The soldiers stood frozen, paralyzed by the sight of the monstrous Demon King.

His grotesque, fused form loomed larger than life, an embodiment of raw power and terror.

Fatigue weighed heavy on their limbs, and fear gnawed at their hearts.

But the Demon King gave them no time to recover.

With a thunderous leap, his frog-like leg propelled him forward in a terrifying blur, his other leg maintaining the momentum with each crushing step.

The ground trembled beneath him, cracks spidering outward from every impact.

His movement was unnervingly fast for his hulking form, and before the soldiers could react, he was upon them.

The air seemed to shatter as his six arms lashed out in a whirlwind of death.

The troll arm seized a soldier by the torso, crushing him with a sickening crunch before tossing the lifeless body into the ranks.

Another soldier raised his shield in desperation, but the ogre’s hand slammed into it with the force of a battering ram, shattering it and sending the man flying backward, his ribs caving in.

Those who managed to dodge one attack found themselves ensnared by the other arms.

The wolf-like claws slashed through armor as though it were paper, tearing limbs and leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

The insectoid arm impaled another, its chitinous appendage piercing through his chest like a spear, while the molten arm grabbed a soldier by the throat.

Steam hissed as the heat seared flesh, and his agonized screams echoed before his body went limp.

The Demon King’s tail whipped out with devastating force, cleaving through the line of soldiers like a scythe through wheat.

Shields were splintered, helmets crushed, and bodies thrown against the stone walls.

His mouth gaped wide, the jagged teeth biting into another unfortunate soldier, tearing off his head in a horrifying display of savagery.

His four glowing eyes darted in every direction, leaving no corner of the battlefield unobserved.

Every movement was calculated, every attack precise.

The soldiers’ coordinated efforts crumbled under his relentless assault.

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Blood painted the walls, the floor, and the Demon King himself, who reveled in the carnage.

His crimson skin glistened with gore, his wicked smile never faltering as he tore through the ranks.

Screams filled the air, each one more desperate than the last.

Some soldiers clung to their weapons, hands shaking as they tried to summon the courage to fight.

Others dropped their swords and spears, overcome by the sheer futility of their resistance.

Their once-strong formation now lay in shambles, bodies strewn like discarded dolls.

The archers on the walls fired desperately, but their arrows barely grazed his scaled skin.

The mages flung their spells, but even the strongest fireballs and lightning bolts failed to slow him.

His wounds closed almost as quickly as they were inflicted, the unnatural regeneration of his troll-like abilities mocking their every effort.

Soon, the chaos subsided, leaving silence in its wake.

The stone floor was littered with bodies, many missing limbs, others still twitching in the throes of death.

A few soldiers, miraculously alive, crawled away from the carnage, their faces pale with terror.

The remaining soldiers could only watch in horror, their resolve crumbling as the Demon King turned his attention toward Count Valor.

The path between them was now clear, lined with the mangled corpses of those who had dared to stand in his way.

The Demon King’s four glowing eyes locked onto the Count, a chilling smile spreading across his monstrous face.

His steps echoed ominously as he began to move forward, each one a harbinger of death.

Count Valor gripped his sword tightly, sweat beading on his brow.

He took a deep breath, his gaze steady despite the terror in his heart.

The Demon King loomed closer, a force of nature that could not be stopped, a living nightmare that promised nothing but destruction.

The Demon King’s slow, deliberate steps towards Count Valor sent a chill through the air, each step heavy with the promise of death.

But just as the monstrous figure closed the distance, a young man stepped forward, placing himself between the Demon King and the Count.

Count Valor’s eyes widened in shock as he recognized the figure.

"Shaun!" he shouted, his voice laced with both alarm and disbelief. "Move aside!"

Shaun stood firm, his back straight despite the tremor in his hands that gripped the hilt of his sword.

His disheveled brown hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, and his emerald-green eyes—though filled with fear—stayed locked on the Demon King.

His armor, slightly too large for his lean frame, bore scratches and bloodstains from the earlier chaos.

Yet despite his trembling, the young soldier radiated a determined defiance.

"Count!" Shaun’s voice quivered but held an edge of unwavering resolve. "Please retreat to safety. Let me hold him off!"

"Shaun, no!" Count Valor’s voice thundered, desperation creeping into his tone. "You can't fight him. Move back!"

But Shaun’s gaze didn’t waver.

His breathing was ragged, his fear palpable, but something burned brighter within him—a loyalty and duty that surpassed even his terror.

"Your safety is the priority, Count," Shaun said, his voice louder, more resolute.

"Move back. That’s an order!" Count Valor barked, his frustration mounting.

"I'm sorry, Count." Shaun shook his head, his voice cracking under the weight of his decision.

"I cannot follow that order. A soldier’s duty is to protect their ruler, no matter the cost."

Before Count Valor could argue further, other soldiers gathered around him, forming a protective ring.

Their faces mirrored Shaun’s determination, but there was a shadow of despair in their eyes.

They knew what awaited anyone who faced the Demon King.

The Demon King halted, watching the exchange with a mocking grin.

His twisted smile deepened, and his grotesque form began to shift.

The monstrous amalgamation of limbs and features receded.

The troll’s crushing arm and the insect’s impaling appendage dissolved, replaced by muscular, humanoid arms.

The crimson scales vanished, revealing his dark, blood-red skin.

His four glowing eyes merged back into two burning amber orbs.

The lashing tail disappeared, and his legs returned to their original form.

The Demon King stood now in his original state—a tall, imposing figure exuding an aura of dark majesty.

His sharp, angular face twisted in amusement as he raised one hand, gesturing mockingly for Shaun to come closer.

The young soldier swallowed hard, his knuckles white against the sword’s hilt.

He took a step forward, then another, each one slow and deliberate.

To those watching, the contrast was stark.

Shaun, a boy barely out of his teens, his messy hair plastered against his dirt-streaked face, his thin frame trembling under the weight of his courage.

And the Demon King, a towering figure of raw power and menace, radiating an aura of invincibility.

It was a predator toying with its prey.

Yet Shaun didn’t falter.

His voice echoed softly, more to himself than anyone else: "I am a soldier of Cria. If I die today, it will be with honor."

The battlefield fell silent, all eyes fixed on the lone figure standing against an overwhelming force.

Every breath held, every gaze unblinking, as Shaun raised his sword, the blade trembling slightly in his hands, and took another step toward the Demon King.