Demons are predatory spiritual entities that feed on intense human negative emotions. They never care about people's opinions, nor are they interested in conquering the world; they simply commit all sorts of inconceivable acts to satisfy themselves.
To ensure that the emotions they consume are pure and intense enough, they even participate in creating those emotions themselves.
Generally speaking, as long as a single creature exists in this world, Demons will never disappear.
In Runeterra, this special group of Demons is divided into three tiers: the Ten Primeval Demons, titled adult Demons, and Demon younglings, also known as Azakana.
Before his transmigration, Durin had read the official background lore of the League of Legends universe. To his knowledge, only Fiddlesticks, the scarecrow who screams fear at everyone he meets, is a true Primeval Demon. As long as the concept of fear exists in this world, he will live forever.
Characters like Pain Embrace Evelynn, The River King Tahm Kench, and Nocturne, the Eternal Nightmare, all belong to the category of titled adult Demons, but this is a very broad classification, and there are distinct power differences between each Demon.
They may not fear their true names being called out, but there will still be an effect.
The weakest are the Demon younglings, Azakana. These are Demons that have not yet acquired a title and need to consume large amounts of intense negative emotions, then choose an unoccupied negative emotion as their title.
Of course, they can also challenge an existing titled superior Demon, kill and devour them, and take their place.
Durin didn't know what level of Demon the one before him was, but even the weakest Azakana could give him a run for his money.
In other words, the current situation was the greatest danger he had encountered since his transmigration. If he wanted to survive, he had to make as much commotion as possible, wishing the entire city knew about it.
However, after running for a few minutes, Durin still couldn't see the exit of the alley. There was still no light in his vision.
This situation was very wrong. He clearly remembered that this alley was not deep, so why hadn't the surrounding environment changed at all?
At the speed he was running with all his might, he must have covered at least two or three hundred meters, so how could he not have seen the exit?
If he continued like this, he seemed to be walking endlessly.
Durin stopped instantly. A thought suddenly popped into his mind: Had he encountered a "ghost wall"?
No!
She's a Demon, not one of those ghosts from the Shadow Isles. She must have cast some kind of illusionary ability.
So how to break this illusion?
My brain was racing, but then I heard a slow, unhurried sound of footsteps behind me.
Tap, tap, tap!
The crisp sound of high heels echoed on the bluish-gray flagstones, a pleasant rhythm.
Durin slowly turned around, his excellent dark vision allowing him to clearly see the black-haired woman leisurely walking towards him, step by step.
"You're very impressive, Mr. Durin. You've prepared far too many surprises for me, one after another. Should I tear your soul into pieces and eat them bit by bit? Or swallow you whole, in one gulp? You're making me so conflicted~" she said with a smile.
Durin's heart, however, gradually sank to rock bottom.
Thankfully, with the calm provided by Arcane Wisdom, Durin took a deep breath, intending to try and talk his way out of it.
"Can we talk?" Durin said calmly, his gaze steady. "I'm a distinguished student of Piltover University. If I die, Piltover University will not let it go. You'll have a lot of trouble then. Why don't you let me go? I'll pretend I never saw you. You can do whatever you want. Piltover is so big, there are plenty of wealthy nobles, and they are pampered and much more tender than an old rough man like me."
Durin spoke in a calm, almost narrative tone, his voice devoid of fluctuation, his face without a single superfluous expression. He intended to test the newly acquired [Diplomacy] passive, a Charm-related specialization.
"Hmm... Are you negotiating with me?"
Under the bright moonlight, the woman's figure looked exceptionally graceful. She wore a form-fitting black lace dress, and a lace veil made her face appear even more alluring. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then said,
"No... I'm not afraid of Piltover University. And you have a scent on you that makes my mouth water. I won't let you go so easily."
The woman's exquisite face, always adorned with a faint smile, showed no change in emotion in her emerald eyes, only a usual playfulness, like the gaze of onlookers watching a butcher slaughter a domestic pig during a festival—a natural disdain born from a difference in life levels.
Her shadow, illuminated by the moonlight, appeared unnaturally elongated and distorted.
To be precise, it was a tall, thin shadow with bared fangs and claws, but it also flickered with four crimson-glowing eyes.
The atmosphere solidified for a moment, their eyes locked.
The next moment, Durin shot towards the woman like a cannonball. Since the magic he wielded was ineffective against a Demon, and he couldn't escape, and negotiations had failed.
That left him with only one last choice: a desperate fight to the death!
He would carve a bloody path with the enchanted scimitar in his hand!
When the black-haired woman saw Durin charging, a strange curve appeared at the corner of her mouth. A mass of black-green gas condensed on her left arm, slowly solidifying into a sharp blade on her arm's surface.
"Clang!"
The black gas blade on the woman's arm clashed with the red-glowing scimitar, producing a metallic scraping sound.
In a flash, the black-haired woman's body twisted at an incredibly strange angle, unleashing a fierce whip kick aimed directly at Durin's temple.
This was a killing blow, but compared to her magic, her close-quarters combat was less terrifying. This leg whip had an imperceptible preparatory stance, perhaps only a few tenths of a second, but for Durin, with 118 points in one-handed weapons, his eyes were already as sharp as a hawk's, capturing that fleeting moment.
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