"Now let us continue the experiment!" Lich declared, his voice echoing proudly across the testing field.
"There's more?" Lilith groaned.
"Yes! I still have several theories left to verify," Lich replied cheerfully, already pressing another button as if the word no had never been invented.
With a heavy clunk, another hidden hatch opened in the field. A confused Vandorian prisoner was lifted up into the open air—slowly, ceremoniously—like a game-show contestant.
Stan's eyebrow twitched.
"Exactly how many holes have you dug in my base?"
"Oh, just enough," Lich answered proudly.
"I'm charging you for this."
"Of course, of course. Just send the bill to Bub. You know my department is under his ministry."
The prisoner stared around in confusion, wearing the same expression as the last two. Scared. Bewildered. And very clearly starting to regret being taken prisoner.
"Alright, John Doe Number Three is in position," Lich announced. "Now then, Stan, if you please."
"Ugh… do I really have to?" Stan muttered.
"Of course! This is for science!"
"…Just make it fast."
With the enthusiasm of a bored office worker clocking into unpaid overtime, Stan trudged across the field toward John Doe Number Three. The prisoner trembled violently as Stan approached, while Lich, Lilith, and Solo watched from the monitoring room.
"Alright," Lich said, glancing at the polygraph. "The virus count has already doubled."
He lifted his microphone.
"EHM. HELLO, VANDORIAN. RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, AS YOU CAN SEE, IS JUST AN OLD MUSCLEHEAD DEMON—"
"HEY!!" Stan barked.
"—BUT HE IS NOT ANY DEMON! HE IS ONE OF THE DEMON DUKES! THE ONE YOU HUMANS CALL THE DEMON GOD OF WAR—SATAN! NOW THEN, STAN, IF YOU WOULD."
"Sigh…" Stan muttered.
Stan's body began to tremble. His muscles bulged grotesquely. His clothes tore apart. In seconds, he grew into a towering, two-story-tall red demon, goat-headed, humanoid-bodied, eyes glowing a furious crimson.
"Sigh…" giant Stan repeated.
"NOW, NOW," Lich said eagerly. "DO IT PROPERLY, STAN. SHOW HIM HOW A TRUE DEMON DUKE ACTS."
Stan lifted his massive hand—
—and flipped Lich the biggest middle finger in demon history.
Then he inhaled.
"RROOOOOOOAAAAAARRR!"
The war cry slammed into John Doe Number Three like a physical force, nearly blowing him off his feet. The prisoner collapsed to his knees, his pants already soaked through.
"P-please… spare me…"
Stan didn't.
He inhaled again and unleashed a torrent of fire directly onto the screaming Vandorian.
"KYAAAAAAAA—!"
John Doe Number Three was reduced to a living fireball.
Stan turned away with a scoff, shrank back down to normal size, and accepted a cloak from a waiting officer.
"Done," he said. "So how'd it go?"
Solo and Lilith stared at the monitors, horrified.
Lich stared at them, ecstatic.
"HAHAHAHA! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! The virus output increased even more than last time!"
"What!?" Solo and Lilith shouted in unison.
"Now then—on to the next experiment!"
"What? There's more?" Stan groaned.
---
BATABATABATABATABATABATA
An Apache helicopter hovered directly in front of John Doe Number Four.
The prisoner dropped his jaw.
Then his bladder.
Whooosh—BOOOOM!
A Hydra rocket fired, instantly turning him into red confetti.
"Oooh, marvelous! MARVELOUS!" Lich cheered, clapping his bony hands. "The multiplication rate is also incredible!"
"Next up, an F-16—"
"LICH! ENOUGH!" Lilith finally snapped.
---
JBAB, Coffee Shop
A short while later, the four of them sat around a table inside the base's coffee shop. The logo—a stylized Medusa's head on a green background—somehow felt legally distinct enough from something else to exist without consequences.
Lich sipped his iced caramel macchiato through a straw.
"What a waste," he said idly. "I still have so many John Does left."
"Oh, shut up and read the report," Lilith muttered, blowing gently on her jasmine tea.
"Alright, alright." Lich shuffled through a thick stack of polygraph sheets, tapping them into alignment. "Hmm… mhm… interesting… yes, yes… got it! Here are the conclusions."
The other three leaned forward slightly.
"As we know," Lich began, "when humans face other humans, the virus remains stable. Almost no reaction."
"Okay…" Solo said cautiously. "And?"
"But when facing a demon," Lich continued, "fear increases, and the virus multiplies twofold."
