Great Demon Gate
"Hey… do you think these guys are for real?"
"…I don't know, man. Everything about this is too weird."
"Well, I'll be happy if there's no war, but I still don't want to bring my family back from Vandoria."
"Same. My wife keeps nagging me, saying the Goddess is giving me a chance to run from the demons, and that I'm an idiot for staying."
"Cut the chatter. They'll be here soon," Luxius snapped.
The two soldiers immediately fell silent.
It had been two weeks since the bizarre encounter with the Demon Army. Two full weeks of waiting, watching, and trying not to think too hard about the fact that a Demon Duke had calmly declared peace and then simply… left.
The Army of Humanity remained stationed before the Great Demon Gate. The Demon Army had withdrawn behind it, just as promised—but they hadn't gone far. Their silhouettes were still visible beyond the massive structure, standing, watching, unmoving.
Between the two forces stood a square, modern building.
That alone was wrong.
It had been constructed in a single day—one day—by goblins, orcs, and various demonfolk using strange equipment, loud metal vehicles, and heavy machines that screamed, rattled, and groaned like tortured beasts.
The speed was unsettling.
The precision was worse.
Luxius and his officers had watched the entire process in silence, unable to understand what they were seeing.
Different demon species working together.
No infighting.
No shouting.
No bloodshed.
They had built smooth walls. Clean corners. Even floors.
In one day.
Unsettling didn't begin to cover it.
"They're coming."
The sound arrived first.
It wasn't a roar or a howl. It was as if the air itself was being slapped repeatedly and told to behave.
Something flew toward them.
A Hell Dragonfly—except bigger. Louder. Much angrier.
Bata-bata-bata-bata-bata
The machine descended from the sky, kicking up dust and wind. Luxius raised an arm to shield his face as it landed, the ground trembling beneath his boots.
The doors opened.
From inside stepped Leviathan, followed by a female demonfolk, both escorted by a squad of demon soldiers who moved with irritating discipline.
"Greetings, Crown Prince Luxius," Leviathan said, voice calm, polite, and utterly unbothered by the tension in the air. "We thank you for agreeing to this peace conference. Shall we continue inside?"
"Greetings, Demon Duke Leviathan," Luxius replied stiffly. "Yes, we shall. But before that…"
He gestured toward the machine behind them.
"Do you mind telling me the name of this… flying thing?"
"Ah," Leviathan said pleasantly. "It is a transport vehicle called a helicopter. This particular model is known as the Blackhawk."
"Blackhawk…" Luxius repeated. "The name is as ominous as it looks."
Inside the building, the human delegation found themselves quietly overwhelmed.
Everything felt familiar—and wrong.
The light did not come from crystals or fire, but from glowing orbs and long tubes embedded in the ceiling. Bright, yet somehow gentle on the eyes. The air inside was cool and steady, thanks to a strange box mounted on the wall that blew cold air, even as the wasteland outside baked under the sun.
The tables were wide, but oddly thin. The craftsmanship was flawless—too flawless. No warping. No uneven edges.
And the chairs.
The chairs had wheels.
Luxius stared at one for a long moment.
Why, on Talvaris, would anyone put wheels on a chair? He thinks.
Still… when he sat down and adjusted his position with minimal effort, he hated how comfortable it was.
"Now," Leviathan said, taking his seat, "before we begin the conference, allow me to introduce myself once more."
He folded his hands neatly on the table.
"My name is Leviathan. You may know me as one of the Demon Dukes, but my current formal title is Minister of Foreign Affairs of the United Kingdom of Murica."
"And I am Hannya," the female demonfolk added smoothly, bowing with practiced grace. "Diplomat of Murica's Foreign Affairs Office."
Luxius cleared his throat, straightening his posture.
"I am Luxius, Crown Prince of the Ravendawn Kingdom, here representing my father, King Luxtor. This is my delegation."
He gestured to each of them in turn.
"Gregor, Archmage of Ravendawn.
Antonio, Archbishop of the Church of Celes.
