Ravendawn Kingdom, Raven Castle

  Duke Pierre and Archbishop Antonio stood on the balcony, watching fresh troops pour into Raven Castle. Most were mercenaries—men who carried unrest like a profession.

  Ravendawn citizens and even the castle’s own soldiers suffered under them, but numbers drowned every protest before it could grow teeth.

  “…Are you sure this will be the last one?”

  Duke Pierre turned back to answer King Luxtor’s question, patience wearing thin.

  “How many times do I have to repeat myself? Yes. The king promised to give your sovereignty back after this. Vandoria won’t need this backwoods territory anymore once the war ends.”

  King Luxtor exhaled, the weight on his shoulders only shifting, not lifting.

  “…Thank you, Duke Pierre.”

  He gave a stiff nod, then turned and walked away. The Duke smirked, quiet but sharp.

  “Are you truly prepared to let go of this castle?” Antonio asked, arms folded inside his ceremonial robes.

  “Let go? No,” Pierre replied. “This place is perfect for rounding up the slaves before they’re shipped to Vandoria.”

  Antonio frowned. “And you believe the owner will agree to such use?”

  “Which owner?” Pierre chuckled softly. “None of them will be alive after this war to argue otherwise.”

  His eyes returned to the courtyard below, where the line of mercenaries seemed endless—marching in like iron-gray ants through the castle gate.

  He smiled as they passed, already imagining a wealthy future built for him.

  ---

  DMZ

  The DMZ had slowly turned into a village.

  Yurt-shaped tents formed loose rings around the conference building, spreading outward like a stubborn organism that refused to die just because it was planted in the middle of a wasteland. And no, no humans and beastmen mingled freely. No children ran along the road and playing without a care in the world.

  No parent in their right mind would bring their children to live next to the literal gate of hell.

  The DMZ had become a safe haven for people with nowhere else to go: fugitives, runaway convicts, slavers, and prostitutes. Order existed, but only because chaos had already been priced in.

  Sure, there are still children at the DMZ, but they are slaves brought by the merchants.

  At first, the merchants are eager to sell the child slaves at inflated price compared to the adult version, believing that demons love to eat childrens. The demons found this insulting. Why pay more for something less?

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Unfortunately, by the time the merchants lower their price, the demons have had enough time to observe their level of hygiene, which they found questionable.

  Thus, all the demons politely refuse, fearing it will upset their stomach.

  “Nope… nope… nope… nope… nope… nope… nope… nope…”

  Sitting at a sideroad bench, Belphy and Hannya patiently watch the passersby. Every time someone passes by, Belphy makes a comment.

  Hannya stared blankly. “Sir, Is this how you do it every time?”

  “No, I got a fucking casting director for this shit. I'm doing this myself because of your office's ridiculous deadline. Are you sure Luke’s not working there?”

  “No sir, His Highness is not a member of personnel at our department. Please blame this on the Vandorians who are marching here.”

  “Tch, someone needs to tell those savages that you can’t rush art.”

  “But aren’t you being told to do a documentary? I’m not from the movie industry, but I sure know there’s nothing natural about those.”

  Hannya pointed to a group of Jehovah's Accusess taking off from a bus, all wearing white shirts with short sleeves, backpacks, and a dark Bible visible in their chest pockets. They are looking around the DMZ full of wonder.

  Hannya continues. “Or those.”

  Hannya then pointed to the other side, where many DMZ populations are lining up to an empty field being surrounded by a barrier. There’s a big banner outside the barrier that reads:

  “4 Gold Coins for Playing House—see reception for details.”

  Small print: “We’re sorry, Ravendawn soldiers are not eligible.”

  Inside the barrier, Belphy’s production teams worked like madmen.

  DMZ men were being aggressively de-intimidated—makeup artists covered scars, softened expressions, and reduced visible menace wherever possible.

  Children’s rags were upgraded to “less tragic.”

  Prostitutes’ outfits were adjusted to “less naked.”

  Ravendawn soldiers had reported the entire event multiple times.

  No one could explain what the demons were doing.

  “Well,” Belphy said casually, “do you feel sad when a killer or a rapist gets slaughtered?”

  “…Why should I feel sad watching a human being killed?” Hannya replied. “I’m a demon.”

  “Fair enough,” Belphy sighed. “But you’re missing the theatrical point.”

  He stood up.

  “Ugh. This is hopeless. Fly with me.”

  ---

  Behind a big rock at the outskirts of the DMZ, a 16-year-old human girl is being cornered by 3 thugs, which is a pretty rare event for today's DMZ.

  Back then, the lowlives at DMZ weren’t scared to create troubles, but the demon soldiers always quickly put it to a stop by killing both the perpetrators and the victims, sending a clear message to the whole village that the demon soldiers really hate to write a report.

  “Oh, come on, Ivy, stop running,” Thug A taunted. “You know we can always find you.”

  “You fuckers, stop chasing me! You already have my gold.” She snapped, pointing at the pouch in Thug A’s hand—the one the demons had given her.

  “Hehehe, I know, but look at you. You’re so pretty now after the demons pampered you.”

  Thug A forcefully grabs her face, while Thugs B and C hold both her hands.

  “My dick misses you, you know.” He said. “I know that you miss it too.”

  Thug A starts kissing Ivy forcefully with his wet mouth, making it hard for her to breathe. But then she bit him. Hard.

  “AAAAAAGH!!”

  Ivy spat out a chunk of Thug A's lips from her mouth. She then grinned, brandishing Thug A's blood in her mouth. Thug A is screaming in pain.

  “YOU BITCH”

  He punched her to the ground and kicked her over and over.

  “You slutty pig! You dare to do that to me!?”

  Above the scene, Hannya and Belphy float while watching the whole ordeal quietly.

  “This is such a cliché.” Hannya comments

  Tired of kicking, Thug A then decides to strip his pants.

  “A lowly bitch like you doesn’t deserve my dick! You deserve this instead.”

  Thug A starts peeing on the weak and bloodied Ivy on the ground.

  “Dude, gross!” Thug C complained. “How can I fuck her like this? Disgusting!”

  After a few minutes, all the thugs then leave Ivy's motionless and dirty body.

  “Boring,” scoffs Hannya. “Let’s continue looking somewhere—”

  “Not yet,” Belphy interrupted.

  On the ground, Ivy began to laugh—painfully, hysterically. She pulled out not one but two gold pouches: her own and the thugs'.

  “Keehehe… idiots…”

  Belphy made a rectangle frame with his fingers, framing her.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, smiling.

  “I found my Little Timmy.”

  DMZ Village