As the footsteps drew nearer, not a single soul dared to move.
The air thickened with every echoing step, wrapping around them like a suffocating shroud. Muscles tensed, instincts flared, but their bodies betrayed them—frozen in place, paralyzed by the overwhelming pressure that accompanied the sound.
Even the bravest among them couldn't muster a breath. The silence wasn't calm—it was the silence of prey sensing a predator too powerful to fight, too fast to flee from.
This wasn't fear. This was something deeper. Primal. Ancient. A dread that slithered into their minds and whispered the truth none of them wanted to believe.
Whatever was about to emerge from that tear in reality… wasn't just a monster.
It was something far worse.
And it was almost here.
Eventually, the oppressive silence shattered—not by the arrival of the being, but by a scream.
Raw, panicked, and utterly human.
Someone couldn't take it anymore. The sheer weight of the unknown, of the dread clawing at their chest, forced the fear out through their lungs in a desperate cry. One scream became two. Then three. The tension snapped like brittle glass, and the battlefield was suddenly filled with the sound of rising panic.
Weapons shook in trembling hands. Spells fizzled mid-cast. It no longer felt like they were preparing for battle—
It felt like they were waiting to die.
"FOCUS, ALL OF YOU!" shouted the commanding knight, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade.
The fear didn't vanish—but it paused. His roar grounded those closest to him, snapping them back to reality, if only for a moment. Soldiers gritted their teeth, gripping their weapons tighter. Mages steadied their hands, forcing their breaths into rhythm.
As everyone turned back to the rift, they saw it, the silhouette of the creature that had paralyzed them in fear, it was…tiny.
As the figure eventually stepped out, fully revealing themselves, some of their overwhelming fear was replaced with confusion.
This wasn't what they had expected, not even a little.
Everyone expected a demon of unmatched strength and stature, one that couldn't be beaten by mere man but this was the opposite.
The figure that brought so much fear to them all was a short…red boy.
That wasn't saying he didn't look demonic, with his large horns On his head and hooves in the place of his feet.
But currently they knew better than to judge this entity by its looks, not with the amount of terror it brought to them.
The humans quickly pulled themselves together. Casters steadied their hands, chanting spells through trembling breaths. Knights raised their swords and spears, even if their grips were tight with fear. And the heroes—despite the dread creeping up their spines—readied their weapons, powerless and dull, their once-legendary power completely gone.
They all stood still waiting for the little demon to move, the demon's gaze had been slowly sweeping across the battlefield, either looking for something or just sizing them up.
The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours before something finally broke through it.
[Zweite Fire!]
A large fireball was launched at the demon, with him staring at it with clear amusement as it struck him head-on.
The heroes turned toward the source of the first attack—it was Myne. She had launched a spell without hesitation, her expression unreadable. But that single act was enough.
It broke the tension.
One by one, the other casters followed her lead, unleashing their spells in rapid succession. Beams of searing light, roaring fire, and crackling lightning tore through the air, converging on the small demon in a brilliant, chaotic storm—an all-out attempt to obliterate it in a single overwhelming strike.
As the last of the spells faded and the smoke began to thin, a tense silence fell over the battlefield. Everyone held their breath, eyes locked on the swirling cloud, hoping—praying—that their combined effort had done something. The more hopeful among them wished it had ended the threat altogether.
But as the haze cleared, those hopes withered.
The demon stood exactly where it had been, completely unscathed. Not a scratch marred its body. And worse—the grin on its face had only grown, twisted with amusement.
The small demon raised its right hand slowly, and with an eerie crack, a spear materialized in the air before it. The weapon shimmered ominously, both the blade and the opposite end of the spear glowing with an unnatural, malevolent light. The demon's grin widened as it twirled the spear with effortless grace.
Large, flowing fabrics began to slither out from behind the demon like living shadows, each one moving with unnatural grace. Their ends burned with vibrant, otherworldly fire, casting flickering light across the battlefield as they writhed and floated in the air like tendrils of a living flame.
The demon lifted its spear and began spinning it above his head, building up more and more fire with every spin.
The commanding knight, seeing this, turned to the casters near him.
"ANYONE WHO CAN CAST WATER SPELLS, GET READY!" the knight bellowed, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
His command echoed across the battlefield, snapping many out of their trance. At once, every caster with an affinity for water began chanting, their voices overlapping in hurried unison as they prepared to counter the incoming firestorm.
