FOB Doors, Base Hospital
Ivy lay on the softest bed she had ever touched.
She stared at the ceiling, still unsure whether the last day of her life had been real or some kind of twisted joke. Yesterday, she had been running for her life in the DMZ. Now she was in a clean, brightly lit room, while a goblin doctor poked and prodded her with unfamiliar medical equipment made of metal, glass, and plastic.
The goblin pressed a cold metal disk against her chest, then lifted a small device and shined a thin beam of light into her eyes. It didn't hurt. It was just uncomfortable.
"Surprisingly, she's not in any state of shock," the goblin said, glancing at a screen beside him. "Pretty weird, considering I heard humans break easily."
Ivy recognized the demon woman standing next to him. She had seen her many times walking through the DMZ. One of the demon officials.
"So," the goblin continued, "what's the Foreign Office going to do with her, Miss Hannya?"
"Hm. Don't know," Hannya replied calmly. "Mr. Belphegor said he doesn't need her anymore. Maybe I'll send her to Ravendawn or somewhere."
The word cut into Ivy's chest.
Ravendawn.
Her thoughts spiraled as memories forced their way back, memories she had spent years trying to bury.
---
Her mother had once been the bright daughter of a respected merchant in the city of Dawn.
That life ended when Duke Pierre arrived.
Under the banner of forced "economic reform," Ravendawn merchants replaced local ones. Vandorian businesses took over the city. Assets were seized. Families were destroyed.
Her mother's family was killed.
She survived only because the Vandorian merchant who ruined her family decided to keep her as a personal slave.
Four years later, Ivy was born from him.
She grew up in a house that despised her existence. Still, her mother taught her everything she knew—how to read, how to trade, and most importantly, how to read people. How to say what they wanted to hear. Some days, that was the only thing that kept them from being beaten.
When Ivy turned fifteen, the Vandorian merchant started calling her to his room at night.
Eventually, his sons did the same.
Even knowing she was blood.
Her mother finally tried to save her. She begged an old merchant friend for help.
He betrayed them.
He dragged Ivy into the DMZ to sell her to demons. When the demons refused to buy slaves, he turned her into a prostitute instead, determined to recover his "investment."
Last night, he died with Ivy's blade in his throat.
---
"M-Miss… please," Ivy whispered. "Don't send me back. There are bad people looking for me. I… I was—"
"What makes you think I want to hear your story?" Hannya cut in, her voice cold and sharp.
Ivy flinched.
Humans usually softened when she played the helpless girl. Demons didn't. They had no reason to care.
She swallowed.
Then she chose a different approach.
"…You can't send me back," Ivy said quietly. "Because you need me."
"Oh?" Hannya raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"You need an example."
"Do elaborate."
"You demons are trying to change your reputation. That's why you let humans live in the DMZ. But it isn't enough. So you need a fairy tale." Ivy took a breath. "A damsel in distress. And a knight in shining armor."
She lifted her chin toward the security camera on the ceiling.
"That box with the round glass—same as the ones in the village. It was always pointed at me during the raid. And when I got here, the demons you call 'reporters' pointed another one at me."
Hannya's expression didn't change.
"They record things," Ivy continued. "And combined with the strange 'miracles' that saved me last night… there's only one conclusion."
She met Hannya's eyes.
"You wanted me to be the only survivor."
Hannya smirked.
"Mr. Belphegor does have an eye for talent," she said. "Yes. You figured it out. But we already have the footage we needed. The damsel is saved. The knight is heroic." She turned away. "So it's time for the damsel to go home."
Hannya casually step towards the exit.
"…But what if the damsel talks?" Ivy said.
Hannya stopped.
Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder.
"Are you threatening us?" she asked, her voice turning icy.
"Not against you," Ivy said softly. "For you. When villains say they aren't villains, everyone assumes it's a lie. But what if those words come from the damsel instead?"
"A human," Hannya said, "speaking on behalf of demons?"
"And you already know," Ivy said, confidence returning to her eyes, "that the damsel has a way with words."
Hannya studied her in silence.
