The gates of the Crimson Castle groaned open like a wounded beast.
They did not swing wide in welcome.
They resisted.
Stone ground against stone as veins of dark-red mana pulsed across the fortress walls, making the entire structure seem alive and unwilling to die. Heat rolled outward in suffocating waves, thick with the smell of blood, rust, and ancient slaughter.
The survivors of the First Road advanced without hesitation.
They were far fewer now.
Barely one thousand remained from the force that had marched beneath Gerald's banner.
Armor was cracked.
Capes hung in tatters.
Weapons were chipped and dulled from endless battle.
Blood—both human and demonic—stained nearly every surface.
Yet not a single warrior stepped back.
Not now.
Not after everything they had sacrificed to reach this place.
At the forefront walked Gerald the Diamond Fist.
His broad shoulders remained squared despite the exhaustion hidden beneath his calm expression. Crystal shimmered faintly across his fists, catching the crimson light of the castle. Every step he took left faint fractures spiderwebbing across the stone floor.
To his left moved White Panther Jacob.
Silent.
Focused.
Predatory.
His eyes never stopped moving, scanning every shadow and every corner.
To Gerald's right floated Magneto Anton.
Hundreds of metal fragments orbited around him like loyal satellites, shifting constantly in anticipation of battle.
The moment the last soldier entered—
The gates slammed shut.
The thunderous impact echoed throughout the fortress.
Then silence followed.
Brief.
Uncomfortable.
And then—
Applause.
Slow.
Measured.
Mocking.
The sound echoed from every direction at once.
At the far end of the vast crimson hall, a figure stepped forward.
Andreal.
The Sixty-Fifth Demon Lord.
He was tall and unnaturally gaunt, draped in flowing black-and-red robes that appeared woven from shadows themselves. Six burning eyes opened across his face in an unsettling pattern, each pupil rotating independently.
Watching.
Calculating.
Seeing everything at once.
Dark sigils crawled across his pale skin like living tattoos, pulsing in rhythm with the castle's heartbeat.
Behind him stood five Dark Knights.
Each towered over ordinary men.
They were clad head to toe in obsidian armor etched with infernal runes. Massive shields rested before them. Their greatswords stood planted tip-down into the stone floor.
Unlike lesser demons, they showed no bloodlust.
No impatience.
No arrogance.
They stood perfectly still.
Disciplined.
Patient.
Terrifying.
Behind them waited the rest of the castle's defenders.
Hundreds of high demons.
Elite warriors.
Veterans.
Monsters capable of crushing ordinary armies.
Andreal smiled.
"So," he said.
His voice echoed from every wall simultaneously, layered and distorted.
"This is humanity's pride."
Gerald did not answer.
He simply rolled his shoulders.
Then cracked his neck.
The sound echoed through the hall like distant thunder.
The Dark Knights moved first.
Not charging.
Advancing.
Deliberately.
They stepped forward in perfect unison.
Shields locked together.
Greatswords rose.
Infernal runes ignited.
The air before them thickened as mana condensed into a crimson barrier that warped light itself.
Human spellcasters unleashed their attacks.
Fireballs exploded against the barrier.
Lightning bolts shattered harmlessly.
Even accelerated railgun rounds slowed dramatically before stopping entirely.
Nothing got through.
Then the battle began.
With a roar, the high demons behind Andreal surged forward in a frenzy.
The final battle for the Crimson Castle had begun.
Anton raised one hand.
Metal screamed.
The iron veins hidden beneath the castle floor tore themselves free.
Jagged spires erupted upward.
Chains.
Broken weapons.
Armor fragments.
Everything metallic within range responded to his will.
A metallic storm surged toward the advancing demons.
The Dark Knights braced.
Their shields glowed crimson.
The collision was catastrophic.
Stone exploded.
Metal shrieked.
Shockwaves ripped through the hall.
Dozens of human soldiers were thrown backward from the impact alone.
Two Dark Knights were forced several meters backward, their boots carving trenches through solid stone.
Yet they held.
Jacob vanished.
One moment he stood beside Gerald.
The next, he appeared inside the enemy formation.
His claws flashed.
A Dark Knight staggered.
Jacob's strike had slipped through the narrow gap beneath the demon's helm.
Black blood sprayed across the battlefield.
The knight roared.
But remained standing.
A massive greatsword swung toward Jacob's neck.
He twisted midair, narrowly avoiding decapitation.
Landing low, he tore through the tendons behind another knight's knee.
The armor split.
The demon staggered.
Yet still, they did not fall.
Andreal laughed softly.
"You see?" he murmured.
"Even now, you struggle."
Gerald stepped forward.
The floor cracked beneath him.
Then he punched.
Not the Dark Knights.
The space in front of them.
The air shattered.
The resulting shockwave tore through the battlefield like a natural disaster.
The crimson barrier exploded.
Shields fragmented.
Two Dark Knights were launched across the hall.
Their armor crumpled inward like crushed metal cans.
One smashed through a pillar.
The impact collapsed half the structure.
When the dust settled—
The knight did not move again.
The remaining Dark Knights roared and charged.
