Miles away, at the main artillery line, the rhythmic thunder of the bombardment was deafening.

  Duke Thorne stood with his arms crossed, watching the smoke rise from the distant southern flank. He was commanding the battery with absolute precision, but his focus was broken by a frantic voice.

  "Father! Stop! You need to stop!"

  Lucia came running through the mud, her white robes stained at the hem. Her face was pale, eyes wide with terror.

  Thorne turned immediately. "Lucia? What is the matter?"

  "It’s Alaric," she gasped, clutching her chest where the light spirit bracelet lay. "His mana... it didn't just spike. It exploded. It feels like he's drowning in something dark. They are definitely in trouble. Something has gone wrong with the infiltration."

  Thorne frowned, looking back at the battlefield. A bad premonition settled in his gut….a heavy, sinking feeling he hadn't felt since a long time.

  "I think we should trust Alaric’s judgment," Thorne said slowly, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. "He told us to keep shelling no matter what. If we stop now, the enemy will regroup."

  Lucia grabbed his arm, her fingers trembling. "Father, please!"

  Thorne looked at his daughter's desperate expression. He sighed, the resolve of a General softening into the concern of a father.

  "I understand," Thorne said. He signaled his personal guard. "I will send the knight order to investigate the situation immediately. I’ll go with them."

  Lucia let out a shaky breath. "Thank you, Father."

  In front of the Command Tent, the air had become heavy enough to crush lungs.

  Alaric stood over Selzer’s body. His mana wasn't just flaring; it was fluctuating with such violent intensity that Grand Captain Bristane fell to his knees, unable to breathe under the pressure.

  Alaric didn't look down at the corpse. He stared straight ahead at the demon.

  "Sir Bristane," Alaric said. His voice was terrifyingly devoid of emotion. "Take Sir Selzer’s body with you and retreat."

  Bristane tried to speak, but his throat seized. He forced his shaking legs to move, crawling toward his fallen commander.

  As Bristane reached for Selzer’s shoulder, Malakor scoffed.

  "Who gave you the permission to move, human?"

  The Demon General raised a hand, pointing a finger at Bristane to finish him off.

  BANG.

  There was a wet thud. Malakor’s hand exploded at the wrist, severed cleanly by a kinetic slug moving at hypersonic speed.

  Alaric stood there, his pistol raised, smoke drifting lazily from the barrel.

  "Hurry," Alaric said to Bristane, not moving his eyes from the demon. "Take him."

  Malakor looked at his stump, blue-black blood dripping onto the dirt. He tilted his head, then looked at Alaric.

  "Human," Malakor rumbled, sounding more curious than in pain. "You do have an interesting toy, I see."

  Alaric’s eyes were dead. "Ugly piece of shit, stop talking."

  Malakor blinked, stunned. Annoyance flickered across his face. "Insolence."

  In an instant, muscle and bone knit together. Malakor’s hand regenerated fully. He flexed his new fingers, glaring at Alaric.

  "You will pay for—"

  Malakor stopped. The human wasn't there.

  WHAM.

  A shockwave erupted against Malakor’s cheek. He didn't even see the kick coming. The force was like a siege ram, launching the massive demon sideways. Malakor flew through the air, crashing through the heavy canvas of the Officers' Tent and destroying the structure in a cloud of dust.

  Behind him, Alaric stood where the demon had been.

  In his mind, the spell sequence had fired in a fraction of a second:

  Confirma: Supreme

  Creo Terra: Light Weight

  Creo Ventus: Gale Boost

  Null Magic Physical Barrier: 20x

  Null Magic Magical Barrier: 20x

  Alaric vanished again.

  His sheer speed broke the sound barrier. BOOM. A sonic boom shattered the glass of the nearby lanterns.

  Malakor was just rising from the rubble when Alaric appeared beneath him.

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  "Up," Alaric whispered.

  He kicked Malakor straight into the sky.

  As the demon hung suspended in the air, Alaric raised both guns. He unleashed a torrent of bullets. The air filled with the roar of gun shots. Malakor’s body was shredded mid-air, chunks of flesh and dark robes raining down like hail.

  The demon crashed into the dirt, a mangled heap of gore.

  Alaric walked over. He didn't wait for regeneration. He grabbed the regenerating neck of the creature, lifting the heavy body up, and stared into the reforming eyes.

  "Where is Marius?" Alaric asked menacingly. "And why are you here?"

  Malakor’s face stitched itself back together. He spat black ichor at Alaric’s armor, the fluid fizzling against the dispersal barrier.

  He didn't speak. His pride as a Demon General would not allow him to be interrogated by a lower life form.

  Instead, Malakor’s eyes began to glow with a collapsing violet light.

  Alaric recognized it instantly. The Singularity. The attack that deatomized anything it touched. The attack that had almost killed him in previously.

  Alaric threw the demon backward to create distance.

  ZZZ-CRACK!

  A of pure darkness shot from Malakor’s eyes, converging on Alaric instantly.

  Alaric didn't freeze this time.

  The beam hit his first barrier. Shatter. The second. Shatter. The tenth. Shatter.

