The Demon King walked with deliberate steps, his towering figure casting a suffocating shadow over the kneeling Count Valor.

Each step felt like the toll of a bell, signaling the inevitability of doom.

When he reached the count, he bent down slowly, his piercing crimson eyes locking onto Valor's defeated gaze.

For a moment, there was silence—broken only by the distant cries of the dying and the crackle of fire.

“What… are you?” Count Valor whispered, his voice trembling with both fear and curiosity.

The Demon King tilted his head slightly, as if pondering the question, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile.

“With this much power,” Valor continued, his voice growing louder, the frustration in his tone bubbling over, “you could’ve ended this battle long ago. Why? Why did you act alone? Why didn't you use your army?"

The Demon King’s smile widened.

His voice was calm, yet chilling, carrying an air of unshakable authority.

“Despair,” he said simply.

“What?”

Count Valor’s brow furrowed in confusion.

The Demon King leaned in closer, his breath cold against the count’s face, his tone dripping with malice.

“Do you know what despair truly is?” he asked.

“Not fear. Not loss. But the crushing weight of knowing you were powerless to stop the inevitable.”

Before Valor could respond, the Demon King grabbed him by the collar with a single hand, lifting him effortlessly.

The count struggled against the grip but found it as unyielding as iron.

“Let me show you,” the Demon King said.

With a powerful leap, he landed near the inner edge of the city wall.

He held Count Valor there, forcing him to look down at the city below.

The sight that met Valor’s eyes was a scene from his worst nightmares.

The gates of Cria had been breached, and a tide of goblins poured through, their grotesque forms moving with chaotic frenzy.

They swarmed into the streets, their crude weapons glinting in the dim light.

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The city, once a proud bastion of hope, was now drowning in chaos.

The goblins attacked without hesitation.

Men who tried to protect their families were overwhelmed.

One man, wielding a hammer, managed to crush the skull of a goblin, the creature’s blood splattering onto the cobblestone.

But before he could even take a breath, three more goblins pounced on him, their jagged daggers plunging into his chest and stomach. His screams echoed briefly before he fell silent.

Women clutched their children, their faces pale with terror.

A mother tried to shield her young son, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

But a goblin’s blade slashed through her back, and she collapsed, her blood pooling beneath her.

The child’s cries for his mother were cut short as another goblin dragged him away.

Elderly citizens, unable to flee, were mercilessly cut down where they stood.

One old man, leaning on a cane, pleaded for mercy, his voice quivering.

The goblins responded with cruel laughter before driving their weapons into him.

The young were not spared either. Children screamed as they were chased down, their small legs unable to carry them far.

A girl, no older than fifteen, tripped and fell.

She looked back, her tear-streaked face filled with terror, as a goblin loomed over her.

Fires spread through the city, consuming homes and shops alike.

Smoke billowed into the sky, adding to the chaos.

The air was filled with the acrid stench of burning wood and the metallic tang of blood.

The screams of the dying and the wailing of the survivors were a symphony of agony that filled every corner of Cria.

Count Valor’s eyes widened in horror.

His lips trembled, and his body went limp in the Demon King’s grasp.

“Stop this!” His voice cracked, raw with desperation.

“Please, stop this!”

His cries carried the weight of a broken man, pleading for mercy not for himself, but for the innocents below.

The Demon King’s laughter filled the air, a deep, hollow sound devoid of compassion.

It reverberated off the bloodied walls, chilling the hearts of any who could still hear it.

His glowing crimson eyes turned to the count, blazing with malevolence.

“This is despair,” the Demon King said, his voice calm yet cruel. “To watch your people suffer. To know you cannot save them. That is true despair.”

With a dismissive motion, he released Count Valor, who crumpled to his knees against the cold stone wall.

The count’s trembling hands gripped the edge, his knuckles white, his body wracked with the weight of his failure.

Below, the cries of his people being slaughtered filled his ears, each scream like a dagger to his heart.

Tears streamed down his face, a mixture of anguish and shame.

“Why are you doing this?” Valor whispered, his voice barely audible.

Then he screamed, his voice breaking with raw emotion, “What do you gain from killing all those people?”

The Demon King tilted his head, a wicked smile curling his lips.

“Satisfaction,” he said, his tone laced with venom. “I feel… happy.”

Valor’s tear-filled eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

“What?” he stammered, his voice trembling.

The Demon King’s expression darkened, his smile fading as his tone turned sharp and venomous.

“It wasn’t I who started this,” the Demon King began, his voice rising with rage.

“It was you humans. You, with your endless greed and insatiable hunger for power. You massacred countless species, trampled their homes, spilled their blood—all for your petty conquests. For land. For resources. For nothing more than your selfish desires.”

The Demon King’s body trembled with barely restrained fury, his claws digging into the stone wall.

His voice grew louder, filled with unrestrained hatred.

“Your hunger destroyed everything. My people. My friends. My family.”

His voice cracked, and for a fleeting moment, a glimmer of pain flashed in his eyes.

"My wife and my daughter… the ones I loved more than anything. The ones I wanted nothing more than to protect and live peacefully with.”

His gaze bore into Valor, blazing with raw emotion—anger, grief, and an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

“But your hunger for power,” he spat, “your hunger for control, destroyed it all. You left me with nothing. NOTHING!”

The Demon King’s tone turned cold, colder than the harshest winter wind, as he leaned closer to Valor.

“And now, I’m hungry,” he hissed.

“I hunger for retribution. For vengeance. For destruction. The despair you feel right now—the helplessness of watching your people die, knowing you can do nothing to stop it. That same despair consumed me once. Now, I will ensure it is etched into the hearts of every human being.”

Count Valor’s tears stopped. Instead, his face hardened, his jaw clenched as he stared into the face of the monster before him.

“One day,” he said, his voice steady but filled with quiet fury, “you will meet a horrific end. Mark my words.”

The Demon King’s lips curled into a cold, mocking smile.

“I’ll wait for that day,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

With a swift motion, he raised his clawed hand.

The sound of the wind slicing through the air was the only warning before the count’s head was severed cleanly from his body.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

The count’s headless body slumped forward, collapsing to the blood-soaked stone wall.

His lifeless eyes stared into the distance, as if still witnessing the destruction below.

The Demon King stood over the corpse, his crimson eyes glinting with triumph.

He wiped the blood from his claws, his gaze sweeping over the city engulfed in blood and chaos.

The territory of Cria had fallen, and with it, its last hope.