The skies were heavy with dread. Panic spilled through the streets like floodwaters breaching a dam. All across the globe, Zorfis' declaration echoed in a thousand languages, seeping into every home, every screen, every soul.
"Accept the infernal seal… or die and be turned anyways?."
The words triggered chaos. Cities descended into madness. Sirens blared in vain, drowned beneath the collective cries of humanity. Roads clogged with fleeing citizens. People collapsed to their knees in despair or sprinted for the nearest shelter, though none knew what safety even meant anymore.
"I—I don't want to die!" someone sobbed, clutching their child.
"We'll be turned either way," another man stammered, his voice cracking.
Others looked to the heavens, searching for mercy that felt absent.
On the battlefield, the second-rank demons observed the unfolding hysteria with cool detachment.
Joyous clicked her tongue. "Hmph. They're all losing their minds."
Luvart smirked. "Well, what do you expect? Zorfis basically told them we'll kill them or enslave them. Naturally, they're terrified."
Dracon let out a sharp laugh. "Let's see how well they think under pressure."
Human resistance didn't die easily, however. The military, desperate and battered, mounted a final counteroffensive. Across continents, missiles launched, aircraft soared, and drone squadrons screamed through the skies. One aircraft targeted Dracon, spiraling toward him with lethal speed.
With a sneer, Dracon reared his fist and punched the drone mid-flight, exploding it in a fiery burst that lit the clouds above. A dozen more followed—he laughed louder with each detonation, reveling in the futility of man's finest toys.
Elsewhere, Joyous and Wrict dodged anti-air shells with ease, gliding through the sky like shadows slicing wind. Explosions flashed in vain. Everywhere the humans struck, the demons retaliated with merciless precision. Time ticked down.
After an hour, humanity's final window for decision had closed.
Zorfis once again projected his voice into every mind, telepathy laced with cruel authority.
"Your time is up. What will it be, humans? Will you die… or will you live as ours?"
On the ground, civilians were fracturing.
"I accept!" someone cried out desperately. "I'll take the seal!"
"You can't be serious!" a man barked in response, grabbing him by the shoulder.
"We don't have a choice!" the first man shrieked. "You saw the missile! It did nothing to him! NOTHING! If we don't accept, we'll be mindless beasts! I'd rather live with my mind than die like an animal!"
Confusion thickened like smoke in the crowd.
Then a calm voice rose above the noise—Father Sean, a priest in torn robes, his eyes burning with conviction.
"The Divine will return for us," he said. "There's a reason we weren't taken in the Great Rapture—because we must endure and prove ourselves. We were left behind to face the fire. If you give up now, you may never see Heaven."
But the people hesitated. Some wept. Others stared at him with hollow eyes.
"What happens if we die before the Divine comes back?" someone asked.
Father Sean fell silent.
"Well?" another voice pressed. "Tell us!"
The answer came not from him, but from the frightened man who had accepted the offer first.
"We go to hell," he said quietly. "That's the truth. There's no second chance."
The crowd fell into stunned silence.
Then, slowly, from different corners of the world, came the cries:
"We accept…"
"We'll take the seal…"
"We want to live…"
In cities and villages alike, desperation won. People raised their hands, begging for survival. They wanted peace, sanity—anything but death.
Within seconds, Zorfis reached out to the others through the shared mental link. His voice was laced with satisfaction.
"The humans have agreed. Let the ritual begin. Give them the seal."
But just as the ceremony was about to commence, something unexpected happened.
From the horizon, in every major zone where a second-rank demon presided, powerful auras approached. The sky shimmered as figures broke through the veil, their presence like thunder beneath the surface of the world.
Joyous narrowed her eyes. "Sindel…? Where have you been hiding?"
Wrict turned toward his old comrade. "Syril… don't tell me you're here to defend them."
Zorfis stepped forward, surprised. "Sir Damon… this wasn't your assignment. The second ranks were enough for this task."
But Damon stood tall, arms crossed, a dangerous grin curling his lips.
"I hate to ruin your little party, Zorfis," he said. "But your ritual ends here."
Zorfis blinked. "What? Why?"
"Because by order of the Divine," Damon declared, his voice carrying like a drumbeat of judgment, "the Hell 9 are here to vanquish you and protect mankind."
The world stilled.
In that moment, with the Earth trembling under the weight of demons and defenders alike, the line between salvation and destruction had never been thinner.