Rein knelt in the bloodstained dirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mind racing. Shilley’s body lay motionless in his arms, her warmth fading, and Luxana, still unconscious, was sprawled amidst the rubble. A hollow ache clenched around his heart, suffocating, unbearable. The people he fought alongside, the people who mattered, slipping away.

  He clenched his jaw, his vision blurring between grief and rage. I can’t lose them. I won’t.

  A flicker of memory cut through the chaos, Airlia’s face, shrouded in dusk, her eyes betraying something unreadable before she turned away. Another, laughter echoing through campfires, Luxana struggling to grasp human humor, Shilley playfully tossing fruit at him when he wasn’t looking. Moments of peace, stolen between battles.

  Just as I finally started to let people in, they get taken from me.

  A low, mocking chuckle sliced through the moment like a blade. "Such a tender sight," the demon sneered, amusement laced with malice. "Tell me, boy, were you in love with this one? Was she your little light in the darkness?" He let out a twisted sigh. "Shame. But don’t worry, you’ll be joining her soon. Along with every last one of these insects."

  Rein’s hands trembled, but not with fear, something deeper, something raw. The words barely passed his lips, but when they did, they carried a quiet, lethal finality. "Shut the fuck up."

  The demon’s smirk twitched. He felt it before he saw it, something wrong, something shifting. The air around Rein warped, flickering like a mirage under unbearable heat. His pendant, once merely warm, now burned against his chest, searing through fabric, the pain sharp and all-consuming. He gritted his teeth, gripping at it, but the moment his fingers touched the charred metal, something inside him clicked.

  A memory? No. A presence.

  "I’m starting to understand," he muttered, almost to himself, staring down at the smoldering pendant. "You’re more than just a memory from my mom… aren’t you?"

  The demon took a step back.

  Rein stood, his movements fluid, certain. Strands of white streaked through his dark hair, and behind him, faint, luminous lines shimmered, stretching outward, forming something almost akin to wings, not fully formed, but real enough to cast shadows on the ruined ground. His eyes, once burning with fury, now held something else entirely, certainty.

  The demon snarled, shaking off the hesitation. "You think parlor tricks will save you? Then let’s test, your resolve. "

  Rein was on him before he could finish.

  A deafening clash of steel and force split the battlefield. The demon barely managed to block the first strike, Rein’s blade slamming down like a meteor. The sheer force of the impact sent a shockwave through the ground, splintering stone beneath their feet. The demon skidded back, planting his claws into the ground to stop himself, but Rein was relentless, pressing forward, each strike heavier than the last.

  The demon twisted, claws glowing with abyssal fire as he lashed out. Rein spun, barely dodging, using the demon’s momentum against him. With a flick of his wrist, his wing-like tendrils lashed outward, coiling around the demon’s arm and yanking him off balance. Rein capitalized, wrenching the demon forward and delivering a brutal knee to his gut, followed by an elbow across his jaw that sent him reeling.

  The demon spat blood, eyes blazing with rage. He extended both hands, dark energy coalescing into a dozen jagged spears of shadow. With a flick, they launched toward Rein.

  Rein didn’t even flinch.

  A translucent, radiant shield erupted around him, absorbing the impact as the spears shattered upon contact. The demon’s eyes widened in disbelief. He wasn’t supposed to be this strong.

  Rein lunged again, this time channeling energy into his blade, the edge burning white-hot. The demon barely ducked in time, Rein’s sword slicing clean through a nearby stone pillar as if it were paper. The two warriors moved in a furious dance, neither relenting, leaping off rubble, using the wreckage of the battlefield as weapons.

  The demon hurled a slab of broken masonry, but Rein caught it mid-air with his tendrils, twisting his wrist to send it flying back. It smashed into the demon’s chest, sending him crashing through what remained of a merchant stall. Rein didn’t let up. He closed the distance, grabbing the demon’s face in his palm and slamming him into the ground with earth-shattering force.

