“Ah! My venerable king, how doth thee fare? My deepest apologies for arriving with so little vigor, I was… preoccupied with other matters! I hope thee won’t mind.” The man spoke in a sprightly manner. His golden eyes turned upwards at the black-robed king and his guards that glared at the man like he were a bug.

King Evan, the ruler of Yoland, gave the man a deathly glare in the grasp of his throne. “Did you only come here to play me for a fool? What do you want, you devious hellion?” He said, though he gaze was focused on the man in front of him, his dominant tone easily put everyone in his presence on edge. Out of all the people he’s, met, executed, and commanded, King Evan loathed the fact that it was the fool in front of him that could manage to speak with such discourtesy and escape with his head.

“Aw, you’re no fun, you stickler~” The man responded, a jolly smile surfaced on his face, but the aura behind it was far from positive.

“Speak, Coe! What do you—” The king was interrupted by the blood of one of his men, with his head high above his body. The lacerated head landed next to the king’s feet, as if its trajectory was predetermined. The queen, Evan’s first wife, let out a gasp that no one else could manage to utter. She was lucky, as a human that couldn’t sense mana; anyone with even a slight aptitude for the ability could feel the man’s ungodly aura the leaked out of his very person. It suffocated all but the Queen, brought the elite guards and even the two generals that oversaw the meeting to their knees, and forced the king into action all in the time it took a leaf to float to the ground. King Evan used every ounce of Ego—the human’s source of mana-- he could muster to combat the oppressive aura Coe emitted, and even then, the amount was barely enough. Evan could feel it, his and that monster of a being’s aura were perfectly equal, it was more than obvious that he was holding back. The thought angered the king, but the cautious man would rather his life than his pride.

“Refer to me as King Demios, Evan.” The Demon King Demios uttered, that sinister smile still plastered on his face. Though he had retracted his aura by then, the lingering Id— or demon’s power source-- in the air sent chills down their spines.

“Aren’t kings to see eye to eye, Demios?” Evan retorted, despite the cold sweats rushing down his cheek he managed to keep a straight face.

Demios laughed heartily after a moments pause, the cause unknown to anyone in the room. Evan had no clue why a man who claims to hate humans let them live and prosper for so long, though the fear of tiding the beast over kept him from asking such a question. More than that, he could never understand Demios; the evil king could go from ruthlessly tearing a kingdom to shreds to holding a literal fishing contest with random people he found near a lake, with no feasible reasoning to go behind them. Whether he laughed because he agreed with Evan’s statement or found it utterly imprudent was entirely up to fate.

General Retsu, the ex-leader of Retta and the one of few that could stomach Demio’s oppressive aura, let out a sigh of relief as she checked the fallen soldier’s vitals. Excluding the headless soldier that bled out near the gold-coated fire pit he stood by, the victims of the evil king’s threat were little more than nauseous or shaken up. His message didn’t go unnoticed, however; it was clear who held power in the conversation, the onlookers that wanted his head for speaking so brazenly to King Evan were likely regretting their ignorance.

That, and Demios must really not like the name Coe.

“Sorry! Sorry! That just reminded me of Perseas, that’s all!” Demios laughed, though his golden yellow eyes appeared much more… minacious. “According to him, equality only belongs to the mutually strong. Now tell me, Evan…” A dark aura began to surround the evil king, though it wasn’t as domineering, not a soul dared underestimate it again. “Are you my equal?”

Evan let a slight smirk show, something rarely seen by anyone that worked for him, “In raw power? Hell no, but we both know not even you would come out unscathed. Not against me, and certainly not against the Ryoshi.”

Demios’ grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear, “Ah~ yes, yes, your brutally shrewd personality and that family’s distinct hatred for demons makes for quite a nasty combination.” His eyes widened to a considerable degree at his own words, “Good transition! Speaking of the Ryoshi family, I wanted to ask for information on the location of the Katharos. I would go myself, but Perseas needs a weapon for his next ‘tournament’ and Rose has yet to set up her own territory, so I must see myself out.”

A black mist spiraled around the evil king, who gave King Evan an exaggerated bow as his jet black hair fell over his face. His gold permeated eyes shone brightly even under the long strands of his hair, with a smile that couldn’t be differentiated from genuine or ominous. “Farewell, little Evi! Ah, and your daughter says hi. She’s such a sweetie.” The column of black mist covered Demios, who disappeared along with it in a matter of moments. When all sight of him was lost, Evan let his pent up anger out on the arms of his throne, crushing the dense steel material with ease.

