Prince Mark drew in several heavy breaths. He did not know when it started, only that his chest felt tight, his lungs burning as if the air itself had thickened around him. *What is that power?* The pressure was overwhelming. His fingers trembled. *Stop. Stop shaking. You are the Prince of Veridiania. You cannot show fear.*
He raised his right arm and opened fire.
Superheated rounds screamed toward Arkanis. The Demon Lord merely tilted his head and rotated his staff in a smooth, controlled arc. The bullets struck it and scattered outward, deflected with deliberate precision. They did not fly randomly. None of them came anywhere near Insidious. Instead, several tore toward Gurion and Hittag, while others curved back toward Prince Mark himself.
Gurion and Hittag dove behind the remaining walls of the makeshift tree fort. The bullets punched straight through the wood, missing them by nothing more than luck. The rounds that rebounded toward Prince Mark slammed into his shield and detonated harmlessly as he cut his fire, immediately realizing the futility.
Arkanis stopped spinning his staff and looked down at the scorched rounds embedded in the churned earth. "That is an interesting firearm," he said evenly. "Magic and science combined to create what you would call 'perfect' ammunition." He paused, studying the warped metal. "How do they heat, I wonder?"
Insidious glanced up at him. "What should I do, my lord?"
Arkanis's gaze shifted briefly toward where Hittag and Gurion were sheltering. "Finish the two you came here to finish," he said. "I will deal with the other one."
He began walking toward Prince Mark.
Insidious nodded sharply and turned, red energy flaring as he lifted the fallen weapons of dead demons into the air. "I'm going to rip those two to shreds!"
*Ranged combat is useless,* Prince Mark thought. *I have to get in close.*
Twin blades extended from the suit's wrists with a metallic snap. He surged forward, his movements blurring as servos and thrusters synchronized. He jabbed with the right blade—Arkanis avoided it with a simple lean. A left-handed slash followed, but Arkanis caught his forearm mid-swing. Prince Mark lashed out again; the right blade met the staff and stopped cold.
"Fast for your generation," Arkanis said, unbothered. "Too fast." His eyes tracked every movement. "The suit enhances you, but with your level of technology, it should not provide this degree of augmentation. You are not reinforcing yourself with mana, and you do not fight with the recklessness of one possessing a Prestigious Body." He tilted his head slightly, deduction coming easily to a mind that had lived during the Era of Science. "Some sort of super soldier. An enhanced human." "Some manner of enhanced human. A super soldier, perhaps."
Before Prince Mark could react, a kick drove into his abdomen.
The impact buckled the armor. Shock rippled through his body and rattled his vision. *That was just a kick?* The realization hit harder than the pain. Even without its shield, the suit could withstand blows capable of desolating mountains. He knew that for a fact—it had survived an attack in the past that outright blew up a mountain and come out completely fine.
And yet Arkanis had made it buckle.
*It's like a meteor,* Prince Mark thought as he staggered back. *Each hit from him is like getting hit by a meteor.*
Arkanis raised his staff, preparing to bring it down on his head—
Then he abruptly stepped back.
An arrow of flame tore through the space he had occupied and streaked toward Insidious. The imp yelped and leapt aside, losing control of the weapons he had been levitating as they clattered to the ground.
They all turned at once as Xain and Clara burst into view, Clara already holding her fire bow drawn, the string trembling slightly beneath her fingers. "Are you all okay?" she asked, her voice tight, the pressure radiating from the Demon Lord making it hard to even breathe.
Gurion and Hittag cautiously peeked out from behind what remained of their cover, both visibly relieved to see reinforcements. Prince Mark, however, reacted with immediate alarm.
"You two need to get out of here, now!" he shouted. "We cannot win this, not even together!"
He surged forward again, charging straight at Arkanis. "Get out of here with the other two while I keep him busy!" he added, his blades flashing as he swung almost wildly. Arkanis avoided each strike with ease, his attention drifting instead to Clara.
"Forging weapons through fire magic," he remarked calmly. "That is a rare discipline."
Clara blinked, startled. "W-what are you talking about—"
"Just listen to me!" Prince Mark yelled as four rapid swings and jabs were stopped effortlessly, Arkanis blocking them with a single hand.
Clara hesitated, then turned and loosed an arrow toward Insidious. "Stop stopping me from killing those two!" the imp screeched, barely managing to halt the flaming projectile with his power. It wavered violently in front of him; unlike before, he could not send it back.
Through it all, Xain had not moved.
His eyes were locked on Arkanis.
*That's him,* he thought to himself. *The one Ercale told me about. The one who did that to Zeva.*
The image of Zeva crying out in pain flashed through his mind. His fists tightened. *I've been holding back for a long time. But not against you. And if he's is still there—if he can deal with you—then all the better.*
He stopped resisting.
He let the Hatred take hold.
Xain lunged forward.
"Xain, don't!" Clara shouted, reaching for him, but he was already out of her grasp.
"What are you doing!?" Prince Mark yelled.
Arkanis turned, genuinely confused, and lifted his staff. With a casual motion, he released a firebolt—simple, precise, lethal. Dealing with Prince Mark had been easy, but the prince could still harm him, and Arkanis was unwilling to risk giving him even the slightest opening. Killing the boy outright removed that possibility.
The firebolt streaked toward Xain.
He could have dodged.
He chose not to.
The spell struck him head-on. Smoke and fire exploded outward, swallowing his form entirely. Arkanis stepped back a fraction, brows knitting. "What?" he murmured. "Did I put that much mana into it?"
"Xain!" Clara screamed, panic breaking through her composure.
Then a voice emerged from the smoke.
"That little shit… he actually tried it."
It wasn't Xain's voice.
And when the smoke parted, it was not Xain who stepped out.
The figure was taller, powerfully built yet lithe, every movement coiled with violence. Torn black pants hung from his waist. Thick, black, scaly skin spread across parts of his chest, crept along the edges of his face, covered his arms, and likely his legs as well. Where nails should have been were black, two-inch claws. Two imperial horns crowned his head—one red, one blue. Feline green eyes fixed on Arkanis, burning with Demonic Hatred.
He cracked his knuckles and bared his teeth.
"I'm going to stab you to death with your own damn staff!"
The Demon of Hatred had come out once again.