Duke Pierre, Governor of the Dawn Province of Vandoria."
Leviathan and Hannya followed the introductions politely—until their eyes landed on Archbishop Antonio.
For just a fraction of a second, their gazes sharpened. Focused. Almost… hungry-like.
Antonio felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Then, just as quickly, both demons blinked, composed themselves, and returned to perfect diplomatic posture, as if nothing inappropriate had occurred.
"Once again," Leviathan said smoothly, "we thank you for agreeing to this meeting. As previously stated, the United Kingdom of Murica seeks peace. We understand this proposal may be… difficult to accept, given the nature of our past relationship."
"You call eating our people a relationship?" Archbishop Antonio snapped.
Leviathan tilted his head. "Is it not?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "No?"
The silence that followed was thick.
Hannya stepped forward before Antonio could explode. "We believe it would be more productive if you were shown what has changed," she said. "For that purpose, we have prepared a video—an instrument that displays recorded moving images."
She pressed a button on a small device.
The room immediately darkened.
The human delegation tensed as one. Hands drifted toward staffs, symbols, and weapons. A large black panel on the wall flickered to life.
"Oh my…" Gregor whispered. "What a strange-looking crystal."
The screen burst into motion.
Storm clouds churned violently across the sky. Volcanoes erupted. Rivers of lava cut through barren land. The landscape was hostile, unforgiving.
A calm, eerily David Attenborough-like narrator's voice filled the room.
"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lay the Demon Kingdom. A realm where nature is merciless. One could say it is the harshest place to live on the planet."
The footage shifted rapidly—carnivorous plants snapping shut, massive demonic beasts tearing through stone, volcanic eruptions swallowing entire regions.
"Within this brutal land existed more than six hundred races, thirteen hundred tribes, and countless local tongues. For a thousand years, tribal warfare plagued the kingdom. It was a terrible era to live in…"
Leviathan's eyes glistened as the scenes played. He raised a hand to his face, blinking rapidly.
Hannya immediately produced a handkerchief and offered it to him without comment.
"The only moment the fighting ceased," the narration continued, "was during the Great Escape—what humans now refer to as the Demon Invasion. Guided by instinct, the demon population surged northward, inevitably clashing with their non-demon neighbors."
The human delegates stiffened in their seats.
"But one hundred and thirty years ago…"
The screen faded briefly to black.
"…the Great Escape did not occur."
The narration resumed.
"In the confusion, the Demon King Lucifer encountered an orc named Solomon. A simple orc… with an idea no demon had ever dared to imagine."
The image shifted to a crude illustration of an orc standing before a demon king.
"A unified, peaceful nation."
The room erupted in gasps.
Lucifer's image changed—no longer roaring, but listening.
"Lucifer embraced the vision. A common language was created. Tribal conflicts collapsed. Commerce flourished. Science and technology spread. Cities rose. Education and welfare became national priorities."
Numbers appeared on the screen.
"Today, literacy stands at 98.2%."
Gregor choked audibly. "Y-you mean… every demon? Even goblins and orcs… can read and write?"
"Naturally," Hannya replied, voice even. "In Murica, the pursuit of scholarly achievement is encouraged for all citizens. Orc people and goblin people included."
Duke Pierre shot up from his chair.
"S-scholar!?" he shouted. "Are you telling me your goblins are smarter than my son!?"
Hannya tilted her head slightly. "We do not have data regarding your son," she said calmly. "However, in Murica it is quite common to see goblins holding professions such as doctor, judge, or other intellectual occupations."
Duke Pierre looked like he might faint.
"Duke Pierre, sit down," Archbishop Antonio barked. "I wish to hear the rest."
Hannya pressed the remote again, and the video resumed.
The hellscape dissolved into motion—villages expanding into towns, towns into cities. Stone gave way to steel. Wooden carts were replaced by trucks. Roads stretched endlessly. Skyscrapers pierced the sky. Highways crisscrossed the land. Airplanes roared overhead.