  The demon roared, black flames erupting around him, forcing Rein to step back. He rose, panting, his body bruised but still strong. His grin was gone.

  For the first time, the demon looked at Rein not with mockery, but fear.

  How could this be happening? Even among his kind, he was no pushover. He represented the mid-to-upper echelon of his race’s power, a force that few dared to challenge. And yet, here he was, overpowered, outmatched.

  No, this wasn't right. This human wasn’t just human. The stench of mortality was there, but it was diluted, interwoven with something else. Not quite the cursed race of the light, nor purely mortal. Something different. Something unknown.

  His eye flickered over the man, trying to categorize him, to place him within the understandings of his kind. But the scent, it was wrong. It didn’t belong to anything he had encountered before. A deep unease crept into the demon’s mind, a feeling foreign to him: uncertainty.

  Then, the burning pain in Rein’s chest surged. The pendant fused deeper, branding itself to his very being. His breath hitched, his muscles tensed, his body was rejecting the overwhelming power, but it was too late to stop. His vision wavered for a moment, but when it sharpened again, something had changed.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  His right hand flexed, and in that instant, an ethereal shape flickered into existence, a weapon forming not from steel, but from raw energy. The air hummed around it, distorted and unstable. Its edges pulsed, unfinished, as if caught between reality and something beyond.

  Rein exhaled sharply, gripping the hilt despite the searing pain crawling up his arm. This wasn’t a gift, it was a test. His body wasn’t meant to handle this yet, but he didn’t have a choice.

  Shilley, and Lux...

  His heart was already shattered. If his body needed to shatter as well to avenge them, so be it.

  The demon flinched as Rein raised the weapon, eyes locked onto it with a mix of awe and horror. That weapon should not exist.

  Rein took a slow step forward, his expression unreadable. The power burned within him, threatening to spiral out of control, but his focus remained unshaken. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

  The demon took a step back. Then another.

  Rein moved faster. He was almost upon the demon when,

  A sharp crack split the air.

  A flash of violet light. A pulse of abyssal energy.

  The force struck him like a hammer to the chest, piercing straight through him. Rein’s vision blurred as he was wrenched from the moment, his body hurtling backward. The world twisted in and out of focus as pain ignited in his ribs, his momentum carrying him through the remnants of a shattered building.

  The impact stole the breath from his lungs. His grip on the weapon faltered, the energy flickering violently before vanishing altogether. He barely had time to process what happened before darkness pressed at the edges of his vision.

  Somewhere in the distance, a blurry form chuckled darkly. "You got too cocky, boy. Did you really think I’d let you finish this?"

  Devin arrived and skidded to a halt beside Rein and Shilley, his breath ragged. His hands hovered over them, unsure of what to do, so much blood.

  "Rein? Shilley? Damn it, hold on!"

  His voice barely cut through the chaos. The weight of the moment settled on him as his fingers curled into fists. They were barely breathing. His mind screamed at him to do something, anything, but he wasn’t a healer. He couldn’t stop the blood. He couldn’t turn back time.

  He looked around frantically. "Somebody help them!"

  But the battle still raged on, and no one was coming fast enough. Gritting his teeth, he ripped an arrow from his quiver and turned toward the nearest cluster of demons. His hands trembled, but he forced them steady. If anything else tried to finish them off, it would have to go through him first.

  The moment stretched, too long. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement.

  Xetran…

  High above, watching from the shadows of the ruined city, Zarthis, the Demon Commander, observed the battle unfold with cold calculation. His gaze flicked between the combatants, taking in every movement, every clash of power. When he saw his kin deal with that bitch of a Lightborn, a dark satisfaction curled his lips. He despised her kind, angels, with all their arrogance, thinking themselves superior to the rest of creation.

  If she still clung to life, perhaps he would have the pleasure of breaking her himself, showing her what true pain meant. Make her see the error of her ways.

  His eyes narrowed, scanning the battlefield. Only two of the group remained standing now. One of them, that sly little shit, Xetran, had managed to escape. No matter. They could deal with him later.

