The Damned Demon - Chapter 868

Across Earth, billions held their breath. Anxiety hung thick in the air, palpable and heavy. Streets normally bustling with life now lay quiet, as if the entire world collectively paused to watch the climax of their uncertain fate unfold.

Every television, every mobile device flickered with the image of President Derek Sterling. His speech echoed over the silence, a calm, authoritative voice promising safety, triumph, and a bright future free from the constant threat of demons.

His blue hair and radiant gaze portrayed confidence so infectious that the masses, hungry for reassurance, eagerly latched onto every word.

Yet, as much as they trusted him, uncertainty persisted deep within their hearts. They didn't truly know the extent of his plans, nor could they comprehend how he intended to achieve a feat universally considered impossible—annihilating the demons for good. Still, they bowed their heads, murmured their prayers to the angels, and clung to hope.

Then, the Junction Towers scattered across every continent flared to life. Radiant white lines, shimmering like living circuits, suddenly raced through the earth beneath these towering spires. Entire cities watched in awe, gathering in streets and parks, their eyes wide, illuminated by the pulsing brilliance of radiant mana.

Many cheered, believing this mysterious display was merely another stage of their President's ingenious strategy. However, hushed whispers also arose from pockets of skepticism, questioning the activation of all Junction Towers simultaneously despite no visible demonic threats.

These voices were swiftly silenced, either drowned by louder chants of faith or simply vanishing altogether—those who questioned the WHA openly found their inquiries unanswered and their loved ones waiting indefinitely for their return.

At a grand mansion nestled within serene greenery, far removed from city bustle, two middle-aged figures stood solemnly in the sprawling garden, their eyes fixated upon a distant but fiercely glowing beacon— the Nexus Tower. Edward and Alice, Arthur's grandparents, radiated quiet strength tempered with worry.

Alice clutched Edward's arm gently, the softness of her touch trembling faintly, betraying her inner turmoil. Her eyes, though sharp, wavered as she gazed at the faraway pillar of radiant power piercing the heavens.

"Edward," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of power emanating from the Tower, "Do you believe Arthur will truly be safe? Ever since he left us, my heart has found no peace."

Edward placed a comforting hand over hers, his grip firm, reassuring, yet filled with its own unspoken anxieties. His gaze hardened momentarily, eyes reflecting a wisdom tempered by decades of experience and loss. "Trust in him, Alice. Trust in our daughter's sacrifice. There was a reason behind every pain she endured, every sacrifice she made even as a child."

Alice turned her head slightly, searching her husband's face, her eyes glistening softly with emotion. "But he's our only family left. If something happens to him—"

"Nothing will happen," Edward interjected calmly, cutting through her worries with his resolute voice, though a faint uncertainty lingered within the undertone. "Arthur is strong. He was trained by the best, and his soul holds the strength of his mother's sacrifice and his...father's will."

Alice nodded slowly, absorbing his words, her grip on Edward tightening as if seeking comfort from his unyielding presence. A gentle breeze stirred around them, carrying whispers of uncertainty and hope, mixing into a bittersweet silence.

—

Under the crimson skies of Zalthor, word of the Final Reckoning quest had rippled through the demon populace.

In bustling streets, shadowed alleys, vibrant taverns, and majestic castles alike, whispers and exclamations erupted into laughter. The idea was absurd—a single human daring to challenge their entire world? The audacity was laughable, the threat nothing more than a fool's delusion.

"It has to be a drunken Hunter," scoffed a towering horned demon, his friends roaring with mocking laughter.

"Even the strongest of their S-Ranks can't take on more than a couple of our weakest Soul Devourers," said a succubus with contempt, her tail flicking dismissively. "No human alone can conquer Zalthor. It's impossible and stupid as hell. Can't believe we are at an eternal war with these fools."

Yet far to the east, within the Draconian Kingdom, laughter was notably absent.

The royal capital was cloaked in a silence thick enough to choke, the air heavy with dread and anxiety. Above the gates, battered and barely recognizable, the corpse or whatever was left of it of their once mighty King Drakar hung limply from iron spikes—a gruesome spectacle, a chilling warning to all who dared defy the new ruler. Though to some it was a symbol of a new era...an era of freedom and a chance at prosperity.

Within the shadowed grandeur of the throne hall, nobles, commanders, and ministers knelt solemnly, their heads bowed low in reverence—and fear.

Atop the throne, bathed in shafts of pale crimson light filtering through stained-glass windows, sat Lysandra. The silvery-lavender strands of her hair gleamed softly, cascading over her shoulders like molten moonlight. Her fiery red eyes, now colder than ever, swept across her subjects with a calm, imperious gaze.

