, since this is undoubtedly the work of a powerful necromancer, I doubt this is all that they had considering how many demons have already died,"
Nilus nodded in agreement as Slakerm approached, blades still wet with blood. "We move?" he asked, retracting his wrist blades back into his arms as he came to a stop beside them.
Nilus looked back to Kharveth. "Then what should we do commander? Should we go back to King Domine or should we go and see if Lord Armada needs out help?"
The Knight Commander shook his head and signed, "We should head back to King Domine like he asked us to, Lord Armada is strong and can defeat the undead himself."
---
Kharveth had been right in more ways than one. There had been far more undead demons than anticipated, and they had come down on Armada and his force relentlessly. What had once been two hundred demons under his command had been whittled down to a mere forty.
Even so, Kharveth had also been right about Armada himself. He stood amid the aftermath, letting out a relieved sigh as he slid his dao back into its sheath. The last dozen undead demons lay in ruined pieces around him, their bodies carved apart with precise, efficient strikes.
"Drinus, casualty report," he called out.
A named, horned demon stepped forward. At a glance, he bore a striking resemblance to Azid—his build and features nearly identical—but the differences were unmistakable. His skin was red rather than blue, his eyes an unnaturally deep crimson instead of pale blue, and two small horns curved from his head where Azid had none. An iron sword rested in his grip, replacing the spear his counterpart carried. Everything else matched very closely.
"We're just down to forty now my lord, so we have taken significant casualties," he answered.
Armada dragged a hand down his face and rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion finally bleeding through his composure. "Great, one hell of an army we are going back with," he muttered, his gaze sweeping over the motionless remains of the undead littering the street. "Just where did these things come from?" His voice carried a sharp edge of frustration.
Drimus followed his gaze, scanning the ruined surroundings before quietly replying, "Who knows my lord, but we should head back quickly before anymore can come."
Armada nodded. "Your right, but we should get ready to get yelled at by King Domine, its bound to happen with how little forces we're bringing back," he said as he turned and began to walk.
The remaining demons fell in behind him, Drimus among them, as they moved away from the battlefield—while the battle for Arcadicia drew ever closer to its climax.