The battlefield of Genom was a grim expanse littered with the fallen—giants, demons, and humans alike. Slaves, chained at the wrists, hauled the corpses of the dead across the blood-soaked ground. Among them were beastmen who worked diligently, their movements purposeful and unrestrained. The air carried the weight of sorrow, victory, and loss in equal measure.

Oosa had won, but the price was steep. Durr and Yhorm, the empire’s last great generals, were gone, and with them much of Oosa’s strength. Only a handful of leaders remained, including Goan, who had stood aside and watched as others bled for the empire.

Emperor Rogg observed the scene with a calculating eye, his expression betraying none of the frustration roiling beneath the surface. Goan’s treachery was no secret to him—his brother had coveted the throne for years. Rogg had kept Goan alive out of a cruel sense of superiority, taking pleasure in reminding him of his failures and in humiliating him for fathering a Demi-Giant. But now, Rogg regretted his decision. The war had left Oosa’s forces fractured, and even Goan’s soldiers could not be spared.

Nearby, Kho knelt beside the still body of Kai, her eyes closed as if merely sleeping. Her iron necklace rested in his hands, its links cold against his skin. Kho’s expression was solemn, but there was a spark of pride in his eyes.

"You showed them," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for her.

Kai’s sacrifice had changed everything. She had saved Oosa, proving that Demi-Giants were far from a curse. For so long, they had been cast aside, ridiculed as worthless, but now no one could deny their value. Kai had made sure of that.

"They can't call us a curse anymore," Kho thought, gripping the necklace tightly. "You showed them what we’re worth, Kai. You did it. I just wish you could see it—see the future you wanted for us."

Kho rose slowly, placing the necklace around his neck, where it would remain as a symbol of what she had achieved. His gaze lingered on her one final time before turning toward the hill where Rogg stood, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

Kho approached the emperor and spoke without hesitation. "The Demon King is in the Dwarf Kingdom. His death will end this invasion."

Rogg’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "And you saw this yourself?"

"I did," Kho confirmed. He kept his tone neutral, betraying nothing of the despair he had felt when witnessing the kingdom’s destruction. He made no mention of the Magisters or the ring he now carried—those secrets were his to protect.

Rogg weighed Kho’s words carefully, calculating the implications. The fall of the Demon King would indeed end the war, and with it, Oosa could consolidate power amid the ruins of its neighbors.

"Return to your troops," Rogg said at last, offering no indication of his thoughts.

Kho inclined his head and turned to leave, but before he could take more than a few steps, Goan approached, his towering figure radiating disdain.

"You’re going back to the Dwarf Kingdom," Goan declared, his voice sharp with authority. "The Demon King waits for you there."

Kho stopped, his expression calm but his hands tightening into fists. He knew what his father intended. Sending him into the heart of the Demon King’s stronghold with a shattered army was nothing short of a death sentence.

"Why hesitate?" Goan sneered. "You’ll go. You’ll fight. And when you fail, this empire will finally be rid of the shame you’ve brought upon it."

Kho didn’t respond. He had grown used to Goan’s cruelty, but it no longer had the power to wound him. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, meeting his father’s gaze with quiet resolve.

"I’ll go," Kho said simply. Then he walked away, leaving Goan fuming in his wake.

In the crumbling remnants of Venadyl, Deumus had been on the run for days. The Crocods, relentless hunters with an uncanny ability to track, had closed in on him again. Despite his power, Deumus could not avoid them forever. Each day they found him, pushing him further into the ruins of a kingdom now haunted by demons and ghosts of its past. The Crocods were not as relentless as the demons, but they were determined—determined to stop Deumus from hindering their ambitions.

For Deumus, the time had come. He was tired of running, tired of hiding. This time, he would face them.

The Crocods were fierce warriors, their hunting instincts honed over countless generations. They moved in packs, coordinating their attacks with deadly precision. When one was struck, the others would strike from blind spots, their lances sharp and deadly. Deumus could hear them closing in, and he knew that he could not outrun them much longer.

