The air in the chamber was thick with silence as all the demons gathered, awaiting further orders.

The demon at the head of the assembly, Malkhov, fixed his cold gaze on the female demon robed in deep purple. "Demonic Mother Keisha, let’s begin with you. How are the new recruits progressing under your training?"

Keisha paused her rhythmic cradling of the small, intricately crafted doll in her arms. Without lifting her gaze from the doll’s blank face, she started her report in a low, almost entranced tone. "The new recruits are adjusting well. I have already taught them two of my sword techniques, and one of them shows genuine promise. This yield seems... promising, Branch Leader Malkhov."

Malkhov’s lips curled into a faint sneer. "One promising candidate, and you call this a ‘good yield’? Is that what your training has come to?"

"Patience, leader," she replied in an even, almost amused tone. "They possess talent, but their abilities are still raw. With more training, I’m confident I’ll uncover more strong recruits."

Malkhov’s voice turned cold as ice. "I’ll give you one week. If no other promising candidates emerge, you know what you must do."

"I understand, leader." Keisha resumed cradling the doll, a smile dancing on her lips as if soothing a crying infant.

Malkhov’s eye twitched at the display, but he restrained his irritation, shifting his focus to the next in line—the demonic twins. "Sasha, Pia," he called out sharply, "how is your training progressing?"

"We’re progressing well, leader," the twins responded in perfect unison, their voices blending eerily together.

Malkhov scrutinized them both, his gaze intense, as though trying assess their true power. After several moments of silence, he gave a small nod of satisfaction.

"It seems you’re progressing well. Perhaps Keisha has a point," he admitted, almost begrudgingly. "I’ll inspect the recruit you mentioned tomorrow."

"I told you, leader," Keisha interjected, her gaze still fixed on the doll. "A demon’s evolution within a human host doesn’t rely solely on the demon. The human’s soul and its compatibility with the demonic presence are equally essential. Only when both intertwine harmoniously can a true demonic soul emerge."

Malkhov grunted, conceding her point. "Enough with your wisdom, Keisha. Both of you," he said, directing his gaze back to the twins, "begin sparring with me. You’ve reached the level where that’s necessary."

"Yes, leader," they replied, their voices merging into one, both expressionless but obedient.

Turning his piercing gaze to another demon sitting silently in the shadows, Malkhov addressed him in a commanding tone. "Judas—report on the demon hunter and the Blood-Eyed."

Judas’s eyes were fixed on the fire burning in the center of the room, his face lit in flickering shades of red and orange. "Tracking him is becoming more challenging, leader. His aura is like a fortress—always guarded, always alert. If he spots me… I’m a dead man."

"Follow my technique," Malkhov replied in an almost bored tone. "And keep those aura-suppressing piercings on."

Judas nodded, his gaze intense. "I tailed him to a grocery store recently. He vanished for a minute, then reappeared with his clothes torn and fresh wounds that were still healing. The people around him were frozen in shock, but a moment later, it was as if nothing had happened. They all went back to their business as though it were a simple mishap."

"Angelic Void Distortion," Malkhov said, his tone suddenly grave. "A demon hunter was present, and their contracted angel must have manipulated the humans’ memories."

Judas frowned, his voice taut. "It wasn’t the hunter who exorcised Remming. The aura felt… different. We may be dealing with another hunter entirely."

"Another hunter?" Malkhov’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He placed his left hand on his chin, contemplating. "It appears they’re forming an alliance. They’ve likely extracted our location from Remming."

A murmur of panic rippled through the demons in the room.

"Why are you all frightened?" Malkhov’s voice was a whip of contempt. "They don’t pose a significant threat to us. I have a source within Holy Hands. Their cult leader has vanished, leaving the organization in chaos. Even the groups in other cities are in the dark regarding his whereabouts. Without their leader, they’ll be cautious. They won’t send forces here and leave their own headquarters vulnerable to a demon attack."

"But, leader," Judas said, his tone cautious. "The energy from that void distortion… it was powerful. Stronger than anything I’ve felt recently."

Malkhov’s eyes glinted with mock amusement. "You’re now the weakest among us, Judas. Perhaps I erred in sending Remming instead of you. At least Remming had courage, unlike you."

Judas bristled, his pride stung. "The demonic twins are still weaker than me!"

"Test them, then," Malkhov suggested with a cold smile.

"Tch, fine," Judas muttered, reluctant but accepting the challenge. "And if you valued Remming so much, why didn’t you let him operate in his original body?"

Malkhov’s expression turned calculating. "It was a strategic choice. If they had captured Remming’s original form, they might have discovered my Sigil."

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Judas scoffed. "And now you’ve given it to me—the so-called ‘weakest’ among us. Why not entrust it to someone more capable, like Keisha?"

All eyes turned to Keisha, who remained absorbed in cradling her doll, indifferent to the scrutiny.

"Perhaps I am the most suitable," Judas muttered, his pride bruised.

"The spell I marked on your back," Malkhov said, his voice tinged with grim satisfaction, "is called the Courage of the Weak. Only the weakest can wield it. If the branch is in danger, use it as a last resort."

"I hope it’s potent enough to save my life," Judas replied, his voice edged with sarcasm.

Malkhov ignored him. "Now, regarding the latest message from our Cult Leader: he plans to gather divine-heritage children from various locations at his base. Our new recruit—the girl—will be tested. Because of that I will be out frequently for the next few weeks, in my absence I hope you and Keisha will take care of the matters here."

Judas raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Gathering others just to amuse her? Why waste such effort?"

Malkhov’s expression darkened. "She isn’t just another divine-heritage child. She’s special."

"Special? What makes her so unique?"

