On a remote island.
More than a dozen High-Rank Demons had gathered in silence.
They exchanged wary glances, the tension thick between them. Just as things were on the verge of erupting into a full-on brawl, one of the demons finally asked a question—simple, yet profound:
"Hey… why are we even here?"
He had originally intended to head into orbit, maybe scout out nearby planets for something worth looting. But for some reason, one he couldn't quite grasp, he'd suddenly found himself flying straight to this island and sitting down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I don't know."
"I thought there'd be food here."
"I was just passing by."
"…"
Each demon had a different answer.
But once that was made clear, even the dimmest among them—some of whom barely had an intelligence score over 60—began to sense something was wrong.
A heavy silence settled over the group as the smarter demons started piecing it together.
One demon, clearly a Mage based on his robes and aura, muttered after a quick internal inspection:
"Our memories and judgment seem… off. Something's been tampering with them. Some kind of external force clouding our thoughts."
Several others nodded in agreement, realization slowly dawning.
"An outside influence… Could it be a Greater-Rank Demon interfering?"
One of the demons clenched his fists, voice grim:
"I can't even bring myself to think about running away."
Which was unnatural. Normally, by now, he'd have already fled the scene without a second thought.
Another demon echoed the sentiment:
"Same. I want to run, but the thought won't stick."
The caster demon shrugged:
"If I could escape, I would've already done so. No way I'd still be sitting here talking to you lot."
One of the others gave him a sideways glance:
"You're saying we're thinking clearly again? With that logic?"
Another added, frustrated:
"I can't even bring myself to leave the island, let alone flee the world."
The group finally admitted the truth—they were compromised. Their free will had been tampered with.
A flame demon growled irritably:
"So what now? We just sit here and wait to die?"
Being High-Rank Demons, they all understood. If someone at their level had manipulated them this deeply—led them here, stripped away their ability to escape, and timed everything so perfectly—then there was no chance it was random. There was a purpose behind all of this.
And demons knew better than anyone: the goals of other demons were rarely benevolent.
As they debated whether to escape together or try erecting a defensive barrier, space itself suddenly warped nearby.
Right before their eyes, a shimmering portal opened, roughly a hundred meters away.
Figures in full armor began stepping through.
The demons immediately noticed them—and vice versa.
"Elves? Since when were there elves on this planet?"
A demon stood up, visibly confused.
As for the elven warriors, their commander—the Elven King—was just as startled. He had expected to arrive a safe distance away, scout the situation, then launch a surprise attack. But Orsaga had dropped them right onto the battlefield.
Both sides were equally caught off guard.
Before the demons could make sense of what was happening, their bodies suddenly began to react.
Chains made of spectral Deathblossom sigils erupted from within their flesh, binding them from the inside out.
The same mysterious force that had once helped suppress the plane's natural resistance to them... now turned on them instead.
In mere seconds, their power plummeted—like a breached dam, their strength drained away rapidly.
By the time it stopped, they had lost over 95% of their combat capability.
Worse, wave after wave of debilitating status effects washed over them.
Moments ago, they had stood tall and menacing. Now, they looked gaunt, drained, and half-defeated.
Realizing what was happening, the Elven King quickly gestured for the others to engage.
There was no need for caution anymore—Orsaga had already done the heavy lifting.
---
By the time Orsaga and his two companions stepped through the portal, most of the High-Rank Demons were already down.
Only a few were still struggling to fight back.
Victory was inevitable.
A flame demon, chest caved in and leaking black ichor, roared in frustration:
"Damn it! If it weren't for these restrictions, you weaklings wouldn't be able to touch us!"
He could feel it clearly. Even the strongest elf among them was barely on par with him in raw Rank. But now, with his natural demonic abilities suppressed and his body weakened, he was being beaten by opponents he could've once swatted like flies.
A nearby Mage demon was just as furious. His spells were sluggish and frail—he had to channel for twice the usual time, and the results were pitiful.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orsaga.
At first, he didn't recognize the elven guise. But the face, the expression… something about it was chillingly familiar.
And suddenly, he remembered.
That Greater-Rank Demon.
That was him.
Without hesitation, he gathered what little magical power he had left and unleashed a pulse of force—knocking back the elves surrounding him and creating an opening.
He staggered forward—straight toward Orsaga.
---
Orsaga watched calmly as the demon approached. When the elves prepared to strike, he held up a hand to stop them.
The wounded demon dropped to one knee.
"You remember me," Orsaga said casually.
"Yes, my lord," the demon replied, voice raspy. "Please… grant me the chance to surrender. I offer you my True Name."
For a demon, revealing one's True Name was the ultimate submission. It gave the other party total control over your existence—your life, your soul, everything.
It was an offer no demon made lightly.
A show of total loyalty.
But Orsaga simply shook his head.
"Sounds tempting," he said. "But I'm not particularly interested in subordinates. So… I'll have to decline."
Before the demon could react, a surge of power erupted inside him.
In an instant, his body burst apart into a dense cloud of blood mist.
His soul was gone. No second chances.
---
The other surviving High-Rank Demons, who had been watching from afar, immediately realized what this meant.
There would be no mercy.
No survival.
Desperation flared. They stopped holding back what little power they had left and began to burn through it wildly—trying, at the very least, to drag a few enemies down with them before their own end came.
They knew what was coming.
And there was no escape.
__
T/N:
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