An hour later, the screams stopped.

The forest fell silent, not the gentle silence of a winter night, but the heavy silence of a graveyard. No birds sang. No insects chirped. The wind itself seemed to hold its breath, afraid to disturb whatever remained inside that building.

Raven pushed herself off the tree. "Stay with the children," she told her second-in-command. "Do not enter the warehouse until I signal."

"Captain," the soldier began, concern etched on her face.

"That is an order."

Raven walked toward the warehouse alone.

The door hung from its hinges, twisted and broken, as if something had tried to escape and failed. Raven stepped through the opening, her boots crunching on shattered glass and dried blood.

The inside was destroyed. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Not damaged. Not wrecked. Destroyed.

The walls were cracked, the stone split as if struck by lightning. The floor was littered with debris, chunks of wood, fragments of metal, the remains of chains that had been rattled to pieces. The green fungus that had coated the walls was dead, shriveled into black crust that flaked away at the slightest touch. The air was thick with dust, thick with the smell of iron and fear.

The lesser demons were dead.

Raven walked past their bodies, her face expressionless, her heart cold. They had not been killed by the stone’s power directly. The stone had not crushed them or burned them or torn them apart. It had shown them something, something so terrible that they had chosen to end their own lives rather than continue witnessing it.

One demon had clawed its own eyes out, its fingers still embedded in the sockets. Another had bitten through its own tongue, the bloody stump visible between its gaping jaws. A third had bashed its head against the wall until its skull cracked open, its brains leaking onto the stone floor.

They had killed themselves in terror, convinced that death was preferable to whatever the stone had shown them.

Raven stepped over a body that had been ripped in half, not by an external force, but by its own hands. Its arms were still extended, its claws still dripping with its own blood. Its face was frozen in an expression of such profound horror that Raven had to look away.

She walked deeper into the warehouse.

The bodies grew fewer as she approached the center, but the signs of struggle grew worse. Blood painted the walls in wide arcs. Claw marks scarred the stone. Chains lay broken on the floor, their links twisted into shapes that should not have been possible.

And then she saw him.

The salesman demon lay in the center of the destruction, his body still, his chest barely rising. His suit was torn, his tie ripped away, his shirt stained with blood and sweat and something darker. His black eyes were closed, his too-wide mouth slack, his expression peaceful for the first time since she had met him.

He was breathing.

Raven’s eyes widened. She rushed forward, kneeling beside his unconscious form, checking his pulse, his pupils, his breathing. He was alive, barely, but alive. The Black Stone’s aura had a survival rate of 0.4 percent, and he had somehow beaten the odds.

She did not know if it was luck or strength or sheer demonic stubbornness. She did not care. He was alive, and that meant he could talk.

Raven activated her communicator. "Chief," she said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "We have successfully captured the salesman demon."

Sara’s voice crackled through the speaker, cool and expectant. "As expected. Did you find anything?"

"Yes, Chief. I believe he possesses critical information about the Demon King’s true plans. The way he spoke, the confidence, the knowledge, he knows something we do not."

"Good." There was a pause, a soft rustle of papers, the click of a keyboard. "Bring him to the Agency’s main base. The torture chamber is already prepared."

Raven looked down at the unconscious demon, at his pale face, his bloodied lips, his shallow breathing. He had laughed while children screamed. He had torn a man’s head off while children watched. He had mocked their prayers, their faith, their desperate hope for salvation.

She felt no pity.

"Understood, Chief," she said. "We are on our way."

She signaled to her unit, and the Shadow Crow emerged from the forest, moving quickly, efficiently, their faces hidden behind their masks. They bound the salesman demon in reinforced chains, lifted him onto a stretcher, and carried him into the darkness.

Behind them, the warehouse stood empty, its walls scarred, its floor stained, its secrets buried beneath the rubble.

The children would forget.

The demons were dead.

And the salesman demon would soon face the justice he had earned.

Location: Pacific Ocean

Place: Demon King Castle

Demon King Allen stood in the middle of the blood pool, his muscular body exposed, his skin glistening with the residue of sin. The liquid reached his waist, warm and thick, pulsing with the stolen souls of the innocent. He absorbed it slowly, deliberately, letting the corruption seep into his flesh, his bones, his very essence.

He was preparing for war.

Not the war the Agency expected, not the open conflict they had been planning for, the battle they thought they understood. He was preparing for something older. Something deeper. Something that had been set in motion before the first demon made its first contract.

His eyes drifted upward.

Above the blood pool, carved into the ceiling of the chamber, was the symbol of the Black Dragon. It was vast, covering the entire ceiling, stretching from wall to wall, its wings spread wide, its mouth open in a silent roar. The dragon was not a destroyer. It was a mother.

In its arms, it carried a child.

The child had black hair and red eyes, small and fragile, pressed against the dragon’s chest. The dragon’s wings curled around the child like a blanket, shielding it from the darkness that surrounded them. The symbol represented love, a love so fierce that it had waged war against heaven itself, a love so desperate that it had challenged the gods, a love so absolute that it had become something beyond love.

The Black Dragon was not a demon. It was not a god. It was something in between, a mother who had refused to accept her son’s death, who had torn through the fabric of reality to bring him back, who had carved a path through the divine realms and left nothing but destruction in her wake.

She was above everything. Above gods. Above demons. Above the very concept of good and evil. She was the darkness where no one could reach, not heaven, not hell, not the mortal world.

And Allen wanted to serve her.

He smiled, the expression twisting his handsome features into something cruel. If he could reach that darkness, if he could awaken to the true power of the Black Dragon, he would become a Nefarious Demon. He would finally be free. Free from the Curse of Chains, free from the contract that had bound him for so long.

Behind him, footsteps echoed through the chamber.

