I flew through the thick miasma and horrid screams of Nemus and journeyed to the Doomhorn clan. This demon clan was the close-combatant specialists of the demons. Their upper echelon had an itch for living in towers that overlooked everyone else, so I peeled my eyes for the most exorbitant building. The Doomhorn clan had a much bigger territory, dozens of times bigger than the Darkviper clan, but their master’s eyrie was still laughably easy to spot and identify.

It was time to teach those fools a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.

Mana Shield and Aether Shell was on me and Dreadhoof before I even removed Camouflage and Conceal. A winding, lengthy, and steep hill with more than fifty watchtowers and barracks coupled together to make a defensive point were lined along the sides of the hill.

I put my hand up into the air and released an expert spell, Ashen Wither. A huge white beam formed from the skies and swept from the bottom to the top of the hill. It forced any living or once-living thing to rot and decay, as long as that thing was below a certain HP. Animals, trees, vegetation, low-level civilians and monsters, were the prime targets for a spell like that. Despite it being in the realms of an expert spell, it was one only available to undead beings, if they had the aptitude.

Some of the wooden watchtowers rotted and crumbled, and the same could be said for low-level demons that were caught up in the beam. Horns and alarms began blaring through the land; battalions of demons armed with all kinds of weapons lined the hill and the desecrated fields behind me.

The demons closest to me charged, and I rid them of their pathetic lives with a mixture of severing their heads from atop Dreadhoof or exploding their entrails with Fireball. They immediately began showing prudence and restrained their impetuous warmongering nature.

Everything they did agitated me. They were so fine with murdering thousands of innocents, unperturbed even when their victim was a child, pregnant mother, or even a cripple. Those sights were burned into my mind. The mere fact that there were too many corpses to even have proper burials was infuriating. Bodies were dumped like those people never had lives of their own. And what made me even more ireful was knowing that the Doomhorn clan did it for fun; they found our death and suffering to be amusing.

I couldn’t forgive them.

My wish to see them dealt the same fate, see them suffer, was commandeering my mind. I summoned hundreds, no, thousands of undead. Most were knights, archers, and wizards, but I also had many undead revenants mixed in as well. The slaughter began without the demons even having the chance to finish their formations.

The average Doomhorn demon was strong, but they were outnumbered five to one. My undead knights overpowered them by outnumbering them. My undead archers took care of their archers. And my undead wizards bombarded them with group spells and took out hundreds of their infantry in one go.

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The big demons with arms the length of my body and horns longer than staffs were strategically set free to put me, the summoner, in a pincer attack. One stampeded his way through his own allies just to get to me from the front. Two quadruped demons the size of houses approached from my sides to flank me, and another one was directly behind me. You’ll all die…

I cast Graveyard on those at the sides of me. The impalement through their legs stopped them and they rolled spectacularly until they reached the bottom of the hill. They didn’t even get to the main road. The rushing demon to the front of me was raised with a bit of Telekinesis. The momentum he already had combined with my spell pitched him into the air, flying right past me, but I wouldn’t let that happen. Hand of Winter, the expert spell that Edurne used on me in the dungeon, sprouted that icy undead skeletal hand from out the ground and caught the flying demon. Spikes of ice stabbed it from all over and blood began to rain down on the masses of demons below. The hand then squeezed and the constant cracking of bones could be heard from afar.

As for the charging dog behind me, a Ray of Sol exploded onto its reinforced back, spreading body parts, tissue, and bone fragments everywhere. My undead summons continued to take care of the small fry, and I had Dreadhoof continue up the steep road casually, to imprint the fact into their tiny brains that I couldn’t be stopped no matter what they tried.

And they certainly tried interesting things. A horde of boulders was rolling down the hills suddenly. It was like someone made humungous elephant-sized bowling balls and threw them down the hill. They cleared a path with ease, even amongst my undead. The thunderous sounds they made somewhat muffled the screams that rinsed my ears. Blood and guts burst at the seams of the demons’ flesh; the crackles of bone painted a horrible reality.

Telekinesis could only be affixed to one target at a time so using it to stop dozens of boulders wouldn’t be too smart of me. The blood-stained boulders sped down the road until a simple Earth Wall spell made a nice ramp in front of me. The stones flew above me and continued onto the demon armies behind me.

I continued wiping away their armies because their misguided pride forced them to pander to their own egos; they sacrificed themselves for nothing, a martyr’s road in the midst of the Lich God.

There was so much blood on the hill, hardly any of it wasn’t dyed red. Looking back at it from the plateau almost made me puke by the amount of death following behind me. However, I could have no regret nor reluctance; they dared to touch Tina, their worst mistake.

At the entrance of the mansion-sized eyrie, someone waited patiently. A demon opened the gates and walked towards me. He looked, mostly elven, but the charcoal-hued skin, devilish horns, and sharp fangs were unmistakable. “Lich God,” it spoke amicably, but kept its axe held tightly, “it is regrettable that you, a monster, chose humans. It appears,” he tightened his grip, “we’re at an impasse, hmm?”

He stood bare-chested, and threw an arrow in the middle of both of us. “Let there be no more bloodshed! I challenge you, Lich God!” He spoke big, bold, confidence dripping from his lips and wheezing out his very existence, like he was born for it, born of it. “What say you, monster?! If you win, I will step down as the master. The Doomhorn is yours to do with as you wish! If you lose, you leave us alone. What say you, Lich God?!” He appeared to have the makings of a real leader, but I could smell his rage from a mile away.

I eyed him for a long time, letting uncertainty sever their rationale for a bit. “I accept.”