The night air atop the castle walls was calm—too calm for a kingdom that had known nothing but war.
Two guards stood beneath a torch, its flame flickering lazily against stone.
"Can you believe it?" one of them said, rubbing the back of his neck. "A child. I'm gonna be a father."
The other chuckled. "Heh. Hope the mother sticks around. Raising one alone's hell."
The first guard smiled—soft, proud.
The second guard's smile vanished.
Steel whispered.
Before the words could sink in, a blade slid clean across the first guard's throat. His eyes widened in disbelief as blood spilled down his chest, warmth replacing the cold night air. He tried to speak—only a wet gurgle escaped. His body slumped against the wall, then slid down into stillness.
The killer didn't even look at him.
Instead, he lifted two fingers to his lips and gave a sharp, shrill whistle.
From the darkness beyond the walls, shadows moved.
Masked figures—dozens of them—began scaling the stone like insects, hands gripping cracks, boots finding impossible purchase. White demon masks glinted under moonlight. Horns curved upward. Teeth jagged and grinning.
Silent. Precise. Prepared.
By the time the torch burned low, the walls were already lost.
Inside the castle, death followed them like a whisper.
Patrolling soldiers were dragged into corners, throats opened before they could cry out. Hallways that once echoed with armored steps now swallowed bodies in silence. Blood pooled beneath tapestries. Doors were eased open, not kicked in—discipline over chaos.
The masked men moved with purpose.
Toward the king's quarters.
They reached the bedchamber door.
Three of them entered first, blades raised.
They struck.
Steel tore through silk, slashed pillows apart, feathers exploding into the air like snow—
—and then they froze.
The bed was empty.
Moonlight poured through the open balcony doors, bathing the room in pale silver.
Julies Vanward sat calmly in a chair beside the window.
A massive great sword rested against his shoulder, its edge catching the moonlight like a promise of death. His eyes were cold. Steady. Waiting.
"You're late," he said quietly.
The first attacker barely had time to react.
Julies rose.
The great sword moved.
It wasn't a swing—it was an execution.
The blade cleaved through mask, skull, and spine in a single arc. Blood sprayed across the walls as the body collapsed in two uneven halves. The second attacker lunged—
Julies stepped in.
The pommel crushed the man's jaw inward with a sickening crack. Teeth and blood scattered as the body crumpled. The third turned to flee—
A knife buried itself in his spine.
Mira stepped out of the shadows, eyes sharp, breathing steady.
"Thought you'd start without me?" she said.
More masked men poured in.
The room became slaughter.
Julies' blade sang—wide arcs, brutal power. Arms were severed mid-swing. Bodies were smashed into walls hard enough to crack stone. Mira danced through the chaos, blades flashing, throats opening before her enemies even realized she was there.
Blood soaked the carpet. Feathers stuck to skin and steel alike.
Then—
A metallic clink.
Mira's eyes widened. "Bomb—!"
The explosion swallowed the room.
Fire. Stone. Screams.
The castle shook as if struck by a god.
By some miracle—or curse—Julies and Mira lived.
They stumbled through smoke-filled corridors as the castle descended into chaos. Flames licked the walls. The air burned their lungs. Outside, horns blared—an entire horde was advancing on the gates.
"They planned this," Mira said, coughing. "Days. Weeks."
Julies clenched his sword. "There are too many."
Bodies littered the halls now. Soldiers and servants alike. The castle wasn't a fortress anymore.
It was a cemetery.
"The secret passage," Mira said. "Throne room."
"Our only option to get out of here."
They ran.
But halfway there, Julies stopped.
"My brother, we have to get him"
Mira hesitated—then nodded. "Then we fight."
They turned back.
Every hallway became a battlefield. Julies carved through attackers with fury born of desperation. Mira covered his blind spots, blades moving faster than thought. Fire spread behind them, collapsing ceilings, turning escape routes into death traps.
They reached his brother's chamber.
Inside, the boy was near his window.
"What's all the noise?" he asked.
Julies froze.
Then he grabbed him. "We're leaving. Now."
Confusion turned to fear as the truth finally reached him.
They dragged him back through the inferno toward the throne room.
There, waiting for them, stood Tank and Berserker—bloodied, breathing hard, but alive.
"About time," Berserker said.
They moved for the passage—
—and the fire surged.
A figure stepped through the flames.
Tall. Lean. Wrapped in heat like a living inferno.
Saru.
"Are you the king?" he asked, voice calm, almost curious.
Mira stepped forward. "What do you want?"
Saru's eyes locked onto Julies.
"I want him dead."
Tank roared and charged.
Berserker followed.
Two monsters against one.
Saru moved.