General Malakar entered first, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the blood pool. He was the head of the demonic army, a creature of war who had conquered nations and crushed many agency warriors. His face was scarred, his eyes were cold, and his presence alone was enough to make lesser demons tremble.

Behind him walked Zeri, a young demon who had only recently joined the army. He was beautiful in the way that dangerous things were beautiful, sharp features, golden eyes, a smile that never quite reached his gaze. He walked with an easy confidence, as if he had not noticed the blood pooling around his boots, the skulls floating past his legs, the weight of centuries pressing down on him from above.

They stopped at the edge of the pool and bowed.

"My Lord," General Malakar said, his voice deep and respectful. "Your servant has been captured by the Shadow unit."

Allen did not turn. He continued to stare at the symbol on the ceiling, his back exposed to his generals, his body still absorbing the sin from the pool.

"And?" he said.

General Malakar hesitated. His eyes flickered to Zeri, then back to the Demon King. "We are uncertain what to do, my Lord. If the Shadow Crow interrogates him, if they learn the location of the hidden castle."

He stopped himself. He had gone too far. Questioning the Demon King’s plan was not something a general did, not if he wished to keep his head.

He bowed deeper. "Forgive me, my Lord. I spoke out of turn."

Zeri, who had been watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, stepped forward. "If you wish, my Lord, we could rescue him. I am quite skilled at extraction missions." He smiled, revealing teeth that were slightly too sharp. "It would be my pleasure to demonstrate my abilities."

General Malakar’s eyes narrowed. His hand moved faster than sight, the back of it connecting with Zeri’s head.

The head exploded.

Flesh, bone, and blood sprayed across the stone floor, the pieces scattering in a wide arc. Zeri’s body remained standing for a moment, swaying slightly, before it collapsed to its knees. The neck stump pulsed, dark blood pumping onto the floor.

General Malakar did not look at the body. He kept his eyes fixed on the Demon King, his expression unchanged.

"Forgive him, my Lord," he said. "He is still under my training. I will educate him properly."

Zeri’s head began to reform.

The flesh knitted together, the bone re-forming, the features returning. Within seconds, he was whole again, his silver hair tousled, his face slightly flushed. He touched his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, examining himself with theatrical concern.

"Ouch," he said. "Senior, that was painful. Please do not blow my head off like that. You will ruin my beauty."

He turned his head from side to side, admiring his reflection in the dark surface of the blood pool.

General Malakar’s voice was flat. "You piece of shit."

The hall went silent.

Allen’s aura rose from the blood.

He stood in the blood pool, his back to his generals, his eyes still fixed on the symbol above. The silence stretched, thin and fragile, until even Zeri, who loved to joke, who loved to push boundaries, who had never met a limit he did not want to test, felt the weight of it pressing against his chest.

The demonic aura rose.

It was not loud. It did not crash or thunder or roar. It simply existed, filling the chamber like water filling a sinking ship, and the two generals felt their knees weaken, their hearts stutter, their minds scream warnings that they could not voice.

Allen turned.

His body was lean and muscular, carved by centuries of violence and ambition, the kind of body that both men and women craved to touch. His red hair gleamed in the dim light, and his horns, two curved spikes that rose from his temples, caught the glow of the torches. His eyes were golden, like Zeri’s, but older, deeper, filled with something that looked almost like kindness.

Almost.

"Do not worry about the captured demon," he said, his voice calm, almost gentle. "It was all part of my plan."

Zeri blinked. "Your plan, my Lord?"

General Malakar’s hand twitched, ready to strike again, but Allen raised a single finger. The general lowered his hand.

"The captured demon was nothing but a distraction," Allen continued. "The Shadow Crow will waste their time interrogating him, extracting information that will lead them nowhere. They will think they are winning. They will think they are learning."

He smiled.

"While they chase shadows, I will complete my preparations."

He looked up at the ceiling, at the Black Dragon carved into the stone, at the child cradled in its arms.

"Once I have what I need," he said, his voice echoing through the ritual chamber. "Once I obtain the head of the Child of Chaos, we will begin the Awakening Ritual."

His golden eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"Just wait for me, Founder of Zani. God of Shadows. We will surely reach you."

A fanatic smile appeared on his face.

A smile slowly spread across his face.

"Yuuta Konuari."

The smile widened into something far more sinister.

"We will capture you without the dragons ever knowing. We will drag you into my ritual, and by the time they realize what has happened, it will already be too late."

He stretched his hand toward the ceiling, toward the ancient symbol engraved into the stone, toward the darkness where no mortal gaze could reach.

The pool of blood beneath him began to steam.

The floating skulls drifted silently across its surface.

The chamber trembled.

Far away, in Luna City, Yuuta suddenly paused.

A chill crawled up his spine.

His body shivered involuntarily as a strange sense of danger washed over him. For a brief moment, it felt as though countless eyes were staring directly at him from somewhere far beyond his reach.

The feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Yuuta frowned.

"Must be my imagination."

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the thick stack of notes spread across the table before him.

They were Aura Theory notes.

It was a theory book on aura, one Erza had personally taught him before leaving to the balcony.

Beside him, Elena slept peacefully, her tiny hand clutching one of his fingers as though afraid he might disappear if she let go.

Yuuta’s gaze softened for a moment before returning to the pages.

The symbols, diagrams, and explanations were difficult to understand, but he forced himself to continue reading.

No matter how many times he failed.

No matter how impossible the path seemed.

He would learn.

He would grow stronger.

He would find a way.

"From tomorrow onward," Yuuta murmured as he studied the theory before him, "I begin walking the path of power."

Outside, the city slept peacefully.

Unaware that both a hunter and his prey had already begun moving toward the same inevitable future.

To be continued.