“Finished with your little chit-chat?” The sneer on his face was matched only by the bloodlust in his voice.

  “Toma…” Carter’s quiet tone carried weight. Toma’s gaze flicked toward him for a split second—and that was all it took. Rage ignited in his chest, raw and unfiltered.

  Kiron’s claws began to glow a deep, sinister red. He straightened to his full height, shoulders squared, sensing the combined challenge before him. “Come on, then! Come at me!”

  Arlen moved first. His body blurred, the earth beneath him seeming to vanish as he closed the gap in a heartbeat. His blade carved smooth arcs through the air, every motion sharp with military precision, aimed to pierce through even the smallest opening.

  Kiron swung his claws to meet him. Sparks exploded on contact—metal against the supernatural edge—neither giving an inch.

  Then Toma came from behind. He didn’t have Arlen’s finesse, but he didn’t need it. His power crashed down like a storm. His katana slammed toward Kiron with such overwhelming force that the demon had no choice but to leap backward, crossing his claws to absorb the blow. The ground split open beneath him from the sheer impact.

  For the first time, Kiron was pushed back.

  Thin red lines began to appear on his skin—shallow cuts at first, but more and more with each passing second.

  Toma and Arlen moved in perfect rhythm, as if one soul drove two bodies. When one struck, the other covered. When one defended, the other pressed forward. Kiron’s claws flashed in desperation, but now he was reacting, not dictating the fight.

  This wasn’t going to be easy for him anymore, and he knew it. His clothes hung in tatters, his body marked by wounds. His eyes glowed brighter, burning with feral madness.

  Yet even cornered, his voice rang with arrogant defiance.

  “Entertaining… but it won’t be enough here! Who do you think I am?!”

  The ground trembled, stones dancing across the fractured earth. Kiron’s laughter rolled out like thunder, wild and unrestrained, as if the very chaos around him fed his madness. From beneath his mask, his eyes burned—a fierce, unnatural red.

  Power exploded from his body in a shockwave of pure Xeron, the blast striking with such force that Toma and Arlen were hurled backward. The ground beneath their feet split open, deep cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

  And then it happened—Kiron’s eyes… they no longer looked human.

  The air grew heavy. He was no longer bound to close combat. His killing intent radiated outward like a living force.

  Arlen moved first, flames bursting from his weapon in a fiery counterattack. But Kiron’s claws cut through the fire as if swiping at mist.

  Through the blaze, a shadow emerged.

  The Inspector surged forward, blades flashing. He and Kiron collided in a storm of sparks, metal and claw clashing at blinding speed. Each strike was met in perfect timing—an exchange where even a single mistake meant death.

  Kiron’s knee shot upward, slamming into Carter’s wounded side. Carter’s face twisted in pain, but before he could recover—

  “Xeron!”

  The blast slammed into him point-blank, hurling him through the air. He crashed into the rubble of a nearby building, the wall collapsing around him.

  Toma was already on the move. He appeared behind Kiron in an instant, katana aimed for the demon’s head—

  But Kiron caught the blade mid-swing. His claws tightened.

  Snap.

  The steel split in two, fragments scattering to the ground.

  Kiron’s hand shot out, seizing Toma’s arm. With one devastating motion, he slammed Toma to the earth hard enough to shake the ground.

  The claws rose for the killing blow.

  Toma’s breath froze in his throat. This was it. He will die, or even worse—he will turn into a demon.

  And then—

  Crack!

  Kiron froze mid-strike, ice crawling up his arms and locking him in place.

  From the shattered streets ahead, soldiers emerged—at least fifty of them, all in the frost-white armor of the Ice Division. At their head stood two figures: Arvian, and beside him an elderly captain whose presence alone chilled the air.

  “Hands off, demon!” the man’s voice rang out like a commandment. He was tall—around 180 centimeters—with snow-white hair, a neatly kept beard, a goatee, and thin-rimmed glasses. His name was Matas Lysell, Captain of the Ice Division.

  “This is unbelievable—the Ice Division!” Arlen shouted.

  But Kiron’s laughter broke the moment, sharp and mocking. With a violent surge of strength, he shattered the ice around him, shards scattering in every direction.

