Terry's arms trembled—not from fear, but from rage.
His hands tightened around the shaft of his golden spear, the metal groaning faintly beneath the pressure. His teeth clenched. His breath became ragged. The words echoed in his ears like hammers beating against his skull.
Fragile? Desperate? Selfish?
He looked around—at the bodies of his fallen comrades, at those who had turned on each other, at those who still stood but with trembling knees and haunted eyes.
And then back at the monster who had orchestrated it all. The creature who called himself a king, a god, a savior.
Terry's heart burned.
He let out a roar—not one of fear, but of pure, furious pain.
"I'LL KILL YOU!!"
He kicked off the ground, dirt and blood flying up behind him as he surged forward.
"Blazing Spear!" he bellowed, and at his command, his weapon erupted into flames—brilliant, white-hot flames that engulfed the entire length of the spear.
The fire didn't just burn—it screamed. It roared alongside him, its brilliance so intense the very air around it trembled.
His power surged far higher than ever before, bursting past its previous limits like a dam collapsing under divine pressure.
The golden light of his blessing warped, twisting with his fury into something sharper, more primal.
But the demon lord… only laughed.
"You've used that trick before," he sneered, folding his arms calmly. "And it didn't work then either."
Terry didn't answer.
He didn't care.
His vision tunneled in, the demon lord's mocking figure the only thing he could see. His grip on the spear tightened, the flames swirling into a blinding spiral of fury. The cries of battle, the screams, the blood—none of it mattered.
All that mattered was the monster before him.
He would drive the spear through that smug face. He would burn that smirk into ash.
But just as he neared—just as he raised his weapon for the killing blow—
The demon lord's lips curled into a wide, sinister smirk.
And Terry felt it.
A strange, cold sensation blooming in his chest. It was soft at first. A whisper. A warning.
Then—
SHLUNK.
Pain.
Pure, blinding pain.
It erupted from his chest and spread like wildfire through his limbs. His legs buckled. His arms went limp. The flames around his spear sputtered, flickering wildly before fading.
Terry gasped, stumbling forward. Blood sprayed from his lips.
His eyes, wide with confusion and horror, slowly dropped.
A thin, blood-red sickle was protruding from his chest—curved, cruel, and sharp enough to split a soul.
And on its tip—
A pulsing heart, still beating, drippin heavily with blood.
His heart.
Each throb of it grew weaker, fainter… slower…
"No…" he mouthed, but no sound came. Only more blood.
A voice sounded behind him—a soft, trembling whisper.
"…I'm sorry…"
It was a woman's voice. Choked. Wet with tears.
"…I had to live…"
Terry's vision blurred as he tilted his head slightly. Behind him stood a woman—a soldier from his own forces.
Her hands gripped the weapon still embedded in his back, her arms trembling violently. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her teeth clenched as if she were biting back screams.
"I didn't want to…" she whispered, sobbing. "I didn't want to…"
Terry's mouth opened again, but nothing came. His throat was full of blood. His body convulsed.
The demon lord's laughter echoed across the battlefield like a bell tolling the end of all things.
"Look at you," he said mockingly. "The great hero… brought down by such a weak, pathetic little skill. You can't even speak anymore. You can't even stand."
The sickle was slowly pulled out of Terry's chest with a wet, slick sound.
SHLRRK.
His heart dropped to the ground.
A single, heavy beat.
Then silence.
Terry's legs gave way, and his body collapsed to the earth, lifeless. His spear clattered beside him, the flames long gone. His blood seeped into the dirt, staining the soil he had sworn to protect.
The demon lord's laughter grew louder, twisted and cruel.
"AHAHAHA! So much for your hero! So much for your hope!"
He stepped over the corpse casually, kicking the broken spear aside with disdain.
"Do you see now, humans?" he called out, raising his voice for all to hear. "Do you see what happens to those who resist me?"
The surviving warriors looked on in horror. Many collapsed to their knees. Others stared blankly ahead, as if the world had gone silent.
Then the demon lord raised his hand.
"If you wish for mercy," he said darkly, "then show me your loyalty. Kill yourselves. All of you."
His voice rang out like a death knell.
"Only in death will you be freed of your sins."
A stillness fell.
Then—
A scream.
A man fell on his own sword, blood pooling at his feet.
Another woman slashed her own throat, sobbing the entire time.
Then another. And another.
Swords plunged. Knives tore. Arrows were turned inward.
Cries of pain, sorrow, and anguish erupted across the battlefield as humans slaughtered themselves in droves, their wills shattered beyond repair. Friends fell upon friends. Lovers died in each other's arms, cursing the world that had brought them to this point.
The demon lord spread his arms, basking in the chaos.
"Yes… this is it. This is the world I will rule."
But behind all the screaming, beyond the madness and bloodshed—
Someone stood still.
An average-height man with messy black hair. His armor was plain. His face was smeared with blood and dirt. He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.
He simply watched.
Watched as Terry fell.
Watched as the others died.
His eyes were wide, and he felt like he was in a terrible nightmare.
His lips quivered.
And then, his voice came out—a trembling whisper.
"…No…"
He stepped back.
"What… what the hell is going on?"
His voice cracked.
"This… this wasn't supposed to happen… Terry was supposed to win… we were going to win…"
He clutched his head, staggering slightly.
The demon lord's voice echoed again across the field, but the man didn't hear it.
He was lost in his own mind, the chaos around him fading into a numbing buzz. His eyes locked onto Terry's corpse—the golden armor now dull and soaked in blood, the once-heroic figure unmoving and broken.
"…What are all of you doing?!!!" He shouted, but no one cared to listen to his shout.