As the knight turned to the demon, he could see an even more amused smirk on its face, one that conveyed pure confidence in their failure.
The knight gritted his teeth at the audacity of this little red punk. 'Don't underestimate us humans, you arrogant bastard.'
The demon finished its windup, its spear glowing with a sinister intensity—then with a single, fluid motion, it thrust the weapon forward.
A massive plume of concentrated flame erupted forward, roaring across the battlefield like a dragon's breath. The air ignited, the heat overwhelming, as the wave of fire surged toward the defenders with terrifying speed and force.
"NOW!" the knight bellowed, his voice raw and strained.
The casters unleashed their spells in unison, a powerful torrent of water surging forward to meet the incoming blaze. But instead of the expected clash—fire and water fighting for dominance—something terrifying happened.
The fire grew.
It swallowed the water whole, feeding off it as if it were kindling. Within seconds, the flames surged higher, wider, until they became a tidal wave of searing heat and light, barreling toward them with unstoppable fury.
For a moment, there was only silence—shock paralyzing even the bravest among them.
"EVERYONE MOVE, NOW!" the knight shouted again, his voice cracking under the weight of desperation and overuse.
Nobody hesitated the moment the words left his mouth.
In an instant, the battlefield erupted into chaos—soldiers, mages, and even the heroes themselves broke into a full sprint, feet pounding against the dirt as they ran for their lives. There was no formation, no order—only raw, primal desperation to escape the inferno that was moments from swallowing them whole.
Some were fast—too fast to be caught. A few knights dove behind shattered stone barricades or dropped into shallow trenches carved into the battlefield. The fire surged past, scorching the ground but unable to touch them.
Others weren't so lucky.
Screams tore through the air as the wall of flame overtook those too slow or too far from safety. Magic shields cracked, metal armor glowed red-hot, and some vanished into the blaze with nothing left behind but scorched earth. Even those who survived felt the searing heat lash against their backs.
All the while, the demon stood still—watching, smiling. Like a child pulling wings off insects.
The heroes tumbled behind a crumbling stone ridge just as the fire roared overhead. The searing heat licked at their heels, the ground beneath them vibrating from the sheer force of the blaze.
Naofumi hit the dirt first, shielding Raphtalia with his body. Motoyasu rolled beside them, his face pale with disbelief. Ren dropped to one knee, panting heavily. Itsuki staggered to a crouch, clutching his useless bow, eyes wide in panic.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The world had turned red and black.
The wind that followed the flame howled through the gaps in the ruined landscape, carrying with it the bitter stench of burned flesh and ash. All around them, the battlefield was in chaos—shouts, cries for healers, the groans of the wounded.
Naofumi clenched his teeth. "We were almost—"
"We're not out of this yet," Ren interrupted, his voice hoarse but steady.
They looked back toward the smoke—and saw the demon still standing, completely unharmed, still smiling.
Motoyasu's eyes darted across the scorched field. "Where are our party members? Did they make it out?!"
"I don't know," Itsuki replied, breathing hard, his voice tight. "But we can't focus on that right now."
He turned to the others, forcing calm into his tone. "Think, you guys—he wouldn't be here if we couldn't beat him."
Naofumi let out a bitter laugh, using his shield to push himself off a blushing Raphtalia. "You're seriously saying that after what we just saw? Our weapons are useless, and that things fire just ate a wall of water."
Itsuki turned to Naofumi, eyes serious. "In games, when a boss shows up, it's always beatable. Either that or it's one of those fights you're meant to lose—scripted to push the story forward."
Motoyasu nodded slowly, piecing it together. "Yeah… like we lose now, but later we face him again, stronger—and win."
"Exactly," Itsuki said, conviction building in his voice.
Naofumi stared at the two of them, bewildered. "Are you guys hearing yourselves? This isn't a damn game. We don't get do-overs or scripted losses. If we die here—we die."
"Guys, shut up!" Ren hissed in a half-whisper, eyes locked ahead.
His tone was sharp, urgent—enough to snap the others out of their back-and-forth. The tension spiked again as they followed his gaze, realizing the demon hadn't moved. It was just standing there… watching.