"…An interesting proposal," she said at last. "I'll think about it."
Then she left the room.
---
Vandoria Army, Heavy Magic Division
The fighting continued.
Dozens of magic ballista were still standing after the Apache assault. As the helicopters pulled back, the remaining ballistas shifted their aim, abandoning the skies and locking onto new targets.
Murican ground forces.
"Avian Warriors! Don't chase the hell-dragonflies!" Archmage Durac shouted. "Swarm the demon elephants! Magic Ballista—target those elephants!"
Mages rushed into position, rapidly imbuing bolts with explosive enchantments. Ballista crews adjusted elevation and range. Shooters aligned their sights on the advancing M1 Abrams.
"Fire while they're still in range!" Durac roared. "NOW!"
WHIIIIZZZ—
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
Explosions erupted around the advancing tanks, flames and debris washing over their formation.
---
Murica, M1 Abrams "Bison" Company
Inside the lead Abrams, everything shook violently.
On the dashboard, a bird-skull bobblehead bounced and rattled as if possessed.
"OH WHAT A DAY! WHAT A LOVELY DAY!" the driver, Morsov, shouted with glee.
"Cut the chatter, Morsov," the tank commander snapped.
He opened the comms.
"This is Bison One-One to all Bison Company," he said calmly. "Let's show them what real firepower looks like."
Across the battlefield, every tank in Bison Company rotated its turret seventy-five degrees to the left—without slowing—continuing forward at full speed straight through the bombardment.
---
Vandoria Army, Heavy Magic Division
"They can… turn their head…" an artillery mage whispered.
Every Murican turret was now aimed directly at them.
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
The tanks fired in perfect unison.
Shells tore across the battlefield in straight, merciless lines. Magic ballista shattered like toys. Crews disappeared in bursts of fire and shrapnel.
"RETURN FIRE! RETURN FIRE!" Durac screamed.
Another wave of enchanted bolts streaked into the sky.
WHIIIZZ—
BOOM! BOOOM! BOOM!
The impacts shook the ground.
The tanks kept advancing.
"WHY ARE THEY NOT FALLING?!" a mage cried.
More bolts struck the armor. Again. And again.
Useless.
Their 250-millimeter side armor absorbed everything without slowing.
Durac felt a cold realization settle into his chest as he watched bolt after bolt bounce harmlessly away.
Volley followed volley.
Only one side was dying.
They were outgunned.
Outranged.
Outclassed.
"CURSES!!" Durac roared, his face twisted with rage and fear.
---
"Eight enemy artillery remain," the tank commander said calmly. "Bison Company, finish the first objective."
He then leaned toward the gunner and pointed at the display.
"You see the angry human with the big pointy hat near the ballista? Nine o'clock."
"Identified," the gunner replied.
"Shoot him."
"On the way!"
BOOOM.
The explosion swallowed Archmage Durac's position completely.
"Direct hit," the gunner confirmed.
"All tanks—first objective completed," the commander said. "Continue west for the second objective. Eliminate the left flank."
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
Stan watched from above as the Murican tanks pushed westward, Avian warriors swarming after them in pursuit.
"Hoho," he chuckled. "Looks like our boys have finished their first objective."
An arrow whistled upward, flying straight toward his head.
Without even turning, Stan reached out and caught it.
"Oh?"
"Sir! For the third time—PLEASE GET OFF THE CHOPPER!" the pilot begged. Several arrows were already embedded in the helicopter's hull.
"Alright, alright," Stan waved dismissively. "Kids these days. Release the cargo."
A button clicked.
A massive crate detached from the transport's underside and dropped, free-falling until a parachute snapped open. The crate slowed, drifting away toward the battlefield below.
"Right, I'm off," Stan said casually. "Bring my whiskey when you pick me up."
He stepped off the ramp.
And fell.
"War Daddy is entering the playground," the pilot reported as he turned the Chinook away. "Repeat, War Daddy entering the playground."
---
Stan's body twisted midair as he descended.
Veins bulged black beneath his skin. Cracks spread across his flesh like molten spiderwebs as demonic light leaked out from within.
