WebNovels

Chapter 1 - Prologue

The fields outside Talet burned.

Not from dragonfire or siege weapons, but from the sheer heat of bodies clashing—steel against claw, magic against raw fury. Captain Lorian pulled his blade from a Demi-Demon's chest and kicked the body aside, already turning to parry the next strike. The creature's small black horns caught the dying sunlight as it crumpled.

"Hold the line!" he shouted, though he wasn't sure anyone could hear him over the screaming.

His soldiers were good. The best Talet had. They moved like water through the Demon ranks, their silver armor gleaming, their formations tight. But the Demons didn't fight like anything the Academy had prepared them for. No armor. No strategy. Just teeth and claws and those whip-fast tails that could punch through chainmail if you weren't careful.

A Dark Demon charged him, its oni-curved horns sweeping low. Lorian sidestepped and brought his sword down in a clean arc. The thing howled—a sound that was almost laughter—before it hit the ground. Three more rushed in to take its place.

"Left flank!" Lieutenant Kesara's voice cut through the chaos. She was fifty paces away, her twin blades spinning as she carved through a pack of Demi-Demons. "We're losing the left flank!"

Lorian swore and signaled to his archers. "Covering fire! Push them back!"

Arrows sang through the air, silver-tipped and blessed by the priests back in Talet. The Demi-Demons shrieked and scattered, their small black horns making them look almost childlike as they fled. Almost. Until you saw their teeth.

"They're regrouping!" someone shouted.

And they were. The Demons never stayed scattered for long. That was the problem. You could kill a dozen of them and twenty more would take their place, grinning like death itself was just another game. The Elves fought with precision and discipline. The Demons fought like they had nothing to lose.

A Havoc Demon burst through the line—bigger than the others, its body covered in multiple horns and spikes that jutted from its shoulders and spine. It grabbed a soldier by the helmet and threw him fifteen feet. Just threw him, like he weighed nothing.

"With me!" Lorian charged forward, three of his best behind him. They hit the Havoc Demon from different angles, blades finding the gaps between its natural armor. It took all four of them to bring it down, and even then it kept thrashing until Kesara drove her blade through its skull.

"How many is that?" she panted, blood splattered across her face.

"Not enough." Lorian pulled his sword free and looked across the battlefield. Bodies everywhere. Mostly Demon, but too many Elven. They'd been fighting for three hours and the sun was getting low. "We need to push them back before nightfall or—"

A horn blast from the Demon side made everyone freeze.

It wasn't the wild, chaotic sound they'd been hearing all day. This was different. Organized. Almost ceremonial.

"What is that?" Kesara whispered.

The Demons were pulling back. All of them. The Demi-Demons with their small black horns, the Dark Demons with their oni curves, even the few remaining Havoc Demons with their spikes and fury—all of them retreating. But not fleeing. Moving with purpose.

"They're forming up," one of the soldiers said, voice tight with fear. "Why are they forming up?"

Lorian's grip tightened on his sword. In all his years fighting Demons, he'd never seen them organize like this. They didn't have formations. They didn't have discipline. They just had rage and hunger and endless numbers.

Some of the younger soldiers started to cheer, thinking it was a retreat.

"Quiet!" Lorian snapped. His eyes scanned the tree line where the Demons had gathered. Something was wrong. The air felt different. Heavier. Like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. "Get the wounded back. Everyone else, shields up and stay ready."

"Captain, they're running," a young soldier protested. "We won—"

"We didn't win anything."

The Demons had gone completely still. Hundreds of them, just standing there at the edge of the forest. Waiting.

Then the trees moved.

She walked out of the shadows.

Even from a distance, Lorian could tell this wasn't like the others. No feral movements. No wild charging. She moved the way nobility moved—measured, graceful, like she had all the time in the world. Her dress trailed behind her, black silk that didn't belong anywhere near a battlefield, and her hair fell past her waist in waves so dark they seemed to swallow light.

The Demons parted for her like a sea. They bowed. Actually bowed.

"Goddess preserve us," someone whispered behind him. "That's—that's the Demon Queen."

Lorian had heard the stories. Every soldier had. But stories didn't prepare you for the reality of it. Her horns rose from her temples in elegant sweeps, almost crown-like, marking her as a Deity Demon. Regal. Ancient. The kind of demon that appeared in history books and nightmares.

She stopped twenty paces from the Elven line, surveying the battlefield with eyes that glowed like embers. Then she smiled.

"You fight beautifully," she said. Her voice carried across the field without effort, melodic and clear. "Such grace. Such form." She tilted her head, studying the Elven forces like they were paintings in a gallery. "The Elves truly are works of art. Every movement, every strike—perfection."

Lorian stepped forward, raising his sword. "You're on our land, demon."

"Your land?" She laughed. "How strange. I don't recall the God granting you ownership. Did you receive a deed? A divine contract, perhaps?"

"This land has been ours for a thousand years—"

"And before that?" She took a step closer. The Demons behind her remained perfectly still. "Who did you take it from, I wonder? The God created all of us, Captain. Elves. Demons. This beautiful, bloody world. But somewhere along the way, you decided you were special. That you deserved more."

"We're nothing alike," Lorian spat.

"No," she agreed, taking another step. She was close enough now that he could see the details of her face—the sharp angles, the perfect symmetry, the way her bronze eyes caught the light. "You're right. We're not alike. Because we remember what we are. We embrace it. You, on the other hand..." She gestured at the battlefield, at the bodies and blood and broken weapons. "You dress it up in honor and duty. You call it righteousness. But in the end, Captain, you kill just as we do."

"We defend what's ours!"

"And we take what we want." She smiled wider. "At least we're honest about it."

She moved.

One moment she was standing there, the next she was in front of him. He didn't even see her cross the distance. Her hand—delicate, almost fragile-looking—caught his wrist before he could swing. The sword fell from his grip.

"Get back!" Kesara screamed, rushing forward with her blades.

The Demon Queen's tail lashed out—faster than thought—and caught Kesara in the chest. The lieutenant flew backward and hit the ground hard, gasping.

"You misunderstand the natural order," the Queen said softly, her eyes locked on Lorian's. "We were meant to rule this world. Your kind simply... forgot to move aside."

"We'll never—"

Her other hand moved to his chest. Not violent. Gentle, even. Like a lover's touch.

The pain came after.

It felt like his heart was tearing itself apart from the inside. He couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Could only stare into those bronze eyes as everything inside him shattered. Distantly, he could hear his soldiers shouting, the sound of steel being drawn, but it all seemed so far away.

"Shh." She caught him as he fell, lowering him almost tenderly to the ground. "There now. Beautiful even in death. Your God made you well, Captain. It's almost a shame."

The world was getting dark. Lorian could see Kesara trying to stand, could see his soldiers frozen in horror, unsure whether to charge or flee. Everything was too late. It had always been too late.

The Demon Queen straightened, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her dress wasn't even dirty. Behind her, the Demon army had gone utterly still, watching. Waiting for her word.

She looked at them—her children, her warriors, her kingdom—and her voice rang out clear and terrible:

"The Demons shall rise, as your God intended. This world was made for us. Made for those strong enough to claim it." She turned back to the battlefield, to the city of Talet in the distance with its white towers and its false peace. Her smile was radiant. Terrifying.

"Soon," she said, her words carrying across the blood-soaked field, "all of Token is next."

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