As he fled deeper into the ruins of the royal palace, Deumus spotted a familiar door—one he had passed countless times but had never dared open. It was broken now, its walls crumbling, but something inside called to him. Without hesitation, he pushed open the heavy door, rushing into the cold chamber beyond.

Inside, he found something unexpected: bodies. Not of demons, but of strange, towering beings—taller than humans, their faces grotesque but undeniably humanoid. Their eyes were dark, their features both alien and strangely familiar. These were no ordinary creatures. They had been frozen in time, trapped in thick sheets of ice.

As Deumus hid in the shadows, the Crocods followed, their voices echoing through the corridors. He knew he could not fight them alone—not with their numbers. But perhaps, he thought, these strange creatures could be the key. If he could control them, bend them to his will, he might turn the tide in his favor.

He reached out with his power, trying to awaken them from their frozen slumber. The ice cracked, and the beings stirred, their movements slow at first. Deumus felt a surge of hope—he had done it. But something was wrong. As the creatures began to move more freely, Deumus realized they were not like the demons he had controlled before. They had no thoughts, no emotions, no souls. They were... empty.

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Before he could react, the creatures attacked.

Their hands, long and clawed, tore through the Crocods with savage ferocity. Deumus watched in horror as the beings ripped through the warriors, their claws cutting through flesh like knives. The Crocods fought back, but they were no match for the creatures' brute strength.

In the chaos, Deumus tried to regain control, to bend these soulless beings to his will. But it was too late. They turned on him. Deumus could not understand what had gone wrong. These creatures should have been his allies, but they were beyond his control—mindless, destructive forces.

In the end, the creatures overwhelmed him. They tore through him like a storm, shredding his body with their claws. His screams were drowned by the sound of their monstrous hands raking across his flesh.

The surviving Crocods, realizing the danger, fled the palace. They knew they had lost many warriors, but they also understood the lesson the creatures had taught them: Venadyl was no place for them. It was too dangerous. Too unpredictable. The creatures, devoid of soul, had destroyed Deumus, their power far beyond anything they could have anticipated.

As the Crocods regrouped outside, they were solemn but not terrified. They had seen the cost of pursuing Deumus, and they understood that Venadyl was now a place to avoid. Their true goal had never been to conquer Venadyl but to kill Deumus—who had been harassing their attempts to invade the Kingdom of Babyl. With Deumus dead, the path was now clear.

The Crocods turned away from Venadyl, their goal fulfilled. With Deumus gone, they would be free to march on Babyl without interference. The demon invasion had upended many kingdoms, but the Crocods were among the few to profit from the chaos. The war had created an opening, and they would seize it.

Now, with Deumus out of the way, the Crocods turned their eyes toward the Kingdom of Babyl, prepared to claim their prize.

In the Lands of Elim, the once united elven kingdom had been cleaved in two. The Dark Elves, long a dominant presence, now ruled over much of the territory. In contrast, the Elves of Nature, led by King Wohre, found themselves isolated and oppressed.

King Elim, the ruler of the Dark Elves, had always maintained a strict policy of seclusion, forbidding any form of contact or alliances with outsiders. This policy had kept his people hidden from the world, safe in their own lands, shielded from the conflicts and intrigues of the outside world. But Wohre, a king of compassion and foresight, had always believed in a broader, more open vision for his people. He believed that diplomacy and trade were vital for their survival and that cooperation with others, even humans, was necessary, especially in the face of the growing demon threat.

Despite King Elim’s decree to avoid any alliances with outsiders, Wohre defied him. The Elves of Nature formed ties with Rajina, a human kingdom, sending soldiers to aid in the fight against the demon forces, particularly against Ob, one of the demon generals.

Elim, seeing this as an act of defiance against his authority, could not tolerate such insubordination. His army swiftly moved against Wohre and his people, driving them out of their homeland. The Elves of Nature were banished, their lands torn from them. King Wohre, though wounded by the betrayal of his own kind, did not falter. He sought refuge in Rajina, where he and his people were welcomed with open arms.

