Shaun stood before the Demon King, his legs trembling like reeds in a storm.
His hands, gripping the hilt of his sword, shook uncontrollably, but his feet remained planted.
His eyes, filled with fear, refused to waver from the towering figure in front of him.
The Demon King tilted his head, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.
"What are you waiting for? Come at me," he mocked, his voice laced with disdain.
Shaun’s grip tightened around the sword, his knuckles white.
He inhaled sharply, then charged forward, the clang of his armor echoing across the walls.
With a desperate swing, he aimed at the Demon King’s chest, but the strike missed entirely as the Demon King sidestepped with ease, as if dodging a child’s tantrum.
Shaun spun and swung again, this time aiming for the neck, but his blade cut through only empty air.
A third strike came, but the Demon King didn’t bother dodging.
Instead, his leg shot out like a whip, his foot slamming into Shaun’s stomach with a thunderous thud.
The young soldier was hurled backward, his body tumbling across the stone floor.
Shaun gasped for breath, clutching his abdomen as waves of pain wracked his body.
His sword clattered out of reach, sliding a few feet away.
The Demon King approached slowly, his footsteps deliberate and heavy, and bent to pick up the fallen blade.
With a mocking smile, he tossed the weapon back near Shaun, the metallic clang ringing in the air.
"Try again," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.
Shaun’s gaze darted between the Demon King and the sword.
His body screamed at him to stay down, but his resolve pushed him to his feet.
Staggering, he picked up the sword once more, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
This time, Shaun tried to steady himself.
He adjusted his stance, breathing heavily, and charged again.
His attacks were more calculated, his swings aimed at weak points—joints, the neck, the legs.
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But the Demon King danced around him, evading every strike as if he could predict each move before Shaun made it.
The Demon King’s grin widened, and he lashed out, grabbing Shaun’s sword arm mid-swing.
With a sickening crunch, he crushed Shaun’s hand, the sound of bones shattering echoing across the walls.
Shaun screamed in agony, the sword falling from his grasp again.
Despite the pain, Shaun refused to stop. His free hand fumbled for the hilt, his movements slower now.
His strikes became weaker, each one met with either a dodge or a mocking shove from the Demon King.
Blood seeped from wounds on his torso and arms, staining the ground beneath him.
"You're persistent," the Demon King said, almost amused, before delivering a powerful backhand.
Shaun flew backward, landing in a crumpled heap.
His body trembled, barely able to hold itself upright.
As he struggled to rise, the Demon King approached, gripping Shaun’s head with one massive hand.
He lifted the young soldier effortlessly, holding him aloft as if he weighed nothing.
Shaun’s legs dangled, his strength all but gone.
"Any last words?" the Demon King asked, his voice cold and final.
Shaun coughed, blood staining his lips.
Despite the agony, he forced his gaze to meet the Demon King’s fiery eyes.
"It... was an honor... to die for Cria," he whispered, his voice trembling yet resolute.
The Demon King twisted Shaun’s neck with a gruesome crack, his body falling limp instantly.
Without a second thought, the Demon King flung the lifeless form aside like a discarded doll.
Shaun’s body landed with a dull thud against the cold stone, motionless, his sword lying just out of reach.
For a moment, the battlefield was silent.
The soldiers on the walls stood frozen, their breaths caught in their throats.
All eyes were on the lifeless form of Shaun, his blood pooling around him, and the towering figure of the Demon King, who now turned his mocking gaze to the rest of them.
A wave of despair washed over the defenders.
Shaun’s bravery had been admirable, but his sacrifice only underscored the insurmountable power they faced.
But then, cutting through the oppressive stillness, a voice rang out.
"For the kingdom!"
The cry was raw, filled with desperation and a flicker of courage.
A lone soldier, older than Shaun but inspired by his bravery, gripped his spear tightly and charged forward.
His eyes burned with determination, his body trembling not from fear, but from resolve.
The Demon King turned his fiery gaze toward the man, his smirk widening.
The soldier's bravery was commendable, but it was futile.
Before the spear could even come close to its target, the Demon King’s massive hand shot out like a viper, wrapping around the soldier's neck.
With a single twist, the soldier’s life was extinguished, his body crumpling to the ground like a broken doll.
Yet his cry had sparked something in the others.
"For the kingdom!"
"For the kingdom!"
Voices rose, one after another, soldiers shouting the rallying cry as they surged forward.
Courage burned in their hearts, ignited by Shaun's sacrifice and the soldier's defiance.
But bravery alone was not enough.
The charging soldiers met the Demon King’s wrath head-on.
His claws slashed through their armor like paper, each swing leaving behind trails of crimson.
His molten tail lashed out, breaking bones and shattering shields.
The air filled with screams as bodies were torn apart, limbs severed, and lives ended in an instant.
Spears, swords, and halberds struck against the Demon King’s scales, but they might as well have been striking against a mountain.
Any minor wounds inflicted were erased in seconds, his regeneration mocking their every effort.
The archers atop the wall let loose volley after volley of arrows, their faces etched with desperation.
But the arrows bounced harmlessly off his armor-like scales or fell short, unable to penetrate his defenses.
Without the protection of soldiers, the archers became easy prey.
The mages followed, unleashing their spells in a last-ditch effort.
Fireballs, lightning bolts, and torrents of ice rained down on the Demon King, briefly lighting the battlefield.
But he walked through the attacks unscathed, as if the magic itself feared him.
With a flick of his claw or the swing of his tail, the mages fell one by one.
Even the two leaders, stalwarts of the kingdoms of Sima and Creta, joined the fray.
They fought valiantly, their skills honed over decades of battle.
But against the Demon King, even their experience meant nothing.
One leader fell with his chest torn open, the other decapitated in a single, brutal strike.
The once-proud wall of Cria was painted red.
Blood seeped into the cracks of the stone, pooling around the lifeless bodies of soldiers, mages, and leaders.
The pungent stench of death and iron filled the air, choking the lungs of any who still drew breath.
Amidst the carnage, only two figures remained standing.
Count Valor knelt on the blood-soaked ground, his sword lying forgotten beside him.
His head hung low, not in fear, but in unbearable shame and despair.
He had failed—failed his people, failed his kingdom, and failed himself.
The weight of thousands of lives crushed his spirit, leaving him hollow.
The Demon King stood across from him, his towering figure drenched in the blood of his enemies.
His crimson scales shimmered darkly in the pale light, his eyes blazing with a cruel satisfaction.
He moved forward slowly, each step echoing ominously on the stone, the sound amplified by the silence of the dead.