“Retsu.” He called, the woman that had since been ensuring the condition of the guards after Demios’ display of power swiftly moved from her spot near the throne room’s support beams to the king’s side.

“Yes, my lord?” She responded, being the only person in good shape, King Evan felt proud of the august woman ex-General Rain left behind.

“Tell the investigation squad to leave the matter of the missing Retta survivor for now and make preparations to travel to the East.” He answered with a wave of his hand, “He’s an ex-soldier, is he not? Wherever he is, he’ll be fine so long as he doesn’t run into a Pillar or powerful demon beast.”

“…Yes” Retsu complied. For the only man whom she could talk with normally to disappear without a trace hurt her, much more than she anticipated. He was known as the ‘King of Sleep’ back in their academy days, thanks to his carefree attitude towards his superiors and uncanny ability to sleep quite literally anywhere, but that made him all the better to talk to. Retsu never needed to worry about how she spoke with him around, he was like a free flowing river compared to the constricted lake that were the Yolans. It’d been almost two years since they last spoke, with her position as General stripping what little free time she had left, but now, she couldn’t meet with him even if she had the time.

A single flick of her wrist send her listening subordinates away to find the Investigation Squad, as she left the king’s side to let him clear his head. She could share his irate sentiment, it all felt unfair, somehow. Most other continents had exterminated demons from their land yet refused to help Elshia, who needed it most. Ammou—the continent in the South—had forsaken Ego practices for scientific advancements while the eastern continent Hantātochi excelled in demon extermination. Both saw Elshia as a nuisance and neglected their fellow continent, letting the demons run rampant as they wish. Retsu wanted nothing more than to remove such scum from the face of her land, but with each passing day, that goal felt farther and farther away.

The somber general stepped out onto a veranda outside of the castle’s upper hallway, staring up at the pure-white clouds that leisurely swam through the open blue sky. Her gaze fell from the sky to a vibrant garden filled with white flowers. Though she felt betrayed by the other continents’ unwillingness to help, she found strange solstice in one brutally realistic fact.

“At the very least, once we go down, they will follow close behind.” She said, as the white covered garden became a smothering grey tone under the shadows that enveloped them.

..............................

He was having it once again, a dream wherein he is surrounded by tall, unwavering flames, trapped by burned rubble and debris, laughed at by demons as they relish their victory in the death of their victims. His ears catch only the screams of others as the humanoid monsters tear them limb from limb, yet despite the smell of fear and death around him, he can’t move; His knees remain planted deep within the debris, scarred by the broken glass and wood beneath him.

“Look at what you’ve done…” The familiar voice says, his voice somehow resonates through the air, past the screams that fill it. The yellow eyed figure creeps towards him, showing a face of complete and utter indifference despite its accusatory words. “Look at what you’ve wrought.” It repeats, now close enough to touch his face. It’s cold, long nailed fingers trail across his chin as the figure meets his eyes, with a show of slight confusion on its face.

“Who… are you?” It asks, it’s only now that he has the ability to respond to its question.

“I am…” He trails, losing consciousness the moment he attempts to answer. Not once had he been able to finish his response to the figure.

“No, that was a wrong question. Rather…” The all too vivid image of his burning home blurs within moments, so too does the figure’s voice drone out. A deep void surrounds the young man, followed by a faint voice, different from the insouciant tone of the figure in his dream. It called out to the young man, but the strangely cordial feeling within it kept him from responding. However, the louder it became, the more it caught his attention, until it became clear what it was trying to say.

“Wake up!”

A bucket of water rushed over the young man’s face, dragging him from his deep slumber almost immediately. He stood up and brushed away the wet strands of hair over his face to see who exactly he needed to thank for waking him up; demons, and there were dozens, maybe even hundreds of them, all surrounded by a tall, arena-like structure. Each one had a weapon in their scaly, furry, ghastly hands, and stared at the young man and the other humans beside him with a clear distaste.

Many of the humans, despite their blatantly open fear, appeared experienced by human standards. Their terror was warranted, being surrounded by so many demons, no matter what their rank, would be deadly for even an A-rank hunter. Though their hunter tags and equipment had been taken by the group, the young man was sure none of them were below C-rank. That alone helped drill into him just how bad the situation he put himself in was.