"Mhm…" Stan grunted.
"But!" Lich raised a finger. "When they face something they perceive as a bigger demonic entity—such as the Apache helicopter—the fear spikes, and the virus triples!"
Stan's expression tightened. "I don't like where this is going…"
"Aaaand when they face a historically iconic demon—like a Demon Duke—the virus jumps fivefold!" Lich beamed. "Congratulations, Stan!"
Lilith rubbed her temples. "Stan… we may need to reconsider sending you into battle."
Stan calmly pulled out a bottle of whiskey, poured it straight into his espresso, and downed the entire thing like a shot.
"And the absolute peak—" Lich continued with theatrical flair, "—is pain. When they are burned alive, experiencing extreme agony, the multiplication jumps sevenfold!"
SLAM!
Solo's fist smashed into the table, rattling cups and sending his cappuccino splashing across the surface. The entire café froze mid-sip.
"That bitch goddess…" Solo growled. "She played us. We've been giving her exactly what she wanted."
His voice trembled—not loud, but heavy. Anger, disappointment, exhaustion, all tangled together.
No one at the table spoke.
---
The Goddess Realm
"OOOHOHOHOHO!"
The Goddess Realm glittered wildly, overflowing with divine power. The divine CEO lounged on her throne, legs crossed, laughing like a villainess ripped straight out of a shojo manga panel while an angel carefully poured wine into her crystal glass.
"Ohhh, this energy!" Celes purred, stretching languidly. "It just keeps coming! My skin is smoother, my breasts firmer—my ass tighter! Mmm, divine elasticity! OOOHOHOHOHO!"
Seraph, her secretary, stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Goddess. The comparison with previous millennia is complete."
"Well?" Celes leaned forward eagerly. "How big is the difference?"
"With the same casualty count as last millennium," Seraph reported evenly, "this battle generated five times more divine energy."
"AAAHAHAHAHA!" Celes clapped her hands. "WONDERFUL! That pig actually helped me! Oooh, this is delicious!"
"But," Seraph added carefully, "I believe the demons have already begun to realize the implications."
"No matter." Celes smirked, swirling her wine. "Even if they refuse war, we will simply ensure the others bring war to them. None can defy the Goddess's will."
She waved her hand.
A golden-framed mirror appeared, revealing Sora and his party deep in battle—light flashing as levels rose.
"And once I've harvested enough divine energy," Celes continued sweetly, "my precious hero will be strong enough to defeat the demons and kill that piggy, restoring everything to normal!"
She threw her head back.
"AHAHAHAHAHA!"
---
Ravendawn, Dawn Province
Wyvern is a dragon family that conquer the sky.
With jet-black bodies as large as two-story houses and wingspans stretching over twenty feet, they are apex predators across entire continents.
Wyvern is the reason flying creatures turn back mid-flight. The reason dangerous land predators hide.
Wyvern is a proud beasts that only heed humans who earn their respect—leaders who guide them into battle, where their next prey awaits.
WHOOOOOOOSH
Wyvern is hiding its head under a bush, covering its face with its majestic wing, waiting for the sound of the F16s to fade.
"Oh, come on, Rognar! This is the third time today!" his rider complained, tugging uselessly at the reins.
"Whiiimper…" the wyvern replied.
For Rognar, witnessing his Vandorian brethren being pulverized by those strange flying metal creatures had given him something dangerously close to PTSD—something he hadn't known a wyvern could even have.
The two jets belonged to the Murica–Ravendawn joint patrol, patroling the new Murica's Dawn base under construction.
The Murican pilots often wondered why they never saw their Ravendawn aerial patrol counterparts.
It had been two months since Vandoria was kicked out of Dawn.
The city had already recovered—trade flowing again, slavery abolished, and business booming as if nothing traumatic had ever happened. Shops reopened. Markets buzzed. Money moved.
Sometimes Murican workers and civilians could be seen walking the streets. At first, the people of Dawn were terrified when they saw demons. Old stories die hard. But fear, like most things, eventually lost to exposure.
And money.
Demons walking openly through the streets had become a normal sight, especially once people realized demons brought money. At that point, all those fairy tales about evil demons could go straight to the gutter. Everyone here was an adult now—and being broke was far more frightening.
But recently, Dawn had a different kind of demon strolling around.
An orc.
An orc in a floral Hawaiian shirt, sandals, and sunglasses.
An orc who smelled like a distillery.
An orc who laughed at absolutely nothing while poking at invisible screens.
