With his ascension to a greater demon, Carlo’s power exploded, but so did the madness swelling within the heart that now throbbed with dark, demonic vitality.

Brutality, cruelty, malice, chaos—countless twisted thoughts surged from the depths of his soul, flooding his mind like a tidal wave.

Veins bulged grotesquely on Carlo’s forehead as the last remnants of his humanity were slowly erased, his soul succumbing fully to the abyss, transforming him into a true demon.

The metamorphosis from lesser to greater demon was a profound elevation of existence, and with it came an insatiable thirst for blood and a violent hunger for destruction.

His long, snake-like red tongue flicked across his parched lips, as if tasting the air itself, an unfamiliar thirst gnawing at him.

A cacophony erupted in the ballroom. People screamed, scrambling to flee in terror. Their contorted faces, frozen in expressions of fear, were like the most exquisite artwork to Carlo’s demonic eyes.

The birth of a greater demon called for a grand celebration—a feast bathed in blood and death.

And Carlo could wait no longer.

With casual ease, he crushed the life out of Sals, the blood spurting forth in a crimson spray that splattered across his body, his face. The gruesome sight only magnified the sheer terror of his already monstrous form.

Carlo closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of the blood, the palpable fear rising from the crowd like a miasma. His voice was soft, almost reverent, as he whispered, “Such a sweet, sweet taste.”

And so, the slaughter began.

Carlo’s whip-like tail lashed out, slicing through the air before impaling the heart of a noblewoman too slow to escape. Her expression froze in place, the terror in her eyes lingering for but a moment before they dulled into lifelessness.

“Oh no… Mother!” Anastasia’s scream pierced through the chaos.

It was tragically ironic—poor Lady Tremani had been the victim.

Sinderella cackled madly.

“You filthy wretch!” Trisilia roared, launching herself at Sinderella, seizing her by the hair, slapping her with frenzied abandon.

Sinderella seemed to feel nothing, laughing in wild, unhinged delight. Suddenly, her face twisted, and she struck back at Trisilia with deadly intent...

Blood splattered in every direction. Women wailed, some shrieked in laughter.

The flames of hell leapt higher, their crackling adding to the bedlam. Curses and screams merged into a hellish symphony, while the scent of blood grew so thick it seemed to permeate even the very air. The entire hall was engulfed in shadow as the lights were snuffed out, one by one.

All that remained were the anguished cries of the dying.

Outside the palace, four red-robed cardinals gazed at the darkness consuming the building. From within came the chilling sounds of terror, barely audible yet impossible to ignore. Each of the cardinals bore an expression of deep worry.

“We must act now. That demon’s power is overwhelming—the knights won’t last much longer,” urged an elderly voice.

“But… there are still civilians inside,” one of them hesitated.

“We have no choice. Those who die in the holy war against the demon will be blessed by the Holy Light and ascend to heaven,” came the voice, tinged with sorrow but resolute.

Silence fell as the others began a somber chant, their voices blending into a long, echoing incantation.

“What kind of demon is this?” muttered one of the black-armored knights nearby. The soldiers of the Oraton Kingdom, known for their valor, listened to the never-ending screams from within the palace. Even these hardened warriors, who had fought their way through fields of blood and death, couldn’t shake the unease tightening in their chests.

Yet no matter how powerful the demon, the Holy Light’s purging fire would cleanse it tonight. The sight of the four crimson-robed figures reassured the knights—no evil could withstand the righteous judgment of the Holy Light.

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The palace grew disturbingly quiet. The silence was oppressive, as though the very air had been stilled. The pungent stench of blood now hung so thick it clawed at their throats.

The black-armored knights felt their eyelids twitch.

Hadn’t an entire squad of Holy Light Knights just entered?

No one dared speak. The cardinals’ chanting had reached its climax. Sweat dripped from their furrowed brows, rolling down their faces in beads.

Suddenly, a sharp creak echoed through the stillness, unnaturally loud.

The palace doors began to open.

All eyes were glued to the yawning abyss beyond.

A hand—covered in blood—emerged from the darkness.

A lone figure crawled out, his armor stained red but still bearing the faint insignia of the Holy Light. A Holy Light Knight, but one stripped of his former pride and dignity.

He dragged himself forward with agonizing slowness, each movement a monumental effort. His face was blank, his eyes hollow, a shell of the warrior he had once been.

The Holy Light Knights… had been annihilated.

The cold night breeze brushed against the black-armored knights’ faces, laden with moisture. One of them wiped his hand across his cheek, only to find it smeared with crimson.

Was that palace a slaughterhouse or a nightmare of flesh and blood?

One of the knights bent over and vomited—not out of disgust, but from raw, unbridled fear.

Just as the lone knight was about to crawl out from the darkness, his body was yanked back, as though some invisible force had seized him.

“No!” he screamed, his lifeless eyes suddenly filled with terror.

He was dragged back into the shadows. The sickening sound of chewing followed, and then the lilting laughter of a woman echoed from within.

A moment later, a massive shadow blotted out the moonlight.

As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, the knights finally saw it clearly.

What an unspeakably grotesque and terrifying creature it was, draped in a blood-soaked cloak made from shredded flesh, hovering in the air with enormous bat-like wings that flapped softly.

Beside the creature stood a stunningly beautiful woman, her lips crimson, the blood tracing patterns across her porcelain skin like scarlet irises blooming on her face.

She giggled, while the monstrous being studied the knights with wicked amusement, its lips curled in a sinister smile.

“D-demon...” someone stammered, their voice trembling.

The knights finally recalled the vague warnings in their sacred texts. Instinctively, they took a step back. Some even collapsed to the ground, their legs giving way beneath them.

The mere presence of Carlo was enough to reduce these battle-hardened warriors to trembling cowards.

The cardinals’ chanting grew frantic. Only a few syllables remained, and no one dared retreat.

Why weren’t those old priests running? Carlo could have torn them apart long before they finished their spell.

Soon, he understood.

Carlo reached out and touched the faint glow that surrounded the palace. Pain seared his fingertips as if they were dipped in acid. A barrier—the Holy Light’s final defense—had been erected around the palace, trapping him within.

The barrier, woven from pure light, encased the palace and the demon like an enormous, inverted bowl.

So, this was their hope?

Carlo’s lips twisted into a grin, his massive hands reaching into the barrier, forcing themselves through.

The sound of sizzling flesh echoed through the air, but Carlo felt nothing.

What was this demon planning? Terror flickered in the eyes of everyone present, including the cardinals.

What was he planning?

He was planning to kill.

With a guttural snarl, Carlo flexed his monstrous arms, the muscles bulging beneath his skin. Slowly, he tore through the barrier that was said to be impenetrable, ripping it open as though it were nothing more than a fragile curtain.