The pace was dizzying.
"And seventy years ago," the narrator continued, "the Demon Kingdom formally transitioned into a democratic nation: the United Demon Kingdom of Murica. With a new purpose and a new identity, the democratic demon nation now seeks peaceful coexistence with the rest of the Talvarians."
The screen faded to black.
Then—
BLAST.
Triumphant Star Wars orchestral music exploded from the speakers.
The humans nearly jumped out of their seats.
Text scrolled upward.
Written and Directed by Belphegor
Leviathan made a strangled sound and lunged for the remote, slamming the power button.
The music died mid-note.
"What the hell was that?" he hissed in his whisper. "This is a diplomatic video!"
Hannya calmly adjusted her glasses. "Sir Belphegor stated that this was the first time his work would be viewed by a non-demon audience," she said. "He refused to let it go unnoticed."
"…Damn sloth," Leviathan muttered.
The lights came back on.
The human delegation sat frozen, as if they were still waiting for something else to explode.
"Now," Leviathan said, straightening himself and returning to a professional tone, "as the video has explained, we wish to establish peaceful and friendly relations with all Talvarians."
He paused.
"And yes—this time without the man-eating relationship," he added jokingly.
No one laughed.
Gregor was the first to recover enough to speak. "What… exactly is this system of governance you call democracy?"
Hannya answered smoothly. "It is a form of governance in which every citizen possesses the right to vote for their representatives through a process known as elections. Whether wealthy or poor, each citizen's vote carries equal weight."
"And these elections occur how often?" Gregor asked.
"At first, we conducted them every four years," Hannya replied. "However, our law enforcement agencies complained that assassination attempts increased dramatically during election periods. As a result, we revised the system. Elections are now held once every forty years."
The room went quiet again.
"So," Archbishop Antonio said slowly, "even your king can be replaced?"
"No," Hannya replied. "Our king serves as a ceremonial and symbolic figure. He does not participate heavily in governance. The current head of government is Prime Minister Solomon."
Everyone except Gregor looked deeply uncomfortable.
Luxius exhaled, forcing himself to focus. "And what form of peaceful and friendly relationship does your nation propose?"
Leviathan smiled, clearly relieved to return to something concrete.
"An excellent question. To begin with, how would a non-aggression pact and a set of trade agreements sound?" He gestured toward the documents laid neatly on the table. "If you examine the papers before you, you will find the proposed non-aggression pact, along with a list of goods we wish to purchase from the Ravendawn Kingdom."
The humans leaned forward, reading in silence.
"This non-aggression pact appears… standard," Gregor said at last. "And the trade agreement—livestock, fruits, vegetables…" He frowned. "It is… very ordinary."
"Yes," Hannya said. "We believe it is wiser to proceed slowly and carefully. Over time, we hope to earn the trust of the people of Talvaris and work toward coexistence."
Archbishop Antonio scoffed.
Leviathan ignored him.
"I cannot give an immediate answer to this proposal," Luxius said after a moment. "I must first discuss it with my father, King Luxtor."
"Ahem," Duke Pierre interjected. "And with the Kingdom of Vandoria as well, if I may remind you."
"…Indeed," Luxius replied.
"We shall await your favorable response," Leviathan said, inclining his head. "And we sincerely hope it brings good news."
---
Goddess Realm
"Wha— wha— WHAT IN MY NAME IS HAPPENING!?"
Celes screamed and hurled her wine glass at the magic mirror. The glass shattered spectacularly, the image rippling—but stubbornly continuing to display the peace conference.
"WHERE ARE MY MAN-EATING DEMONS?!
WHERE ARE MY KILLING PRAYERS?!
WHERE ARE MY DYING PRAYERS?!
AND WHAT THE FUCK IS DEMOCRACY?!"
Seraph, the angel secretary flinched, wings trembling, and hurriedly tried to explain.
"D-Democracy is a system of governance originating from Earth, where—"
"Oh, shut it!" Celes snapped. "Why does Earth's garbage exist in my world!? WHY ARE THERE EARTH WAR MACHINES FLYING AROUND TALVARIS!?"