No one complained. Partly because he paid his bills on time. And partly because several very scary demons quietly followed him wherever he went, giving rise to rumors.
"He's a dangerous criminal exiled from Murica but kept under surveillance."
"HEY, ORKIE! SEE YOU TONIGHT!" a dog beastman shouted from across the street.
"YEAH! SEE YA, FIDO-DIDO-WHATEVER!" Solo yelled back, already tipsy.
He made his way to the beach, spread out a picnic blanket, and activated Modern Family through his skill.
"AAHAHAHA! OH PHIL, YOU IDIOT!"
He took a long sip of ale, eyes fixed on the ghostly Earth UI only he could see.
The downside of his skill: the internet was frozen on the exact day he was isekai'd. No updates. No new episodes.
Still, 130 years was more than enough time to watch everything—America's Hollywood, India's Bollywood, Pakistan's Lollywood, even Afghanistan's propaganda film industry, Bombywood.
But Modern Family and Friends were always home.
"Ahem."
Solo glanced to the side.
Bare feet stood on the sand. Perfectly manicured. Definitely a woman's.
He looked up.
"Aren't you Levi's assistant?" he squinted. "Hannya, was it?"
"That is correct, sir," Hannya replied politely.
"What are you doing here? Hahaha. Come sit. Watch movies with me."
"I can't see anything from your skill, sir."
"Ah, right…" Solo waved lazily. "So? What's up?"
"You, sir. You are required back in Bashington."
"What?" Solo groaned. "I'm on vacation. Tell them I have stomach problems. Or foot problems. Or mental problems. Leave me alone."
Four weeks ago, Lich's revelation had shattered him.
Everything he built.
One hundred and thirty years of unifying demons.
One hundred and thirty years of developing technology.
One hundred and thirty years of forging a functioning nation.
All of it had only made the goddess's harvest more delicious.
Defeated, he decide to fled to Dawn City for a "two-week vacation."
That was four weeks ago.
Now he enjoyed slow living in an isekai world.
He enjoyed being "Orkie."
Not a leader drowning in paperwork.
---
Dawn City, Solo's Favorite Tavern
In the night time, inside an RPG-style tavern filled with wooden tables, the atmosphere was unusually quiet. Only the tavern owner, Solo, and Hannya occupied the space.
Solo enjoyed his dinner—some kind of fantasy meat—and a large mug of ale. Across from him, Hannya sipped water in composed, graceful silence.
"You sure you don't want some?" Solo asked. "It's great."
"No, thank you."
"This place is usually packed…" Solo glanced around. "Wonder where everyone is. Maybe they'll show up later."
"Perhaps, sir." Hannya tilted her head slightly. "Do your drinking friends know you are the Murican leader?"
"Of course not. That'll ruins the vibe."
"MASTER! MORE ALE!" Solo shouted.
The tavern owner flinched, hurried over, and placed another full mug in front of Solo.
"U-uh… here, sir. I hope you like it."
He immediately fled back to the kitchen.
"Strange…" Solo frowned at the mug. "He never called me 'sir' before. He usually just calls me Orkie…"
Solo narrowed his eyes at Hannya.
"So why are you still here? Shouldn't you be back at your post?"
"I am at my post," Hannya replied calmly. "I am the new Murican Ambassador to Ravendawn."
"Really? When?"
"Three days ago. Madam Lilith swore me in, since you were absent."
"Oooh… congrats."
"Thank you, sir."
"But still," Solo said, taking another sip of ale, "you haven't answered my first question. Why are you still here with me? You're not even trying to persuade me or lecture me to go back."
"Why should I?" she replied evenly. "When there is someone more capable than me."
"…?"
Something felt off.
The empty streets.
The empty tavern.
The nervous owner.
"Wait… no… NO…" Solo's eyes widened. "Don't tell me…"
"Is this—the Homewreck Protocol!?"
BOOOOOOOOM!
The tavern entrance exploded. Half the building collapsed inward as dust and debris flooded the room.
"Cough—Hannya!? You okay!?" Solo shouted through the smoke. "Hannya!?"
No response.
Flap… flap… flap… flap…
A slow, ominous rhythm of wings filled the air.
"Alex… Solomon…"
A soft yet terrifying demonic voice drifted from the ruined entrance.
Solo looked up.
Through the settling dust, a figure descended—red wings unfurled, eyes glowing like burning rubies, framed by the full moon.
Elegant.
Terrifying.
Solo went pale.
It was the deadliest creature in the Demon Kingdom.
An apex demon.
His wife.