  “Man, this is great! You think you can catch me just because you’re a captain? I can summon as many demons as I want!”

  And then—

  He wasn’t alone anymore.

  A figure simply appeared at his side, materializing from thin air—tall, composed, eyes sharp with urgency. Amon.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Kiron, we have to go.”

  “Leave me be for now, Amon!” Kiron snapped.

  “Kiron, you can’t waste the demons right now! We need every single one of them for the Master’s plan! Please, calm yourself, my lord!”

  Amon’s hand rested on Kiron’s shoulder—and in that instant, they were gone. No flash, no sound—just absence, as if the air itself had swallowed them.

  The Ice Division soldiers stared at the empty street.

  “Where did they go?”

  “Some kind of magic trick?”

  “Most likely a teleportation ability. Once they vanished, their aura disappeared entirely,” Arvian observed.

  “A correct assessment,” Matas Lysell agreed, his voice steady.

  The battle was over. Arlen, Toma, and Inspector Carter had survived—and defeated the giant demon—but the victory felt hollow. The once-great city was now a graveyard of broken stone and twisted steel. Civilians were being evacuated as debris rained down from unstable structures.

  The Ice Division moved quickly, escorting the three battered fighters to the hospital without delay.

  Far from the battlefield, a black car sped down a cracked highway. Inside, Kiron sat in the passenger seat, Amon at the wheel.

  Someone waved from the roadside.

  “It’s Kaden!”

  “Good, let’s pick him up.”

  Amon slowed, pulling over. Kiron rolled the window down. “Get in!”

  Kaden climbed into the back, irritation etched across his face. “What took you so long? I left the fortress ages ago and started heading toward you!”

  “Things got… complicated,” Amon replied.

  Kaden leaned forward. “So? What happened? Did that special demon work out?”

  “It failed—they defeated it,” Amon admitted.

  Kaden’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, you promised me you’d change the world and destroy the current system!”

  “Stop complaining,” Kiron growled. “The demon was strong—strong enough to kill a weaker captain easily. The only reason it lost was because there were three of them against it. And those two annoying brats! I almost caught the blue-haired one—I was that close! Damn it! Next time, I’m killing him first!”

  “Yeah, I had trouble with those kids too,” Kaden muttered. “But are you going to tell me the plan now?”

  “We’re heading to the next big city,” Amon answered, “and staying in a hotel for two or three days to rest.”

  Kaden’s voice dripped with disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No, seriously—it’s better to rest now. After that, we’re going back to the demon world to introduce you to the Master. He’s the one who suggested we seek you out in the first place. Then we’ll prepare, because our next operation will be much bigger.”

  Kaden leaned back, smirking faintly. “I hope it will be.”

  ***

  A few days had passed since the incident.

  The government tried its best to cover it up, but hiding the destruction of an entire city was like trying to hide the sun with your bare hands—it simply couldn’t be done.

  The official reports were watered down. The news outlets and papers told the public that a government agent and two academy trainees had heroically defeated a giant demon. Names were given—Arlen, Toma, and Inspector Carter—but since all three were confined to hospital beds, none of them had made a public appearance yet.

  Instead, it was the Ice Division that addressed the press. And while they withheld most of the grisly details, one fact could not be softened: a demon of that size had never been seen before. The news sent shockwaves rippling through every corner of society.

  ***

  In a luxury military hospital, Arlen lay sprawled on a bed, his eyes locked on the flat-screen TV mounted to the wall.

  “And Junior charges straight toward the goal! He’s still carrying the ball—still going! The goalkeeper rushes out—and… Junior kicks it straight into him! Unbelievable! He misses an absolutely wide-open chance!”

  Arlen shot up as much as his injuries allowed.

  “Damn it, Junior! That was harder to miss than to score!” he yelled.

  His shouting jolted the figure in the next bed. Toma stirred, blinking at the ceiling in a daze. The voice was familiar, but the words didn’t make sense until his vision cleared. He turned his head and saw Arlen glaring at the TV like it had personally wronged him.