He slipped past Tank's charge like smoke, ducked under Berserker's swing, his body bending in ways that shouldn't have been possible. He struck with precise brutality—elbows, knees, the butt of his spear-like weapon slamming into ribs and joints.
They pressed him.
He smiled.
"Buckshot."
A dart flew from the flames.
It struck Tank's neck.
Tank staggered. Fell.
"A sedative," a voice said as a figure emerged from the fire. "He'll sleep."
Mira vanished.
She reappeared behind Saru and drove her blade into his neck—
He caught it.
Bare-handed.
Her eyes widened.
Saru twisted.
The blade snapped.
In the same motion, his spear punched forward—
—and burst through Berserker's chest.
Blood sprayed as Berserker gasped, eyes emptying of life.
Saru slammed Mira into the stone floor, cracking it beneath her.
Julies screamed. "Go!"
He shoved his brother toward the passage.
Then—
Pain.
A blade drove into his back.
Then another.
Then a third.
Julies fell to his knees.
The sound wasn't loud—but in that ruined throne room, it echoed louder than any scream.
Blood ran freely down his armour, warm and slick, dripping onto the cracked stone beneath him. His great sword slipped from his fingers and clattered away, the sound swallowed by the roar of flames consuming the castle behind him.
Jake stood behind him, blade still wet.
For a moment—just a moment—Julies didn't turn.
"Jake…" His voice was hoarse, disbelieving. "Why?"
Jake laughed.
Not a loud laugh. Not a mad one.
A quiet, disappointed sound—like a man finally confirming something he'd always believed.
"Why?" Jake stepped around him, boots crunching over rubble and bone. "Because I was tired of standing behind you. Tired of being the spare. Tired of a throne that was never meant for me."
Julies clenched his fists, blood dripping between his fingers.
"I trusted you," he whispered. "You were my brother."
Jake crouched, face close enough that Julies could smell his breath.
"That was your mistake."
Behind them, Saru approached the throne.
Each step was slow. Deliberate.
Fire framed him—pillars collapsing, banners burning, embers drifting like falling stars. His silhouette stretched long and monstrous across the broken floor.
"I don't want a throne," Saru said calmly. "Not one stained with weakness."
He kicked the throne.
The front legs shattered with a brutal crack.
The seat collapsed forward, splintering into ruin.
Julies watched.
His vision blurred—not from blood loss, but from something worse.
The throne of Vanward—broken.
His kingdom—burning.
His brother—gone.
Jake straightened. "Our deal's complete," he said to Saru, turning away. "Enjoy the rest."
He disappeared into the secret passage without another glance.
Silence followed.
Then—
Scrrrrk.
Saru dragged his weapon across the stone floor as he turned toward Julies.
The sound made Julies look up.
Saru stood before him now.
Close.
Too close.
Fire roared behind him, painting his form in crimson and gold. Smoke curled around his shoulders like a crown. His eyes were calm—utterly uninterested, as if the king before him were already dead.
Julies laughed.
A wet, broken sound.
"So… this is it," Julies said, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. "Kneeling before a man like you."
Saru tilted his head. "You don't seem afraid."
Julies straightened as much as his broken body allowed. His knees trembled, but he didn't bow.
"I've been afraid before," Julies said. "Afraid of failing my people. Afraid of not being enough. Afraid of losing those I love."
He coughed, blood splashing onto the floor.
"But right now?" He smiled—a crooked, unsettling smile. "I'm just… angry."
Saru raised his weapon slightly.
Julies continued, voice growing stronger despite his wounds.
"You burned my home. You butchered my soldiers. You broke my throne."
His eyes hardened. "But you didn't break me."
Saru stepped closer.
The heat was unbearable.
"You're a king without a kingdom," Saru said. "Your story ends here."
Julies laughed again.
"Nahh," he said softly. "This chapter does."
Blood bubbled from his lips as he spoke louder, his voice cutting through fire and smoke.
"You and my brother…"
He lifted his chin, staring Saru dead in the eyes.
"You're the villains of this story."
Saru raised his weapon high.
"I will make sure it will end gruesome for you."
"And how are you going to do this, you king of nothing?",saru asked
He yelled, "with my demon!"
The weapon fell—
CLANG.
Steel collided with steel, sparks exploding outward as the flames were violently parted.
A presence slammed into the space between life and death.
Julies' eyes snapped open.
Gris stood before him.
Demon mask gleaming.
Eyes blazing red with fury.
Veins bulging along his arms and neck like they might burst.
An arrow whistled through the smoke—
It sliced across Saru's cheek, drawing blood.
Leo's voice echoed from the shadows.
"So we finally meet," he said coldly. "The Demon of Vanward."
Saru touched the blood on his cheek.
He smiled.
Gris didn't.
The fire roared higher.
And the war entered its next chapter.