The territory of Cria was in chaos.

News of the Demon King’s approach and the devastating defeat at Feria had spread like wildfire.

Whispers of dread filled the air, as though the very wind carried tales of the monstrous foe.

In every corner of the territory, unease reigned.

Farmers abandoned their plows, merchants left their stalls, and children clung to their mothers, their innocent eyes reflecting the fear etched on every adult’s face.

Would Cria share Feria’s fate?

Would their homes, their lives, their loved ones be consumed by the same darkness?

These questions weighed heavily on every heart.

Yet, amidst the fear, there was resolve.

Desperation gave rise to unity, and the people of Cria rallied together.

Soldiers, archers, mages, and mercenaries worked tirelessly alongside common citizens.

Everyone did their part, driven by a shared determination to survive.

The walls of Cria became a hive of activity. Blacksmiths hammered out weapons and reinforced armor.

Engineers and craftsmen fortified the defenses, placing crossbows, ballistae, and magical artifacts at key points along the battlements.

Mages carved protective runes into the walls, their hands trembling with both fatigue and urgency.

Even children carried water and supplies, their small contributions crucial to the effort.

Vigilance became their lifeline.

Scouts patrolled the perimeter, and soldiers remained stationed on the walls at all hours, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement.

Every creak of wood, every rustle of leaves sent hearts racing, the tension coiling tighter with each passing moment.

Despite their preparations, an air of insufficiency hung over them.

No matter how hard they worked, how much they fortified, it never felt enough.

The shadow of the Demon King loomed large in their minds—a nightmare they could not wake from.

Then, on the second day, their worst fears materialized.

The alarm bell rang out, its sharp, urgent peals slicing through the air.

Soldiers on the walls cried out, their voices carrying a single, chilling message: “The Demon King is here!”

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Panic rippled through the streets.

Citizens screamed, clutching their loved ones and fleeing to their homes or the keep for safety.

Mothers wept as they ushered their children to hiding places, their tears mingling with whispered prayers.

Within moments, the soldiers, archers, and mages rushed to the walls, their training taking over despite the terror gnawing at their nerves.

Among them were the three leaders, Count Valor, Count Sylas, and Count Ambrose.

Count Valor was the first to arrive, his silver armor gleaming in the pale light as he climbed the steps to the battlements.

He moved with the urgency of a man who knew the weight of his responsibility.

Reaching the top, he took his position at the forefront, his eyes narrowing as he gazed out at the approaching enemy.

And there they were.

The Demon King stood at the head of his army, a dark titan among mortals.

His massive frame radiated a palpable aura of malice, his crimson eyes glowing like embers of hellfire.

Beside him strode his two generals: Movok, the towering brute whose spiked armor dripped with menace, and Torex, the eerie voodooist whose staff seemed to pulse with an otherworldly rhythm.

Behind them marched the horde—a sea of goblins, their grotesque forms a blur of green skin and jagged weapons.

They moved in chaotic unison, snarling and growling, their yellow eyes gleaming with savage hunger.

The sight was enough to chill even the bravest hearts.

Yet Count Valor stood firm, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

“Steady!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the mounting fear.

“Hold your positions! We fight for Cria, for our families, and for our survival!”

The soldiers rallied behind his words, straightening their spines and raising their weapons.

Archers nocked their arrows, their hands trembling only slightly as they aimed at the advancing horde.

Mages began their incantations, their voices rising in a chorus of power as magical energy crackled in the air.

The ground trembled beneath the marching horde, the weight of their steps echoing like the drums of war.

The Demon King did not rush.

He advanced slowly, deliberately, his cruel smile a promise of carnage yet to come.

As the bell’s final toll faded, the defenders of Cria braced themselves for the storm.

On the horizon, death approached, and with it, the battle for their very existence.

Just as before, the Demon King advanced alone, a shadow of death that needed no army at his side.

The soldiers atop the walls of Cria watched with bated breath.

Their knuckles whitened around bows and staves, sweat dripping from their brows despite the cool air.

They had hope—fragile and wavering but present.

The walls, they believed, would be their salvation.

But their flickering hope turned to horror.

The Demon King stopped, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation.

Slowly, something began to shift on his back.

The air filled with grotesque cracking sounds as bones erupted from his flesh, stretching outward like the limbs of a ghastly insect.

Muscle wrapped around the skeletal structure, followed by a layer of dark, leathery skin.

Wings.

Massive, monstrous wings unfolded, their sheer size casting a dark shadow over the battlefield.

The Demon King flexed them with a sickening grace, the sound of their movement like a whip slicing through the air.

His cruel smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

It was the smile of a predator toying with its prey, reveling in their despair.

The sight froze the soldiers in place, their faces pale, their hearts hammering in their chests.

“Archers, shoot! Mages, attack! Target his wings!” Count Valor’s command rang out, snapping them back to reality.

The archers loosed their arrows, the sharp twang of bowstrings filling the air.

Mages unleashed their spells, a symphony of fire, ice, and lightning streaking toward the airborne menace.

The attacks converged on the Demon King, their brilliance momentarily lighting the battlefield.

Arrows struck his body, tearing through flesh, and crimson blood sprayed onto the earth below.

Frost spread across one wing, while flames scorched his side, leaving charred marks.

Bolts of lightning struck his form, causing the beast to falter momentarily.

For a fleeting moment, hope flickered anew.

But then, as if mocking their efforts, the Demon King spread his wings wide.

The green hue of his scales deepened, spreading across his entire body.

The wounds on his flesh sealed shut, the frost evaporated, and the burns vanished as if they had never existed.

His regeneration was monstrous, beyond comprehension, a sight that struck despair into even the most steadfast hearts.

The Demon King flapped his wings once, and a powerful gust of wind swept across the battlefield.

Dust and debris rose like a storm, forcing the soldiers to shield their eyes.

Then, with terrifying speed, he ascended into the sky, his dark figure blotting out the light.

The defenders scrambled in panic.

Archers and mages aimed desperately, firing shot after shot, but nothing seemed to reach him.

The Demon King cut through the air like a hawk descending on helpless prey.

With a thunderous crash, he landed on the walls of Cria, the stone beneath his feet cracking under the force.

Dust and rubble exploded outward, and the soldiers near him were thrown back, their cries of pain lost in the chaos.

The Demon King straightened, his towering form casting a shadow over the defenders.

His glowing red eyes scanned the trembling soldiers, each clutching their weapons as if the mere act of holding them could keep the inevitable at bay.

And then he smiled.

It wasn’t just a smile—it was a declaration.

A wicked, bone-chilling expression that spoke of merciless slaughter and the futility of resistance.

Some soldiers fell to their knees, their courage shattered.

Others gripped their weapons tighter, their hands shaking but unwilling to abandon their duty.

Above it all, Count Valor’s voice rang out once more, filled with defiance despite the terror gripping his heart.

“Stand your ground! Don’t let him break through!”

But as the Demon King took his first deliberate step forward, the defenders couldn’t help but feel that the battle had already been lost.