Seeing them all helped jog his memory, from the moment when he first left Yoland to being found by them after taking down a group of demon beast that attempted to ambush him. Alongside it, he remembered his reason for putting himself in such a situation in the first place.

“The… War Pillar, Perseas.” He said out loud, spotting the most distinct demon in the group. He was no shorter than 7’5” with black markings that covered his entire body. Unlike the others, he appeared the most human, despite the dark red horns he sported. The freakishly tall demon had an infectious smile that fit his active demeanor well, with an unwavering gaze that seemed to hide nothing behind them. Truly, he fit the bill of the demon Ren explained in his story.

“That’s right, you’re the boy who willingly came to find me, aren’t you?” Perseas responded, not a hint of malice or hate could be sensed from his words, it was more like genuine interest.

“…That I am.” The young man responded, everything he wanted to say seemed to slip between the cracks in the Pillar’s presence. He hadn’t so much as thought of a fight between him and Perseas, yet he could feel without a doubt that lasting more than 10 seconds would be a miracle in itself. The unrelenting wave of helplessness came pouring in much faster at his realization.

Perseas seemed to sense the young man’s struggle in finding his words, “Was there a question you wished to ask of me, young human?” He questioned. His strangely friendly tone helped the young man better speak to him.

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“Do you… know of a young girl named Trisha?” He asked

The Pillar’s eyes widened a bit at his question, with a small chuckle leaving the edges of his mouth, “That question… do you know this person, young human?” He responded, his tone more guttural than before. “Who is Trisha Deliand to you? Who are you?”

He instinctively narrowed his gaze at the demon, the release of his Id made the young man’s chest hurt. Not because of the oppressive aura, but because of his body’s reaction to it, due to the ailment that had tortured him for most of his life. In spite of it all, he managed to answer the Pillar’s question easily.

“I am Juste Deliand, and Trisha is my younger sister.” He answered, leading the demon to laugh heartily.

“A survivor of Retta? Good. I wanted to fight with those humans, but Demios took care of all the adults.” He responded, pointing towards his scarred left eye, “I still remember my first fight with a team of them. Of course, I won, but they by no means went down easy. They substituted their lack of strength with numbers, formations, underhanded tactics and quick-witted plans that forced me to fight like my life depended on it. They were fantastic opponents, I pined for another match with them to pay them back for my eye; that’s why, although I can heal this wound, I never will.”

He retold that story as if they were his glory days, though Juste could see why. Powerful humans were dwindling at a rapid rate, to say the least. Though there were powerful figureheads in other continents, it was almost guaranteed they wouldn’t help Elisha in their fight against the demons. For someone who lived to fight like Perseas, peace was a plague.

“It’s good that I can fight with more Retta survivors, the little ones I fought during the invasion were hardly worth the effort.” Perseas said, immediately catching Juste’s attention.

“…Little ones?” He asked, dreading the response the Pillar would give.

“Children.” He responded, his tone showed elation nor regret, but the smile that never seemed to fade from his face made the ex-soldier’s anger skyrocket. The elevated bloodlust made Perseas respond in kind, sending a wave of Id that put everyone except a select few humans, Juste included, into the dirt.

Aside from him, four others remained in their place. A tall, tan man with brown hair and a freakishly large hammer. Two women, one short with silver hair and purple eyes, one tall with whiter braided hair and lighter purple eyes. And a short boy, with jet black hair and similar eyes. His sheath was curved, with strange slim papers that covered parts of it. Just like Perseas, the young boy fit Ren’s description almost perfectly.

“You want revenge, don’t you?” Perseas asked, though he could more than tell the answer from Juste’s face alone. The Pillar took a bag of weapons and threw them towards the young man, landing at his feet with a puff of dirt and a loud clang. “Then fight your way to me, Juste Deliand.”

A spark seemed to light up within Juste; not out of hatred or fear like he expected, no the two were very much still there, but out of hope, hope for a chance. He wanted answers, and the forthright demon would give them to him so long as he was kept entertained. Out of all the Pillars he could have entangled himself with, Perseas was a mix of the best and worst he could have gotten, though to what degree he was unsure.

He glanced back at the group of humans captured with him, soon forced to fight tooth and nail for their own lives. Some looked past him in fear, others looked at him with indifference, but many glared at him with contempt. Juste could tell why, they felt betrayed that he so easily agreed to Perseas’ demand to fight them. They were banking on the idea that he would reject the Pillar and rise against them, they were banking on him being their scapegoat. The emerald-eyed young man laughed at the very notion, turning his head towards the bag as if to outright reject their wishes.

