As Yholm’s forces regrouped after witnessing Drasko’s annihilation of Alrune, a rare moment of relief washed over the Demi-Giants. The relentless chaos brought by the demon Alrune had finally ceased, and Oosa was free from her destructive invasions. Many soldiers murmured among themselves about the power of the dragons and the reprieve it had granted them. However, their moment of calm was short-lived.

Upon returning to the designated rendezvous point to report the victory, Yholm and his troops were confronted by General Goan and his forces. Goan, his voice filled with venom, immediately accused Yholm and his army of cowardice for retreating in the face of Alrune.

“You abandoned the battlefield!” Goan roared, his towering frame brimming with rage. “You’re nothing but a disgrace! Demi-Giant or not, you’ll answer for your cowardice!”

Yholm, unflinching, stepped forward. His piercing gaze met Goan’s without hesitation, his voice calm but laced with contempt. “And where were you, General? Hiding behind your lines, sending us into chaos while you sat safely at a distance?”

Goan’s expression darkened, his fury barely contained.

Yholm continued, louder now for all to hear. “You’re the true coward, Goan. Sending me ahead while you hoard your forces, all to preserve them for your personal ambition. I see you. Weak and conniving, hiding behind orders while planning to sabotage Oosa from within. You’re no leader, and you’ll never be an emperor.”

Goan’s face contorted in a mix of rage and humiliation, his pride shattered by Yholm’s public accusation. He took a threatening step forward, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. “How dare you! I’ll kill you for this insolence!”

Yholm stood firm, his voice steady but unyielding. “Try me. Unlike you, I stand for something greater. I promised General Kho I would unite the Giants and Demi-Giants, and I intend to keep that promise. You? You’d throw Oosa into ruin to satisfy your petty ambition.”

The tension in the air was palpable. Soldiers from both armies gripped their weapons, ready to clash at a moment’s notice. Goan’s army, far larger and stronger, bore down on Yholm’s forces. But Yholm’s Demi-Giants, though fewer in number, stood unwaveringly by their leader. They knew his words rang true.

Before swords could be drawn, a few soldiers stepped between the two generals, pleading for calm. Their efforts barely held back the explosion of violence.

Yholm took a deep breath and raised his hand to silence the murmurs. “No blood needs to be spilled here. If you think I’m wrong, Goan, let the Emperor decide. We’ll go to the Moon Palace and let Rogg judge us both. I refuse to accept your authority over me.”

Goan hesitated, his fury boiling but his mind calculating. The mention of the Emperor cooled his blood slightly, for he knew Rogg’s judgment carried weight he couldn’t easily dismiss. If he acted rashly here, it might backfire and cost him his aspirations entirely.

“Fine,” Goan spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “Let the Emperor decide your fate. But don’t think for a moment you’ll walk away unscathed.”

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With that, the armies began to separate, the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon. Yholm’s resolve remained unshaken as he turned to his troops. “We fight for unity,” he reminded them, his voice steady. “Not for petty men like Goan, but for the promise of a better Oosa.”

His soldiers nodded, their loyalty unwavering. Yholm knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he also knew his actions now could shape the future for both Demi-Giants and Giants alike.

As the forces prepared for the long march to the Moon Palace, Yholm silently hoped that Emperor Rogg’s judgment would be fair—and that his own life wouldn’t be the price of his boldness.

The once-magnificent Kingdom of Venadyl lay in eerie silence, its lands barren and devoid of life. Where once towering spires and vibrant cities symbolized magical brilliance, now only ruins remained. The kingdom was truly dead, its inhabitants—once proud Venadylians—annihilated in the wake of Alrune’s wrath and the chaos wrought by the demons. Yet, amidst this lifeless expanse, the roar of flames and the rumble of destruction shattered the stillness.

Dragons soared across the skies, their fiery breath consuming what little remained. Drasko and his kin, driven by both fury and duty, were ensuring Venadyl’s complete obliteration. Their relentless assaults left nothing untouched, but their true purpose was clear: the destruction of the summoning circle, the source of the demon infestation.

Among the ruins, the demon Deumus lurked, hiding from the might of the dragons. His grotesque form scurried through shadowed corridors, his anger boiling at the loss of Alrune, not out of loyalty, but because her rampage had robbed him of his twisted pleasures. Venadyl’s destruction left no one alive for Deumus to torment. Torture was his sole joy, and without victims, the demon seethed in frustration.

Still, Deumus found ways to amuse himself. His corrupted soldiers had begun harassing the Crocods, a reptilian race that lived in the swamps of Bal to the east of Venadyl. The Crocods, known for their amphibious nature, had largely fled into the oceans when the demons emerged. Yet, Deumus took sadistic delight in targeting the few who remained, even if they weren’t ideal prey. Unlike humans, Crocods were cold-blooded and lacked the emotional reactions Deumus craved, but their resistance still provided him with some grim amusement.

Before the demons arrived, Bal and its swamp-dwelling inhabitants were embroiled in a war against their human neighbors in Babyl, a kingdom built on commerce and diplomacy. Babyl was fragile but resourceful, relying on trade and alliances to maintain its existence. Unfortunately for Babyl, their other neighbor, the elves of Elim, had always refused any attempts at diplomacy. With no allies, Babyl found itself vulnerable to Crocod aggression.

Only the presence of Venadyl had kept the Crocods at bay. The Venadylians, in their might, had engaged in limited trade with Babyl and subtly intimidated the Crocods, discouraging any attempts at outright invasion. But with Venadyl’s fall, the Crocods saw their chance to expand, launching renewed attacks against Babyl’s lands.

Deumus, however, had disrupted their plans. His harassment of the Crocods enraged them, forcing them to focus on their own survival rather than conquest. Yet, Deumus derived no satisfaction from tormenting the reptilians. They were stoic and lacked the fear and anguish he desired. His frustration grew daily, compounded by the ever-present threat of the dragons.

When Drasko’s forces began targeting the summoning circle itself, Deumus panicked. He knew that without the circle, the demons’ foothold would be severely weakened. Still, he also understood the limits of the dragons’ power. Only a mage of immense skill could dismantle the circle completely. Deumus mocked the futility of their attacks as he slinked into hiding, reveling in his perceived cleverness.

"Alrune," he hissed to himself, his voice dripping with malice, "you fool. You wasted your strength on meaningless slaughter. Now look at you, destroyed, while I endure. No dragon will find me. Let them burn this place to ash; I’ll simply wait until they tire."

Despite his mockery, Deumus felt the weight of his situation. The dragons’ relentless assault left little room for complacency. Though he remained hidden for now, he couldn’t shake the sense that his time was running out.