Anton clenched his fist.
Their greatswords suddenly twisted free from their hands.
The weapons reversed direction.
Then slammed back toward their former owners with murderous force.
One Dark Knight was pinned to the wall by his own blade.
The remaining two continued forward.
Undeterred.
Their swords crashed into Gerald simultaneously.
Sparks exploded.
The blades bit.
But failed to cut.
Gerald caught both swords with his bare hands.
The Dark Knights strained desperately.
Muscles bulged.
Mana erupted.
Their weapons did not move.
Gerald smiled.
Then pulled.
Both demons lurched forward.
Their helmets collided with a sound like colliding mountains.
Before either could recover, Gerald headbutted one.
The demon's skull exploded.
His other fist followed immediately.
The second knight's helmet imploded.
Five Dark Knights.
Gone.
The hall fell silent.
For half a second.
Then Andreal applauded once more.
"Excellent."
The Demon Lord smiled pleasantly.
"You are worthy to die here."
The castle answered his will.
The floor liquefied.
Stone became blood-red sludge.
The walls peeled open.
Behind them lay writhing veins and beating hearts embedded within living flesh.
The entire fortress transformed.
Gravity twisted violently.
Human soldiers cried out as invisible force dragged them toward Andreal.
Some lost their footing.
Others sank knee-deep into the crimson mire.
Andreal raised both hands.
Mana erupted.
Hundreds of crimson spears materialized throughout the hall.
Each hummed with lethal energy.
Each aimed with perfect precision.
"Witness," Andreal intoned.
"The art of despair."
The spears fired.
Jacob moved first.
He ran directly up the incoming projectiles.
Using them as stepping stones.
His body blurred into streaks of white and black.
Anton summoned a rotating wall of metal.
Dozens of spears shattered against it.
Not all.
Men died.
Blood splashed across the living floor.
Screams echoed through the hall.
Gerald planted his feet.
Then roared.
His fist came down.
Not forward.
Downward.
The impact shattered the corrupted terrain.
The crimson sludge exploded outward.
The gravitational pull collapsed instantly.
Solid stone emerged once more.
The shockwave vaporized dozens of incoming spears.
For the first time—
Andreal looked surprised.
One of his six eyes widened.
"Oh?"
That single moment of hesitation became his final mistake.
Anton thrust both arms forward.
The castle screamed.
Every trace of metal within the fortress answered his command.
Chains hidden inside walls.
Iron reinforcements.
Demonic weapons.
Even microscopic traces embedded within the stone itself.
Everything surged toward Andreal.
Like an iron apocalypse.
The Demon Lord conjured barrier after barrier.
They shattered instantly.
Jacob appeared behind him.
His claws carved through robes, flesh, and muscle.
Black-and-gold demon blood erupted outward.
Andreal screamed.
Reality twisted around him.
Space folded.
Jacob was hurled away violently.
But Gerald was already moving.
The Diamond Fist struck Andreal square in the chest.
The sound was deafening.
The Demon Lord became a missile.
He smashed through pillars.
Walls.
Support structures.
Entire sections of the fortress collapsed behind him.
Finally, he struck his throne.
The seat of power disintegrated instantly.
Cracks spread across Andreal's body.
Golden demon blood spilled from every wound.
He tried to rise.
Gerald never gave him the chance.
One final punch.
No grand speech.
No dramatic finishing move.
Just absolute force.
The fist connected.
Andreal's chest collapsed inward.
The Demon Lord froze.
For a brief moment, six burning eyes stared upward.
Then his body shattered into ash and crimson light.
The Sixty-Fifth Demon Lord was dead.
The Crimson Castle trembled violently.
Its master had fallen.
And the fortress began to die with him.
Walls cracked.
Ceilings collapsed.
The living flesh woven throughout the structure shriveled and blackened.
Human forces withdrew immediately.
Disciplined even in victory.
No one lingered.
No one celebrated.
Not yet.
Moments after the last soldier crossed the threshold, the Crimson Castle imploded.
The entire fortress collapsed inward before sinking into the corrupted earth like a grave swallowing its dead.
Silence followed.
Gerald stood at the edge of the battlefield.
Breathing heavily.
Jacob wiped black blood from his claws.
Anton lowered his arms.
Exhaustion finally visible upon his face.
The First Road was cleared.
One Demon Lord had fallen.
One fortress had been destroyed.
One victory belonged to humanity.
Unbeknownst to them, however, distant eyes watched from the shadows beyond Luxuria's sight.
Two ancient Demon Lords observed the battle with quiet interest.
Ranked Eighteenth—
Bathin.
Ranked Seventeenth—
Botis.
Neither seemed impressed.
Neither seemed concerned.
Because Andreal had never been among the true monsters of the Infernal Hierarchy.
He was merely one of the four Demon Lords who had crawled back to the Seoul Great Gate after suffering defeat in the human world.
A survivor.
A useful subordinate.
Nothing more.
The truly dangerous beings had yet to move.
And as the ruins of the Crimson Castle vanished into the earth, one truth became increasingly clear.
The war was far from over.