  When Toma raised his hands, he froze. Seven fingers were wrapped in thick bandages.

  “Damn… where am I? What happened? Am I… still alive? Ugh… my head…”

  “You’re finally awake!” Arlen said, still half-distracted by the match.

  “With yelling like that, you could wake the dead,” Toma groaned.

  “Sorry, but it’s the rematch right now, and Junior just missed a one-hundred-percent guaranteed goal!”

  “What!? There’s soccer on and you didn’t wake me? How could you!?”

  “Man, my left leg and right arm are broken—I can’t even move! Besides, you’ve been out for four days straight!”

  “For real?”

  “Yep. According to the doctor, I slept for three days myself. When I woke up, I was starving.”

  “Now that you mention it… I could eat too. But first, how did we even get here?”

  “The Ice Division. They saved us and brought us to this place—the military’s top-tier hospital. It’s insane here: premium beds, heated floors, air conditioning, TV, even game consoles. Bro, we could literally play video games while recovering.”

  Toma’s mind flashed back to the battlefield. “So the Ice Division saved us… I remember now. We almost died. It felt like a dream.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Wait—what about Inspector Carter? Is he alive?”

  “Yeah. He’s one floor below us. You can visit him if you want.”

  “Of course… but damn, my whole body aches. And why is my torso wrapped up like this?”

  “You broke a couple of ribs.”

  Toma exhaled sharply. “Yep… that was the toughest fight of my life. Brutal.”

  ***

  The door swung open, and a nurse entered with a doctor in tow.

  “Well, well. Finally decided to rejoin the living, sleepyhead?”

  “Doctor, why does my whole body hurt?”

  “Seven broken fingers. Six broken ribs. On top of that, extreme exhaustion. You collapsed and slept for several days straight. Now, I’d like to run a full examination.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.”

  The doctor went over every injury with clinical precision. Once the check-up was done, a couple of nurses wheeled in lunch trays for both beds.

  Toma ate like a man possessed, shoveling food into his mouth until the plates were nearly spotless.

  When the doctor returned with the results, he shook his head with a faint smirk. “I see you’ve got an appetite, but try not to inhale your meals like that—you’ll regret it later.”

  “Uh… understood!”

  “Don’t worry. All your bones will heal, good as new. You do have a concussion, though, so you’ll be staying here for a few more weeks until you’ve fully recovered. Technically, you could go home earlier, but given how far you live from this hospital, it wouldn’t make sense.”

  “That’s true… and thank you for everything, doc!”

  “It’s nothing. Just rest and recover. Now, I’ll check on my other patients.”

  “Goodbye!”

  The rest of the afternoon drifted by with Toma and Arlen trading stories about everything that had happened. They laughed, they groaned at the memory of pain, and at times they simply sat in silence—both still trying to process what they had survived.

  By late afternoon, Arlen was glued to the TV again, eyes half-focused on whatever match was on, while Toma lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling as if it could give him answers.

  “Man, I’m tired,” Arlen muttered without looking away from the screen. “You feel the same, Toma?”

  “After sleeping for four days straight? No way. I couldn’t sleep another second right now,” Toma replied, shifting his gaze toward his friend. “I’m thinking of visiting the Inspector. Want to come?”

  “With my broken leg? Yeah, no thanks. I’m not exactly eager to limp around the place.” Arlen snorted. “Still… it’s good you’re visiting him. He had serious surgery. Can barely move now.”

  “You’re right. Then I’m off!”

  Toma swung his legs off the bed, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his ribs, and made his way to the door. The hallway outside was long, white, and sterile, with the faint smell of disinfectant lingering in the air. At the far end stood an elevator, humming quietly.

  He stepped inside, pressed the button, and a moment later arrived on the floor below. A nurse at the desk greeted him, and after a short exchange, she guided him toward a door at the end of the corridor.

  Toma paused with his hand on the handle, drew in a deep breath, and pushed it open.

  The room was smaller than his and Arlen’s, with just a single bed by the window, a small TV mounted on the wall, and a private bathroom

  in the corner. Inspector Carter lay propped against the pillows, his gaze shifting toward the door as Toma stepped in.