  That left the female mage and the boy.

  Zarthis watched as Rein and Shilley launched their attack against his kin. At first, they moved well, their teamwork fluid, precise. But it wasn’t enough. The demon still overpowered them. The girl, he dismissed outright. She was nothing. But the boy... why wasn’t he using the power he had shown at the ruins?

  He surely knew they were no match for his brethren.

  Then, as expected, his kin blasted them away.

  He is toying with them. Zarthis’s lips curled into a sadistic grin.

  And then, he saw it, the boy made a mistake, leaving himself wide open. His kin reacted instantly, taking advantage of the lapse to launch a devastating spell. It was a killing blow.

  But the girl, that fool, jumped in front of him, a weak barrier of thorns blooming before her. Pathetic. The spell ripped through it, striking her full force. She crumpled, broken, probably as good as dead.

  Now it was just the boy. The only one that interested him.

  Would he let himself be killed here?

  Then, he saw it happen.

  The same power he had glimpsed before, the same abnormality, but not fully realized. Not yet mastered. Hmmm. So the boy wasn’t in control of it?

  Still, it was enough. His kin had gone from toying with him to defending himself. That was troublesome.

  Zarthis lifted a single clawed finger, his expression turning serious as he concentrated his power.

  A single, precise blast.

  A pulse of abyssal energy ripped through the air. It hit the boy dead-on, piercing straight through him.

  Zarthis smirked, his demonic eye tracking the boy’s falling form like a predator watching its prey. Still breathing.

  "Hmph," he mused. "I missed the vital spot."

  He lifted his hand again, ready to correct that mistake.

  Then, his instincts screamed.

  A presence, cold, sharp, undeniable, descended upon the battlefield, like a predator casting its gaze upon lesser prey. The air itself seemed to tighten, as if held in an invisible grip. Zarthis’s eye twitched as he froze, every fiber of his being recognizing that something had shifted.

  What is this?

  He turned sharply, scanning the ruined cityscape with his enhanced vision, his sight cutting through the darkness with inhuman precision. And then he saw it.

  Far atop a distant rooftop, Xetran stood.

  But this was not the Xetran the world had grown accustomed to. The casual arrogance, the perpetual smirk, gone. In their place was something ancient, something wrathful. His silver eyes burned with an intensity unlike before, and the very air around him shimmered, not from heat, but from something deeper, something more primal.

  Zarthis stiffened. Just who are these people? One surprise after another.

  The aura that surrounded Xetran was not merely a display of power; it was a declaration, a direct, unspoken challenge. A dare. The weight of it pressed against Zarthis’s very essence, demanding a response.

  Fight, or flee.

  It wasn’t even simply power, it was unreadable. No demonic hierarchy, no celestial order, nothing Zarthis had encountered before fit this sensation. It was something else. Something outside of the rules.

  For the first time in centuries, the Demon Commander hesitated.

  He didn’t know what Xetran was, nor did he know how strong he truly was, but what he did know was that he had no interest in finding out.

  A lesser creature might have let pride dictate its actions, might have met the challenge head-on.

  Zarthis was no fool.

  His mission was already a success. He had confirmed the existence of the Nephilim. That alone was worth more than any personal victory.

  For a fleeting moment, he considered testing the waters, just a single strike, just enough to see how deep this abyss ran. But then he felt it, the weight of Xetran’s gaze sharpening, daring him. No. That would be a mistake.

  His glowing eye lingered on Xetran for a moment longer, his clawed fingers curling in frustration. Then, without another word, he twisted into the shadows, his form dissipating into the abyss, vanishing from the battlefield.

  Only when he was gone did Xetran let out a breath, the sheer force of his aura retracting like a claw sheathed.

  He tilted his head, watching where Zarthis had stood mere moments ago, his smirk returning, but this time, it was colder.

  "That’s what I thought."

  Then, without another word, he disappeared into the night.