CHAPTER 7 : AFTERMATH

“There are two things I mainly wish to discuss. The first being the newly developed discussion topic among the masses.”

"Do you refer to the incident of Skeletal Island, Your Majesty?" Lupin inquired, his eyes betraying a mixture of rage and sorrow.

“Certainly. The incident has inflicted a profound blow upon our prospects for victory against the devils. Not only have our human resources been decimated, but we have also endured significant losses among our own ranks. Many promising young warriors have fallen victim to this tragedy.”

Griffin paused, collecting himself before continuing, "And the fact that the demon still draws breath ignites my fury." His rage radiated from his eyes, his very presence seeming to tremble the surroundings as if causing an earthquake. He took a deep breath, quelling his frustration

Griffin delicately sipped from the ornate, gilded goblet perched upon his mahogany desk, the crystal-clear water offering a fleeting respite from the weight of his words. With a steadying breath, he resumed his tale, the air thick with a foreboding tension that seemed to cling to every syllable.

"We guillotined him," Griffin's voice wavered, betraying the gravity of the scene he was recounting. "His head rolled, a grotesque punctuation to our justice. But then, an abyssal darkness unfurled—an aura so black, it seemed to swallow the very light around it."

As he spoke, the room seemed to grow colder, as if a shadow had crept into the heart of their sanctuary. The memory tightened its grip, pulling him back into the chaos of that fateful day.

"In an instant, it merged with the remnants of its vessel, a macabre reunion that defied all reason. The spectacle seized the stadium, a collective shiver that transcended the physical, chilling the marrow of every soul present."

"Nanda and Zanda," Griffin's voice faltered, the names heavy with sorrow and regret, "they approached, drawn by duty and compassion. But before they could intervene, the demon—its form twisted by malevolence—struck with a primal savagery. With a single stroke, its nails rent flesh and bone, severing the fragile threads of life without mercy. Their bodies fell, mere echoes of the vibrant spirits they once embodied, as the demon, spent and spent, collapsed upon the bloodstained earth."

"Ah, and as for Vice Commander Deliah—"

"What happened to her?" Lupin's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and curiosity, his eyes wide with concern.

"She retired. She's no longer the vice commander of the 3rd Army," Griffin's tone carried a weight of sadness as he spoke, his gaze fixed on some distant memory.

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"What? But someone as strong-willed as Ms. Deliah?" Lupin's disbelief echoed in the room, his mind struggling to comprehend the news.

"I can't say I blame her. After witnessing the horrors of Skeletal Island, it's no wonder," Griffin sighed heavily, the weight of the past bearing down on his words. "That incident left scars that run deep. I saw it—the terror etched on her face as the demon slew Nanda and Zanda. It was as though it had reignited the flames of her fear and trauma from that harrowing incident.”

"Her parents..." Lupin's voice trailed off, his thoughts drifting to the sacrifices made in the name of duty.

"Yes, she lost them on the battlefield when she was just a child," Griffin continued softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Her only family now is her two younger sisters. She couldn't bear the thought of them facing the same fate, the same pain she endured."

"She fought so hard to rise through the ranks," Lupin mused, a pang of admiration mixed with sadness. "But I suppose it's only natural for her to want to protect her family above all else."

Griffin nodded solemnly, understanding shining in his eyes. "Indeed. Sometimes, the greatest battles are fought not on the battlefield, but within the depths of our own hearts."

"Lupin," Griffin said, his voice resonating with depth, "About the demon... We burned him, poisoned him, crucified him, and employed nine other methods of execution. Yet, none of them resulted in his demise. The most unsettling aspect is that for the past three days, he has lain unconscious in his human form. I do not know what awaits us once he opens his eyes." Griffin's voice carried concern.

"I understand, Your Majesty. It appears he is no ordinary demon. Such a dreadful presence and mysterious resistance to death; only a few of the highest-ranking devils could possess such traits. I will thoroughly investigate this matter," Lupin replied respectfully.

"Your deduction skills are as exceptional as ever. As expected of our military advisor," Griffin said with a serious face, yet with a hint of a smile.

"Thank you for such kind words, my king," Lupin bowed down with a smiling face before he asked, "Is that demon kept in Tartarus?"

“Yes. He is kept at the third floor of Tartarus, the most secured prison in the land of Olymzeus. So we can be little relaxed and focus on a more important matter on our hand” Griffin said

“More important matter?” Lupin asked

“Yes the one, that can decide the future of our world.” Grifin said before he took out a scroll of parchment from his drawer.

"Have a look at this. You're the first I've chosen to share this with.”

Lupin accepted the scroll, laying it gently beside a flickering candle. As the parchment warmed, hidden words emerged, unveiling their message.

Yet, instead of text, a concealed symbol emerged, etched in blood and meticulously crafted. A circular emblem took shape, its center adorned with nine slender pillars rising symmetrically, each embellished with intricate, twisted patterns. Above them, malevolent eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness, their crimson irises holding an otherworldly glow. The emblem exuded an unmistakable aura of potent menace, hinting at the sinister forces it represented.

"Nine pillars, huh?" Lupin inquired, to which his king nodded solemnly.

But Lupin, being the knowledgeable individual he was, exactly knew what to be done. Using his sharp wolf teeth, he bit his thumb, resulting in the drip of a single drop of his blood on that symbol. And as a result, that symbol formed with blood, reorganized itself on the parchment, taking its shape into a written message.

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