In Rajina, the Elves of Nature continued their battle alongside Dalmask and Xavu, lending their strength to the human kingdoms in the ongoing war against the demon invasion. While their exile from the Elven lands was painful, they found a new purpose, united in the struggle to protect the world from the horrors of the abyss.

For Wohre, the loss of his homeland was bittersweet. He knew that the future of the Elves of Nature lay not in the seclusion of their past but in the alliances they forged with those who shared their fight for survival.

Kho’s feet were heavy as he made his way toward the capital, his mind clouded with thoughts of the battle to come. He knew the fight with the Demon King was likely a suicide mission, but his resolve was unshakable. His army, led by Niga and Niger, had earned their rest—he too would take a moment to regain his strength. There was one last task to attend to before the battle began.

As he approached the city, something unusual caught his eye. A massive procession of giants filled the streets, the clang of their heavy armor reverberating in the air. At the center stood Emperor Rogg, who was about to address the people. Curiosity piqued, Kho slowed his steps and moved closer.

Standing amidst the crowd, Kho’s gaze fixed on Rogg, who stood tall before the gathered throngs, his presence commanding attention. The emperor’s voice, booming and self-assured, carried across the city square as he recounted the battle.

"Raizzen is no more," Rogg declared, holding the severed head of the demon like a trophy. "Durr, Yhorm—heroes in their own right—gave their lives to protect Oosa, but I was the one who struck the final blow, ending the threat once and for all. I alone saved this empire."

A murmur ran through the crowd, and Kho’s heart clenched. No mention of Kai. No mention of her sacrifice. No recognition of the Demi-Giants who had fought and died—especially not of Kai, who had given her life to protect the emperor himself. Her name was not spoken, not even in passing. She was gone, forgotten by the very people she had saved.

Kho’s legs trembled beneath him, his body trembling with disbelief. She died for this? He couldn’t comprehend it. The emperor’s words were cold and hollow, glossing over the truth. The Demi-Giants will never be accepted as equals, not after this... The promise Rogg had made—of elevating the Demi-Giants—was a lie. The emperor had used them as pawns, and now he discarded them without a second thought.

Kho clutched the necklace Kai had given him, the weight of it heavy against his chest. Her life had been for nothing. She had died to protect Oosa, only to be erased from history, her sacrifice nothing more than a forgotten shadow. The rage inside Kho bubbled up, threatening to consume him, but he remained silent, his eyes locked on the trophy in the emperor’s hands.

Without a word, he turned away, walking slowly, his mind a storm of broken thoughts. He needed to return home—back to the Palace of Three Stones, the only place that had ever felt like a refuge.

When Kho finally arrived, he wasn’t expecting the confrontation that awaited him.

Goan stood at the entrance, his eyes wild with fury. "What are you doing here?" he bellowed. "Leave now, or I’ll kill you myself."

Kho's expression remained cold, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why did Dule die in the battle? Wasn't he my servant?"

Goan sneered. "He was nothing more than a human slave. He served his purpose in the war, and you’re foolish to mourn him. You should be grateful for his sacrifice."

Kho's blood boiled, but he pressed on. "Where is Yholm?"

Goan’s smile twisted into something dark. "He was a coward—a curse, like you. I punished him for his weakness. He’s dead because he couldn’t live up to his worth."

Kho’s fists clenched, his rage building to a breaking point. Without thinking, he lashed out, his body moving faster than his thoughts. In an instant, he jumped at Goan and kicked him square in the face.

It was the first time Kho had ever struck his father.

Goan staggered back, clutching his face in disbelief. "You—!"

Kho stood over him, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "You’ve used me. Used all of us." His voice was filled with a venomous calm. "You are no father of mine."

For the first time, Kho felt the weight of his own fury—no longer a silent observer, but an active force, one that would no longer be silenced. He stood, unwavering, as Goan writhed in the dust at his feet, the broken bond between them now irreparable.