Over half of Melromarc's attack force lay dead—bodies scorched, steaming in the aftermath. The stench of burnt flesh clung to the air. Those unfortunate enough to be clad in armor had suffered a crueler fate—the metal had melted and fused into their skin, becoming twisted prisons of pain and death.
Those still alive could only stare, wide-eyed, at the horror of the scene now forever deeply ingrained into their psyche.
The heroes could only stare in horror once they finally took in the full scope of the carnage. The battlefield was littered with charred remains, smoke curling from still-burning patches of earth. That could've been them. That thought alone gripped their hearts with icy terror.
But even with that terror, their gazes never fully left the demon who was still stan- where'd he go?
Before they could even think about the disappearance, they all were violently launched straight through the ridge they were hiding behind.
All of them landed with heavy thuds, the impact leaving them dazed and battered. They groaned in pain as they scrambled to their feet, instincts pushing them to stand despite the ache in their limbs.
Then, slicing through the tension like a blade, a voice rang out—cold, mocking, and drawing closer with each step.
"No wonder I couldn't sense your presence; your weapons have been suppressing themselves."
He stopped about a dozen feet away.
The heroes scrambled to their feet, weapons raised, hearts pounding. Whatever fear they felt had to be shoved aside—there was no room for hesitation now.
"Clever, for inanimate objects. If they are smart enough for that, then they should know hiding is useless now."
Motoyasu charged forward with a roar, aiming to drive his spear straight through the demon's head.
But the strike hit nothing but air.
In an instant, the demon vanished from sight—only to reappear behind him. With a casual flick of his leg, he delivered a brutal kick to Motoyasu's ribs, sending the Spear Hero hurtling through the air, skipping across the ground like a rag doll.
The smirk that had been present on the boy's face slowly warped into a grimace. Turning back around to the other heroes.
"I hope you lot can do better than that."
Clang
Raphtalia had taken the moment to attack the demon, using [Illusion Blade], but she had been blocked effortlessly.
The demon swiftly knocked her back with a sharp shove, sending her stumbling. Before she could regain her footing, his hand shot forward like a blur—tightening around her neck with an iron grip.
Raphtalia gasped, her blade slipping from her fingers as his grip tightened.
"Raphtalia!" Naofumi shouted, panic cutting through his voice as he dashed forward, breaking formation and leaving Ren and Itsuki behind.
As Naofumi closed in, the demon remained still, his gaze fixed coldly on Raphtalia. Without even glancing his way, a small burst of flame flared at the demon's side—conjuring a clone of himself in an instant.
Before Naofumi could react, the copy darted forward with terrifying speed. He raised his shield, but it was too late.
A thunderous kick slammed into his gut, the force rattling his bones and stealing the air from his lungs. He was launched backward like a cannonball, crashing straight into Itsuki and Ren and sending all three tumbling in a heap.
The clone vanished in a burst of flames, leaving behind a lingering heat in the air.
Meanwhile, the boy's hand remained tightly around Raphtalia's neck, but his eyes… they weren't filled with rage or bloodlust. Instead, his gaze slowly drifted over her form—measured, focused, almost curious.
Despite the pressure around her throat, the danger of the situation, and the chaos around them, Raphtalia felt her cheeks burn with a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
Was he… checking her out?
Her grip on his wrist tightened. What the hell is wrong with this guy?
But two features in particular seemed to draw the demon's attention—her tail and her ears.
"Hmm," he muttered, almost to himself. "When I sensed a demi-human fighting, I thought it might be one of his. But you… You are no spider."
Raphtalia's brow furrowed. His? Spider? She didn't even have time to ask before—
A searing pain tore through her gut.
Her eyes widened in shock as her eyes shot down to see the glowing blade of his spear buried deep in her abdomen.
The boy's expression flattened, his voice cold and detached.
"Your death is no longer a concern for me."
With a sharp, effortless motion, he pulled the glowing blade from Raphtalia's gut. Her body crumpled as he carelessly tossed her aside like discarded cloth, his gaze shifting back to the remaining heroes.
The Shield Hero lay motionless on the ground, groaning faintly—unconscious from the sheer force of the blow.
"So much for being the most durable hero," the demon muttered with a sneer, disappointment laced in his voice.