Juste searched the tattered bag for his weapon, the broadsword he made before leaving Yoland, distinguished by the faint green stone that sat on the end of its hilt. There were no noticeable nicks or signs of wear on the blade, but he could tell the demons didn’t tote it around with much care. He threw the bag down and moved towards the open spot left by Perseas and the lesser demons; the bastards had removed his gauntlets and black vest while he was unconscious, but he didn’t need them. He stood in the center of the makeshift fighting grounds, his gaze fixed on the group of people that remained silence behind him. There, he stood, with a blade in his hand and fire in his eyes as the demons pointed their spears and blades in a small circle.

“Everyone except for the black-eyed boy,” Juste called out, the boy in question didn’t move an inch at his words, but he felt his gaze, “Come here and fight me.”

..............................

“Damn, what would you like to know, missy?” The information broker laughed, counting the sizeable bag of gold he received from what was most likely a noble girl.

“For starters, what is this place?” The young miss questioned, her gaze turned upward to the stalactites that reflected the light from the countless lanterns almost beautifully. Despite her concern, almost nobody seemed to care for them as they went about their day, though who could tell what time it was? In the underground city she found herself in, the young woman had no earthly idea how it functioned under the nose of Yoland for so long.

“This, miss, is plainly called The Underground. Though it is for good reason.” He answered enthusiastically, “Giving this place a suitable name would make it stand out, and that’s the last thing we want down here. This ‘ere is where all the lowlifes, crooks, slave traders, you name it; if it’s illegal up there, you’ll find it down here in spades.” He took a quick swig from the mug of rum he bought with his newfound riches, “The lanterns here light up our small city, and are off limits to touch or break, just like children that aren’t slaves, shop owners, and blacksmiths. We would include inn owners too, but it’s become something of a tradition to fuck up the ones that come through ‘ere and charge bullshit prices.”

“So you have rules here? I expected a lawless place for people like you.” The young woman answered with complete insouciance. She looked around to see the similar, rectangle-shaped houses, shops, and inns, but each and every one of them had something that made them stand out; from signs, to the height of the structures, and even small decorations like gilded window frames. The sole light source being lanterns made it difficult to see the entire city, but to say it was pretty would be an understatement.

“This underground world is for the people that refuse to barely scrape by under the noble scums’ thumb, no offense.” He answered, though his drunk smile didn’t change, the more serious tone in his voice was apparent. “I’d be careful with your words down here, lot’s a’ shit happens but you can get on everyone’s bad side dissing the Underground.

“So it seems.” The woman pulled out a military dog tag, reading ‘Sleep King’ as well as a gold plated necklace. Both were in horrid condition, the tag with multiple burn marks and the necklace damn near broken. “I want any information you have on a retired soldier named Juste Deliand, his current location especially. As for the necklace…” She gestured at the drunk broker to lean in, “It belonged to a man named Anzu; do you have anything on him?”

The broker leaned back in his chair, somewhat happy the young noble didn’t ask anything about the Pillars. Ren had been telling his story left and right to any that would listen for the past few days, with the brokers keeping a third eye on him to ensure it didn’t find its way above ground. What happened to Yoland didn’t matter to most in the Underground, but their almost ensured distraught over such crucial information could affect trade routes, which is the lifeline of the Underground.

“I do, in fact.” The broker put his mug down and reached into his leather bag, filled to the brim with loose papers and a smaller pocket holding miscellaneous items and trinkets. He pulled out a small painting of a black haired, black eyed man with eastern clothing. He sported tall old-style sandals, with a chained ball-and-sickle wrapped onto his hip. The painting was made by the Moon family, a non-Hunter noble family with the shared trait of impeccable memory; any faces they so much as caught a glimpse of could be painted in the fashion of which they were last seen with scary accuracy.

The young noble took the picture and scanned it, confirming the description of the eastern warrior fit what the painting displayed.

“This is Anzu, I don’t know much about him, but I can tell you he’s known as a ‘samurai’ in the east. They’re honorable warriors that would quite literally rather slit their stomachs than dishonor their word. The remaining samurai are said to be battle-crazed fiends that live for war, but they rarely show up here in the west.” He continued, another painting was placed on the table, now showing a black haired emerald eyed young man. The hood on his black vest covered most of his face, but it was caught in a good enough angle that he could be seen. “Last but not least, Juste Deliand. He’s an ex-soldier of Retta, known as the ‘Lord of the Pillows’ or ‘Sleep King’ during his time in the academy. On a strict scoring system, he managed to make the minimum average score on all of his tests.”