"I remember the day we intercepted that school bus," Malkhov began, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. "Out of all the children, she stood out the most. Her protective spells were extraordinarily complex. Even the Cult Leader was momentarily stunned by their intricacy. It became clear she wasn’t just any child of divine heritage. She was tied to someone with immense knowledge of demonic arts."

"And this relative…"

"The Blood-Eyed."

"Who exactly is he?" Judas pressed, a trace of anxiety slipping into his voice.

"Even I don’t fully know," Malkhov admitted. "Two years ago, when the Cult Leader recruited me and Keisha, he gave us this branch to lead. Since then, I’ve heard only fragmented rumors. The older members spoke of a human, fiercer than any demon, who singlehandedly decimated our former cult. Even Remming babbled about it, though I thought it was nonsense."

"A human surpassing demons in power?" Judas laughed bitterly. "They must have been exaggerating. Humans can’t match our deception, our spellcraft, or our strength."

"Remember, Judas, your host is human too. In our realm, the body is irrelevant—it’s merely flesh and bone. What matters is the soul. The deeper the red hue of one’s soul, the more powerful the demon. Except for the kings of hell—their souls are so dark they resemble black holes, pulling everything toward them, devouring all light."

Judas frowned, trying to grasp the idea. "But if our souls vary in power, why is our aura all the same Blood red?"

"Aura is a reflection of one's chosen path," Malkhov explained. "Red aura signifies a path of darkness, demonic in nature. Golden aura belongs to those who walk the path of justice, divine beings. Green aura represents neutrality, typically exuded by creatures of nature."

Judas was visibly impressed. "You’re… surprisingly wise."

"The Cult Leader occasionally shares his knowledge with me," Malkhov replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "It’s one reason I serve him. This world holds many mysteries, and I’m eager to uncover them."

"Is that your view or your human host’s?" Judas smirked.

"My host was a feeble man, nearly lifeless," Malkhov said dismissively. "He barely left his room, so taking over him was effortless. His despair… I still don’t understand it."

"A philosophical demon and a pessimistic human," Judas laughed dryly. "You two were a match made in heav—well, hell."

Malkhov chuckled softly. "Humans claim to value life, yet they destroy it without a single thought. At least we’re not hypocrites."

"Enough of this philosophy. I want to return to my other life," Judas said, stretching.

"Join the cult full-time, then. Why cling to your host’s mortal ties?"

"Because I enjoy them. I’m here because you promised the Cult Leader’s support, you promised me right." Judas replied with a smirk.

"When this mission concludes, I’ll see to it personally," Malkhov assured him.

"Oh, how gracious." Judas grinned as he rose. "Until then."

The room began to empty as each demon vanished in turn, their figures dissolving into darkness. Alone by the fire, Malkhov watched the flames dance, the light casting eerie shadows across his mask.

Staring into the blazing embers, he whispered to himself.

"Legend speaks of a demon with a unique aura—a being whose arrival will herald the end of all things. Cult Leader, I hope you’re right. You told me I’d meet him here. But is he real? Or merely a myth? I want to believe in your vision. Let’s see if the Blood-Eyed is truly the one we’ve awaited… if he is indeed…"

Malkhov’s gaze turned upward, his voice a quiet murmur to the dark heavens.

The fire finally burnt out and the darkness spread everywhere the only source of light being the moon.

Finally, he turned and made his way out of the chamber, stepping into the vast silence of the night. Outside, the air was sharp and cold, heavy with an eerie calm that followed the demons’ departure. The moon hung low, casting pale light across the barren landscape, signaling the end of their dark council and the beginning of another night under the watchful stars.

The night passed, and day broke. Early in the morning, the sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow over everything. It was a pleasant morning for the Cult Leader, who sipped his tea leisurely, savoring each sip. However, the two children standing before him didn’t share his sense of peace.

Talia was already exhausted from her training, and Shawn—well, this was the third time he had been completely overpowered by Talia. At the beginning of their training, Shawn had held the upper hand in their sparring sessions. But with Talia’s steady and explosive growth, Shawn was now barely managing to survive each bout. Adding to his misery, the one assigned to heal them afterward was Ellen.

First, he’d get knocked out by Talia, only to wake up to the masked woman who had once tried to strangle him to death. Mr. P, meanwhile, was thoroughly entertained by the spectacle. "Ha ha! She got you again!" he laughed heartily. Watching Shawn’s struggle had quickly become his favorite morning entertainment. "You’re much more impressive than I thought, Talia."

Talia remained expressionless. Though Mr. P was quite friendly with her, she couldn’t bring herself to open up to him. Her only goal was to figure out how to get back home. She forced a dry smile, trying not to seem suspicious, but Mr. P noticed something amiss.

“You don’t look well, Talia. Need something?”

Talia hadn’t intended to respond, but an idea suddenly formed in her mind. She looked at Mr. P intensely and muttered, "Can I have a sparring match against you?"

Though she had only been training for a few days, Talia wanted to know how she would fare against the person she saw as the biggest obstacle in her path home.

"No."

Talia was taken aback. "Why not?"

"Because you’re far too weak to even stand against me," Mr. P replied.

Shawn looked at Mr. P with dread.

"Please, just a little spar. I’m stronger now," Talia pleaded.

Mr. P sighed, then released his aura. It radiated malice and darkness, so intense that Talia and Shawn froze in place, collapsing within seconds under its weight.

“Stop it!” Ellen shouted as she rushed toward the children.

“Well, I had to show her the difference in our power levels,” Mr. P said with a shrug.

Ellen tended to the kids, and soon they began to stir. Shawn was still trembling in fear, while Talia lay silent, her hope of returning home temporarily shattered. **Just how powerful is this man?** she wondered, before drifting into a troubled slumber once more.