THUMP.
He hit the ground, throwing up a towering column of dust. The impact carved out a deep crater.
Soldiers stared in horror as a massive silhouette rose from the dust.
Something enormous moved inside.
Bull-like legs stepped forward first.
A humanoid torso wider than a carriage followed.
A goat-like head crowned with two colossal horns emerged last.
Blood-red skin.
Muscles like boulders.
Two stories tall.
"RRROOOOOOAAAAAAARR!"
The formation broke.
Murmurs of fear rippled through the soldiers.
"I-I've seen that… in the picture book…"
"S-Satan…!"
"It's real… the demon god of war…"
"Oh goddess, save us…"
---
Vandoria Army, Center
"Nightmare… this is a nightmare…" Duke Pierre trembled as he stared at the devastation spreading across his army formations beyond him. "Our heavy magic… gone…"
Then a roar thundered from afar.
"W-what… what was that?!" Pierre cried.
"SATAN! SATAN IS HERE!" an Avian lookout screamed.
Panic rippled through the center ranks, fear spreading faster than orders ever could.
"N-Not Leviathan… Satan himself?! Is this the end?!"
Pierre's legs nearly gave out as terror crushed his thoughts, his mind spiraling—
"GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, DUKE!"
Archbishop Antonio rode up sharply, eyes blazing as he glared down at him.
"Yes, we lost the heavy division," Antonio snarled. "But that is the Demon God of War—the ancient enemy of humanity! It is our holy duty to destroy it!"
He wheeled his horse around.
"My holy knights and I will march to the right flank," the archbishop declared. "And you—you will do your duty as a general! Retreat now, and even the church will refuse to protect you and your family from Vandorian persecution. I've warned you!"
With that, Antonio spurred his mount forward. Holy knights closed ranks around him as they galloped away.
Pierre stared after them.
CURSES. He knows!
Then Pierre noticed the Murican tanks moving westward. He misunderstood the movement entirely.
"They're leaving the valley…" he whispered to himself. "They're giving us an opening…"
Fear twisted into desperation.
"Sir?" an officer asked nervously. "Shall we assist the archbishop? Or continue toward the gate?"
"The gate!" Pierre snapped.
"We proceed with Plan B. Push through the Demon Gate and head east to rendezvous with our navy." His thoughts jumped to Admiral Lorenzo. "If we're lucky… we might find some demon villages along the way and capture demon slaves."
He clenched his fists.
"Relay my command—WE MARCH FOR THE VALLEY!"
If I pass through the gate and round up some demon slaves…
It won't be a complete loss…
I can still make excuses…
Pierre's mind screamed as the army began to move.
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
"Knock! Draw! Loose!" the archers' captain shouted.
Hundreds of arrows leapt into the air at once, darkening the sky as they arced downward—
and rained directly onto Stan.
He raised one arm to shield his head.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
The arrows bounced off his skin harmlessly, clattering to the ground like discarded twigs.
"Ugh—hold on, hold on," Stan grumbled. "Not ready yet."
Another wave of arrows struck him.
Tink. Clack. Snap.
He sighed, clearly annoyed rather than threatened.
Stan turned and reached the massive crate that had landed nearby. He gripped the edge and ripped it open with a sharp yank.
He smiled dearly.
"Oh," he said fondly. "I missed you."
Inside rested a customized GAU-8 Avenger, grotesquely scaled to match his true form. The barrel gleamed under the battlefield light. Massive ammo drums lay coiled beside it like obedient beasts.
Stan hoisted the drums onto his back and lifted the autocannon with practiced ease, resting it comfortably with his two giant hands.
"Now I'm ready."
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTT
The autocannon drowned out the battlefield.
Hundreds of high-explosive incendiary rounds tore through the right flank in a screaming torrent of fire and metal. Shields shattered. Armor vaporized. Magic collapsed mid-cast. Nothing lasted more than a heartbeat.
BRRRRRRRRTTT
Stan threw his head back, laughing.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"WELCOME TO THE BATTLEFIELD, HUMANS!"
"WELCOME TO MY HOME!"