On another battlefield, as night fell once more, a demon clad in thick clothing made from the hides of demonic beasts wielded his sword or used his sharp claws to kill any warriors or mages within reach.
The demon possessed outstanding power. He was not so young, having lived for almost half a century, but in the heat of war his potential was constantly growing.
With his skin covered in grayish-green scales, his fierce gaze, and his sharp teeth, he sometimes devoured his victims to quench the thirst and hunger that arose after a long day of battle.
One of his white horns was broken, which happened in the middle of the war by a human warrior aided by two wizards. He killed all three of them.
In the demons' camp, a horn sounded, its sound echoing across the battlefield.
Two black silhouettes moved swiftly under the cover of night.
Bang!
The demon's sword blocked a dagger.
The demon let out a snorting sound.
The shadow recoiled as quickly as it had appeared.