  The twenty layers of Null Magic barrier slowed the near light speed attack by a millisecond, just enough. Alaric twisted his body, the singularity grazing his shoulder plate, disintegrating the metal but missing his flesh.

  He landed in a crouch.

  "Human," Malakor said, standing up as his chest fully healed. "You are strong."

  "Where is Marius?" Alaric repeated, stepping forward. "Why was he not here?"

  Malakor smirked, wiping blood from his mouth. "The Covenant supports the King of this land. Marius Vallen knew you would come. He feared you. So the Covenant petitioned Demon Lord Malzareth for aid."

  Malakor spread his arms.

  "And I was ordered to come here. To dispose of the trash."

  "Where is he?" Alaric demanded. "And who are the Covenant?"

  Malakor laughed, a deep, grating sound. "No matter if I told you, you cannot stop—"

  BANG.

  Alaric vanished and reappeared at point-blank range. He put the barrel of his gun against Malakor’s forehead and pulled the trigger.

  The demon’s head exploded into mist.

  Alaric watched the headless body stagger back. But it didn't fall.

  From the stump of the neck, bone and muscle began to weave together rapidly. A mouth formed first, then a nose, then eyes.

  "You think you can kill me, human?" Malakor sneered as his face returned, fresh and unscarred. "My actual soul resides within Lord Malzareth. I will never die as long as he is alive. I am eternal."

  Alaric holstered his gun and drew his sword.

  "Okay," Alaric said. The temperature in the clearing seemed to drop ten degrees. "Then I will cut you down. Again. And again. And I will seal your living head inside a jar and freeze it. I will bury it in a hole so deep the world will forget you. You can spend eternity staring at the glass until the universe ends."

  Malakor’s laughter vanished. He looked into Alaric’s eyes and saw no bluff.

  The Demon General took a step back. For the first time, he felt panic.

  "Alaric!"

  A voice called out from the edge of the clearing.

  Alaric froze. The voice cut through his rage. He turned his head slightly, his focus breaking for a fraction of a second.

  Duke Thorne had arrived with his knight order.

  SSHHHHK.

  The sound of fabric tearing but a thousand times louder, erupted behind Alaric.

  Alaric spun around instantly, his gun raised, but he was too late.

  Malakor had seized the singular moment of distraction. The Demon General had used his remaining mana to slice a vertical tear in the very air itself, a jagged, swirling portal of purple void.

  He was already halfway through it.

  "You got lucky, human," Malakor hissed, his voice echoing from the other side. "But luck does not last forever."

  "Stop!" Alaric roared, firing a shot.

  The bullet passed through empty space. The void snapped shut, vanishing the Demon General instantly.

  Alaric stood there, his chest heaving, staring at the empty air where his enemy had stood. He clenched his jaw so hard, it felt like a tooth cracked. He had let him slip away.

  Next time, Alaric swore internally, the promise burning into his soul. There won't be a jar next time. I will find a way to kill you. Yes, and I will kill your master, Malzareth. That way you will surely die.

  He holstered his weapon, the cold rage settling into a deep, heavy knot in his stomach.

  He turned fully to Thorne.

  Thorne was staring at the scene….the destroyed tent, the flesh on the ground, and the lingering residue of dark magic. He saw the terrifying fluctuations of mana radiating from his Ward.

  Alaric’s mana dimmed. The oppressive aura vanished, replaced by a crushing weight of grief.

  He bowed deeply, his voice cracking.

  "I am sorry, Your Grace," Alaric said, staring at the mud. "My plan failed. He escaped... and Sir Selzer... he is dead."

  Thorne didn't speak immediately. He looked at the spot where Bristane had dragged the body away. A shadow of immense pain crossed the Duke's face for his friend, but he walled it off behind the mask of a Commander.

  "Selzer was a soldier," Thorne said, his voice steady but heavy. "He always wanted to die a heroic death. Do not make his death in vain, Alaric."

  Alaric trembled. The numbness of shock was fading, replaced by a tidal wave of sadness and anger. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the world apart. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he bit his lip until it bled, forcing them back.

  "Finish the mission," Thorne said sternly. "Make him proud."

  Alaric looked up, nodding jerkily. He couldn't trust his voice.

  Thorne stepped closer, his demeanor shifting to urgent business.

  "Our informants saw an officer's caravan leaving an hour earlier. They were heading South."

  Thorne pointed toward the horizon.

  "The Central Camp is forty kilometers away. Marius wouldn't have reached it yet. He is on the road."

  Alaric’s head snapped up. The grief was momentarily shoved aside by the mission.

  "Go," Thorne commanded. "Finish the job. We will win the war here."

  A spark of hope ignited in the ashes of Alaric’s rage. Marius was still within reach. The man responsible for everything.

  "Yes, sir," Alaric choked out.

  He turned South.

  "Confirma: Overload."

  Alaric’s body glowed with dangerous intensity. He didn't look back at the Duke or the empty space where the demon had been. He launched himself forward, tearing up the ground as he sprinted into the distance, hunting the ghost of his past.