Cruelty

War Zone—Persepolis

Each life extinguished brought a twisted grin to Iblis's face. For over six months, war had ravaged the land. His demon army slaughtered all in their path—the innocent, the traitorous, the helpless. No settlement stood for long; every village and stronghold was razed, their inhabitants reduced to nothing more than blood-soaked remnants of a once-thriving world. Those who survived the initial massacre suffered fates far worse—ensnared in Iblis's grotesque amusements, their agony stretching endlessly for his cruel entertainment.

Even among his own ranks, murmurs of unease stirred. His most trusted lieutenants, Draco and Vlad—both infamous for their cunning and brutality—dared not question his commands. They knew the price of insubordination, for in Iblis's eyes, loyalty was no shield. Today's executioner could easily become tomorrow's victim.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Iblis ordered, "Bring in the next one."

A soldier stepped forward but did not present a captive. Instead, he leaned toward Draco, whispering something in hurried urgency. Whatever was said drained the color from Draco's face. His golden eyes flickered—conflicted between dread and fury.

Iblis's gaze sharpened. "What troubles you, Draco?"

Draco hesitated, lips parting, then closing again as if weighing the consequences of his words. But silence was a dangerous game. He exhaled sharply. "It is a personal matter, my lord."

A flicker of irritation crossed Iblis's face. The air within the command tent thickened with unseen malice. Even Draco, who had once stood unfazed before the Emperor of the Mortal Realm, felt his stomach tighten under the weight of the demon lord's aura.

"My wife…" Draco finally admitted, voice tight. "She has escaped the safe zone."

Iblis's grin widened, his amusement evident. "Ah, yes. The pregnant one, wasn't she?" He let out a low, malevolent chuckle.

Draco's jaw clenched, shame creeping up his spine. But Iblis was not done. His eyes narrowed. "And the other news?"

Draco hesitated again, but under the demon lord's scrutiny, hesitation was not an option. He exhaled. "The virgin you impregnated… She attempted suicide."

A stillness settled over the tent—unnatural, suffocating. The very air trembled with the promise of impending destruction.

"She succeeded," Draco forced himself to say. "Despite the black spell cast upon her… she is dead."

Iblis rose to his feet with a slow, deliberate movement. Without a word, he stepped toward the artillery rack and retrieved a flintlock pistol.

"Great lord—" Vlad began, but the gunshot cut him off. The bullet grazed his cheek, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

"Silence."

Another shot rang out. The soldier who had delivered the news collapsed, lifeless, blood darkening the rug beneath him.

Draco remained still, forcing his expression into neutrality, though inwardly he seethed. Another soldier lost to his whims… He stole a glance at Vlad, who was pressing a hand to his bleeding face.

At this rate, Iblis will annihilate us before our enemies even get the chance.

But there was no time to dwell. The next captive was dragged into the tent—a soldier of Amanécer, battered and broken from days of merciless torture. Yet, despite the torment, his lips remained sealed.

"Unfortunate," Iblis mused, crouching before the man. His eyes gleamed with malice. "Tell me, boy—do you truly wish to prolong your suffering?"

The captive gasped, struggling against the weight of an unseen force. He could feel it—an overwhelming, suffocating darkness radiating from the demon lord. It threatened to crush his very soul.

"If you speak," Iblis continued, "I will grant you an instant death. Quick. Painless. But if you persist in your silence… well, I assure you, agony can stretch far beyond your understanding." His voice was almost gentle, mocking.

The surrounding soldiers stood tense, knowing what came next. Any corpse found—friend or foe—became sustenance for Iblis's army. Some were devoured. Others, if their bodies were strong enough, were reanimated as mindless undead, doomed to serve even in death.

The Amanécerian soldier's resolve did not waver. He clenched his teeth, refusing to give in.

Iblis sighed. "So be it."

With a flick of his wrist, he grasped the soldier's head, pouring his dark mana into the weakened body. The captive screamed as his own pure energy resisted, but it was futile. Iblis's aura consumed him, snuffing out the last remnants of his will. Moments later, the body crumpled, lifeless.

"Burn the corpses," Iblis ordered, brushing off his hands as if ridding himself of filth. "We have no further use for them."

Draco gave a stiff nod and left the tent, eager to be away from the stifling darkness.

Iblis turned to Vlad, who still stood near the map. "Prepare for the next attack."

Vlad frowned as he studied the marked location. "My lord… this region is where the volcanic activity is most severe."

"And?" Iblis raised a brow.

Vlad hesitated. "There's… a known passage there. A secret route leading directly into Amanécer's borders."

Iblis's smirk deepened. "Exactly." His fingers traced over the map with satisfaction. "We will use this path… and destroy the first Orb."

Vlad stiffened. "The Orb?" Disbelief flickered in his crimson eyes.

Iblis chuckled. "Patience. All will be revealed in due time."

Vlad bowed, wisely choosing not to press further.

As he straightened, Iblis's voice turned cold once more. "In the meantime… find me another Amanécer virgin. One that looks like that sacrifice that your dead son brought during the ritual."

Vlad met his gaze, already knowing what was coming.

Iblis ran his tongue over his lips, his grin stretching wider. "It's time to make a new vessel."