"The Final Reckoning quest is not some jest," Lysandra began, her voice resonant yet sharp, each word ringing with chilling certainty. "This threat is real, bigger than anything in our history. I have witnessed the dreadful truth that lies beyond our world's boundaries. Some of the most powerful humans are desperate, and desperate foes do not fight battles they cannot win without having a plan."

A ripple of unease shifted among the kneeling figures.

"We shall not fall victim to complacency. We prepare now for war, or we will suffer annihilation. The man behind the Final Reckoning will end us all if we do not end him first."

General Dar'kon, a battle-hardened draconian warrior, raised his gaze briefly. "Your Majesty, can the humans truly threaten us to such an extent? All we have to do is take out the Hunter who triggered it before more Hunters can enter."

Lysandra met his eyes unflinchingly. "If it was so simple, I wouldn't be here talking to you all. Remember, this will be our final war against the Hunters. I command you all to forget past hatred and rivalry not only amongst yourselves but also against any race, clan or kingdom in our world. We all have to be united if we are to win this war. Those who do not want to heed my orders may execute themselves right here and now."

A deathly silence took over as everyone stood still with their heads low, glancing at each other though none raised their heads.

Bowing his head deeply, Dar'kon replied solemnly, "Forgive my insolence, my Queen. Your command is absolute. Our armies will march at your order."

"Then ready yourselves," Lysandra concluded, her voice colder than frost. "War is upon us."

—

Far from Draconian borders, the lands of the Rhogart Continent seethed with a dark, foreboding power. The land itself seemed alive, pulsing ominously as if it could sense the imminent awakening of something ancient and terrifying.

At the heart of this darkness, thousands of werewolves sat cross-legged, their bodies drained and gaunt, their eyes closed as they channeled their life force into a colossal blood-red array. Radiant crimson threads of mana stretched out, winding their way upward, spiraling into the tower—an ancient structure standing like a sentinel, holding within its heart the terrible weapon known as the Void Reaver.

Inside the tower, a soft yet ominous glow enveloped everything. Radiant blue and white veins pulsed along the obsidian walls, humming faintly with a power that felt disturbingly alive. At the center, embedded within a gleaming pedestal, the Void Reaver shone darkly, its dark crimson aura blazing brighter than ever.

Before it sat Luna, her eyes closed in deep meditation, opposite her grandfather Lupus. Suddenly, Luna's calm face twisted into a mask of shock, her breath hitching sharply as she opened her eyes, filled with fear.

Her gaze snapped urgently to her grandfather. Through their mental link, her voice rang out with quiet desperation. "I-I just had a brief glimpse of what is going to happen... You have to stop this!"

Lupus opened his eyes slowly, his ancient, blood-red irises calm, almost serene. His response came gently, yet firmly. "You said it yourself, Luna. It was but a mere glimpse. You cannot see the full truth yet."

Luna shook her head, her voice trembling with disbelief and dread. "You know exactly what's happening, don't you? You misled me. You said we were doing this to save our world, but this...whatever sleeps here is pure evil! Once awakened, none of us—not even a peak Soul Tyrant—could control it. Least of all you, grandfather, in your current state."

Lupus's calm faltered slightly, eyes filling with desperation, a stark contrast to his typically unshakable demeanor. "I understand your fear, Luna, but you must trust me. Yes, he is evil, ancient, and terrifying—but he is a necessary evil. Trust me, child. If you don't, all we cherish, including the people you love, will perish."

For a moment, Luna hesitated, torn between dread and her grandfather's pleading words. The weight of the world seemed crushingly heavy upon her shoulders. But before she could respond, a deep, unsettling voice reverberated throughout the chamber, shattering their secrecy.

"Communicating in secret, are you, mortals?"

Luna stiffened, her heart pounding, fear surging through her veins. Lupus immediately regained his composure, his expression turning reverent, humble as he looked upward toward the source of the voice.

"My granddaughter is young, impulsive, and misguided, Sovereign," Lupus spoke aloud this time, his voice steady yet deferential. "She feared you might seek our destruction. I merely explained to her that our actions are guided solely by our unwavering loyalty and devotion. We seek your favor and eternal protection, O Immortal Sovereign."

The oppressive silence that followed was almost suffocating. Luna could barely breathe under the pressure, her heart thunderous within her chest.

The voice came again, its presence overpowering, ancient, and cruelly amused. "Nothing is eternal, Lupus... But when I rise once more, your wish shall be granted. Your world will taste my mercy—until I tire of its flavor."

"We will make sure it won't happen," Lupus calmly reassured.

Luna's heart froze in her chest, her blood turning to ice. Fear gripped her entirely, yet her mind raced, desperately searching for any possible way to undo what was already set in motion. But as the last echoes of that terrible voice faded away, she realized with bitter finality:

It was already too late.