"I… suppose," Seraph said carefully, "that this may be connected to Alex Solomon—"
"That pig was supposed to suffer for one hundred and thirty years!" Celes roared. "He was meant to be weak! Humiliated! Broken! How is he a demon leader now!? How is he running a country!?"
"I… I do not have an answer for that, my goddess."
"AAAGH!"
Celes grabbed another glass, hesitated, then threw it anyway.
Little did the goddess know—
When the system informed Alex Solomon that he could access the Earth network…
It meant ALL networks.
Restricted ones.
Classified ones.
Ones very explicitly labeled RESTRICTED ACCESS.
The Pentagon.
The CIA.
Private weapon manufacturers.
Out of sheer curiosity, he had even browsed North Korea's intranet.
Mostly for fun.
---
Murica Capital, Bashington DC
Three thousand miles from the Great Demon Gate stood a city that looked suspiciously like Washington DC—if Washington had been designed by demons with a fondness for spikes and ominous geometry.
Meanwhile, the structure meant to be the White House was replaced by a massive black ziggurat, angular and oppressive.
Naturally, it was called the Black House.
Inside, Alex Solomon sat at the head of a long conference table, facing his cabinet.
Leviathan — Foreign Affairs
Asmodeus — Director of the Bureau of Information and Counter Humanoid Intelligence
Satan — Defense
Mammon — Finance and Trade
Beelzebub — Science & Technology
"And that concludes my report from the conference," Leviathan said, neatly closing his papers.
"Thank you, Levi," Solo replied.
Asmodeus, the old and gentle looking demon, leaned forward. "Do you believe they will agree to the non-aggression treaty?"
"Oh, they will, Mo. They will," Solo said calmly. "At least until they figure out a way to profit from conquering us."
"Such is human nature," Asmodeus said pleasantly. "How charming."
Satan, the big muscular demon, crossed his arms. "I hope they don't take too long. After the last rebellion, my boys are bored out of their skulls. Just drills, simulations, and more drills."
Mammon, the typical accountant-like demon, shot him a glare. "Oh, shut up, Stan! I just burned an absurd budget launching our satellite last week. My head is still pounding. And now you want me to budget for a war?"
"Well, Monny—"
"Don't Monny me."
Solo raised a hand before it escalated. "Easy. We need Stan's forces ready. These are uncertain times." He turned his gaze. "Bub, status update. When will the satellites be operational?"
Beelzebub, still wearing his white scientist jacket with pens and screwdriver attached to its pocket, opened his clipboard.
"At present, they are still in the commissioning phase! Outgassing, decontamination, system checks—after that, calibration and orbital maneuvering." He beamed. "My estimate? Three months."
Solo smiled faintly. "Good. Levi, make sure no country finds a reason to attack us for the next three months."
"Yes, sir," Leviathan replied without hesitation.
Mammon groaned loudly. "I still hope this so-called GPS and internet nonsense is worth what it's costing me."
"Monny! Of course it's worth it!" Beelzebub said, eyes shining. "We are the first civilization on Talvaris to reach space! That alone is priceless! And beyond that—new sciences, new discoveries—"
"Well forgive me if I don't share your gluttony for science!" Mammon snapped. "Or war," he added, glaring at Satan.
Solo interjected calmly, "Trust me. It's worth it. In the long run, the private sector will explode the moment we introduce the internet."
He very deliberately did not mention the future military spending required to fully exploit satellite navigation.
"So let me make this clear one more time," Solo said, his tone firm but relaxed. "We proceed carefully. We still don't know how advanced they are—especially in magic warfare. We gather information first. That's all."
The ministers rose one by one and filed out, leaving Solo alone in his office.
Solo then walked toward the window and gazed up at the sky, at the faint lights far above the clouds.
A slow grin crept across his face.
"How do you like my work, bitch?" he murmured softly.
His smile widened.
"It's game on."