This had been a very… disappointing excursion. The boy had expected resistance—something worthy of his time. But this? It barely qualified as a warm-up.
Still, it didn't matter. He could still get what he came for.
In an instant, he vanished from his spot, reappearing in front of the Sword Hero. Ren didn't even have time to flinch before a crushing blow sent him crashing to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs.
The tip of the demon's glowing spear came to rest against his neck—steady, deliberate, and threatening.
"So tell me, Hero, whe—"
A sudden, piercing krisshh cut through the air—like shattering crystal ringing across the battlefield.
The boy didn't flinch. Instead, he slowly turned, a smirk spreading across his face.
"I should've been more thorough with my strike."
Behind him, Raphtalia had taken advantage of his momentary distraction. She had been healed by a few of the remaining casters hiding out around the battlefield; the magic coursing through her was just enough to get her back on her feet. She had hoped to land a solid blow while the boy wasn't paying attention.
But before she could even close the distance, a clone of the demon materialized from a burst of fire. It appeared in an instant, its form solidifying from the flames. With brutal speed, it shattered her sword, the pieces flying in all directions, before sending her flying backward. The force of the blow sent her crashing dozens of feet away, her body slamming into the dirt with a sickening thud.
He turned his attention to Itsuki, his voice laced with mockery. "If you want to attempt something similar, go ahead." Behind him, the fiery clone dissipated into smoke and embers, vanishing as if it had never been.
Itsuki clenched his fists, trembling with rage. The sheer arrogance—being talked down to like some insignificant pest. He was a Hero. A legendary one. The bow on his back might've been disabled, but that didn't mean he was. Gritting his teeth, he started to step forward—
CLANG!
The deafening impact rang through the air. Itsuki's head snapped up just in time to see a flash of silver and blue. Motoyasu. He was back, with blood dripping down his chin.
The spear hero had returned, still injured and breathing heavily, but both were overshadowed by a reckless fury, aiming a full-force stab right for the demon's neck. But he never connected.
Another clone erupted from a burst of flame, intercepting the strike at the last moment. With expert precision, it twisted Motoyasu's spear mid-thrust and slammed it into the ground, cracking stone and dirt alike beneath the force.
The demon's eyes narrowed. The smirk was gone. His patience was wearing thin.
He was done with these interruptions.
As he prepared to strike down Motoyasu, another CLANG rang out, this time from Ren, who had struck his leg while he was distracted.
While the strike hadn't injured him, it had clearly pushed the demon past his limit. Three interruptions in less than twenty seconds—his patience wasn't just worn thin, it was gone entirely. His smirk faded, replaced by a cold, sharp glare as the air around him began to heat with his rising fury.
He yanked his spear from Ren's neck and exploded with power, a shockwave of energy bursting out from him. The three heroes were sent flying backward, crashing hard against the earth.
Groaning, they slowly forced themselves to their feet, their bodies trembling, barely holding together. Still, their eyes stayed locked on the short demon as he approached them—calm, confident, unhurried.
Then… he stopped.
His head turned sharply to the right, his gaze locking onto a distant mountaintop. A stillness washed over him.
His eyes widened slightly.
Then narrowed.
"So… the bear lost."
His voice, quiet yet sharp, carried across the field like a blade drawn from its sheath.
He turned his gaze back to the heroes, that all-too-familiar smirk crawling back onto his face. "It seems I don't need you after all," he said. "I've already found my target."
Then, with casual ease, the demon began to float upward—rising from the ground as if gravity had lost meaning. The heroes stared, shocked at the revelation.
But just as he turned to fly, a massive figure dropped from the sky, slamming into the ground in front of him with bone-rattling force.
The impact unleashed a shockwave of dust and wind that blasted across the battlefield. The heroes instinctively raised their arms to shield their faces, struggling to remain upright as the air screamed around them.
The colossal silhouette of a massive bird became visible. It stood tall, its feathers gleaming in the light, wings unfurled, radiating power. The demon's confident smirk faltered, replaced with a hint of confusion as he met the gaze of the giant bird. The heroes, still catching their breath, could only stare in disbelief, unsure of what this new arrival meant.
The massive avian creature narrowed its gaze at the boy.
"So," she said, voice calm but filled with weight, "you're the one causing all this trouble."
And at that moment, the tension was broken.
Fitoria had arrived.