“What?” The young noble was taken aback by what she heard. Retta’s scoring system was known for being brutally difficult, not a single person in its history had ever completely failed or gotten a perfect score. Each test is scored by a different instructor to avoid bias or favoritism. What’s more, the minimum average score is a 17, centered by the highest score, 35, and the lowest score, 1. Being able to make the same score in every given test was far too strange, even for someone known for his lazy attitude. “Did he have any connections with any of the academy’s officials?” She asked.

The broker shook his head, “None that we could find. The closest we could find was a platonic relationship between him and General Retsu, though she doesn’t have any overpowering authority, even in the academy.”

The young noble pondered for a good amount of time, before pulling out another bag of gold onto the table. The broker happily reached for his compensation, but the noble grabbed his hand the moment it came into contact with the purple bag. “I want the most secretive information you have, on both of them. Give me that and the gold is yours.” She said, a tempting smile formed across her face as her light blue eyes stared at the conflicted broker for conformation.

The broker let out a defeated sight, for such a pretty blonde noble, she was bound to be dangerous if he got on her bad side. Accepting too much gold was treacherous enough, but turning her down and throwing his life on the line seemed like the worse idea. “…Which do you want first?” He asked, a tinge of resignation in his tone. His expression became one of concern, whereas the young noble only seemed to get more impatient the longer they spoke.

“Either works.” The young noble quickly answered.

“Then I’ll start with Deliand: It’s not confirmed yet, but it’s inferred that he has that infection, Moon family spies have spotted what they considered black tattoo-like marks on his back and shoulders. If it’s true, then the reason behind his scores become a bit easier to see.” He said, “As for Anzu, I…”

The broker paused for a minute, giving the young noble a look of genuine concern. Anyone with a brain in the Underground knew that if Don Zackery was giving away information, it would be nothing short of ground-breaking; that’s just the kind of influence he had as an information broker. Nothing got past his ears and eyes, but with that skill comes danger, for both him and his clients. Death was an everyday thing for people down under, but something tugged at him as he spoke to this young noble, something that told him danger was lurking very close by. Letting her die in such a way was nothing short of murder to the broker.

“Miss… this information don’t come for free, and I’m not just talking about money. There will likely be people after you the moment you leave, even if the information I gave you was bullshit—.”

“Isn’t it a little too late to be saying that now?” She answered, her patience seemed to run thinner with every response she gave.

That same unsettling feeling seemed to creep up on Don once again, “It’s because we’ve been speaking for so long that I’m telling you this! Miss, try to consider—“

“Zackery!” She called, her sudden commanding tone startled the broker considerably. Though he didn’t answer her, his eyes told the young noble he was listening, “Do you have the papers on Anzu and Juste?” She said, her voice was just as stern as her face was, as if she became an entirely different person. Blonde strands of hair fell over her face as her gaze turned to the brown bag sitting beside his chair, silently awaiting his response.

“Y-yes…” He eventually answered, the rising concern that welled up in his stomach wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he attempted to hide it. The more she said, the more he realized that the concern he felt wasn’t misplaced. His gut feeling was right, though he was wrong about one big thing: that concern he felt didn’t arise for her…

“Good.” She said, snapping her fingers. The two were on a higher floor in one of the Underground’s popular pubs, which gave Don the privacy to give what information he had to his clients. With the pub so loud, it was almost impossible to hear anything he said from the lower floor, yet the moment she gave that impossible to hear signal, seven tall men from the lower floor immediately stood up and turned to her direction. One man appeared from behind Don as if he were there from the very beginning, his face was covered by a mask, but Don could feel the insane killing intent the man released without another soul taking notice.

The masked man bowed to the young noble, “Young master, your command?” His voice was strict, yet relaxed, as if those words had been said millions of times before.

“Find anyone you believe has so much as imagined what we’ve talked about here, and kill them.” She commanded, her tone of indifference from before that returned in full force.

Don watched as the man lowered his head and disappeared into thin air. He watched quietly as the first scream could be heard from the lower floor and blood somehow made it up to the perch they stood on. He watched the unwavering face she made as she watched it, her eyes not so much as blinking during the massacre. Don knew for sure that the concern he felt didn’t appear for her…

It appeared because of her.