Marcel stood firmly in front of the king, his posture like an unyielding shield, sword drawn and held ready. The blade bore intricate, swirling patterns that matched those on the king's armor, each line glowing with a deep green light. Marcel's gaze was sharp, fixed intently on the two figures in the distance, his stance radiating unwavering loyalty and fierce protection.
One of the figures was a demon named Bola. He appeared mostly human, though his shark-like teeth and pointed ears betrayed his true nature. Standing around six feet tall, he wore a long, gray robe that cascaded down to his feet. A thick, knotted rope was wrapped around his waist as a belt, adding a rugged touch to his otherwise mystical appearance. His robe was adorned with leaf-like patterns etched throughout, contrasting against his skin, which was pale as snow. His piercing green eyes glowed against the black of his irises, giving him an eerie, otherworldly stare. On his feet were sturdy chain mail boots, and his forearms were wrapped in chain mail gauntlets, providing a gleam of cold metal against his ghostly appearance.
Beside him stood another demon, Zola. Slightly taller at six foot one, he had a rugged, intimidating look. He wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched over a well-built frame, and blue jeans that gave him a strangely modern yet sinister appearance. Across his chest, his back straps formed an X, adding a functional yet stylish detail to his look. His dark, high-top military boots planted him firmly, ready for a fight. Zola's hands were covered with leather fingerless gloves, each marked with an X symbol that seemed to pulse with energy. His face bore a mess of a beard, and his long black hair fell to his neck, framing his gray, weathered skin. From his forehead sprouted two long black horns, gleaming dully under the forest's filtered light. His eyes glowed with a strange, dark energy that seemed to ripple out from his irises, adding an ominous, almost predatory aura to his stare.
As the two demons advanced, Bola spoke up, his voice oozing with confidence, his eyes gleaming with a sly satisfaction. "King Lionheart III," he began, his tone carrying a mocking politeness, "you've been marked by death. My lord finds your policies… quite displeasing."
The king raised an eyebrow, calm yet wary. "Your lord?"
Bola ignored him, turning his sharp gaze to Marcel as if the king were nothing more than an afterthought. "And you," he said with a cunning smile, "you must be the royal guard. Quite the position, isn't it? We have a proposal for you: kill the king, and we'll see to it that you take his place on the throne."
Marcel's face twisted in disgust, his strong sense of loyalty fueling his anger. His voice rang out, steady yet furious. "How dare you! I swore an oath to protect my king, and I'll uphold it, even if it costs me my life!"
Zola, with his simple-minded bluntness, scoffed, shaking his head. "You're an idiot! You could live a life of luxury, have everyone bowing to you. But no, you'd rather play guard dog to an old man." He grinned, showing a mouthful of sharpened teeth. "Humans really are useless!"
Bola shrugged, feigning disappointment. "Ah, so you choose honor… no, no. You're choosing death." His eyes gleamed with malice as he turned to Zola. "Finish them."
Zola's eyes began to glow with an eerie black light as flames burst from his hand. Raising his arm slightly, he prepared to strike. The king, unfazed but watchful, demanded, "Who is your lord? Is he the one buying slaves in bulk? Is he behind all of this?"
Bola chuckled, his tone mocking. "Oh, poor King Lionheart, always trying to do the noble thing. You're trying so hard, and yet… fate is not on your side." He let out a harsh laugh. "But don't worry, you won't suffer for long."
With a smirk, Zola aimed his hand at the king and unleashed a searing fireball. Marcel stepped forward with his sword drawn, shouting, "Don't underestimate me! I am a royal guard, trained from birth to protect House Lionheart!" As the fireball neared, Marcel swung his sword, slicing the fireball cleanly in half. The flames dispersed harmlessly on either side of him.
Zola didn't seem to care that his attack had been thwarted. He let out a chuckle, then used a minor teleportation spell, appearing directly in front of Marcel. They launched into a fierce exchange, Zola's bare arms clashing with Marcel's sword in rapid succession. Though Zola's hands were sliced and battered by the blade, his wounds healed almost instantly, and he continued pressing the attack with a twisted grin.
Meanwhile, as Marcel was occupied, Bola seized his opportunity to strike the king. Channeling mana into his hand, he released a wind slash from the tip of his index finger, the deadly arc racing toward the king. Marcel, catching sight of the incoming attack, attempted to break away from Zola and intercept it, his mana flaring as he moved. But Zola blocked him, grinning wickedly.
"Leaving so soon?" Zola taunted. Flames erupted from his foot as he aimed a blazing kick at Marcel. At the last second, Marcel managed to bring up his sword, deflecting the attack. The impact caused a small explosion, sending Marcel stumbling back, momentarily dazed. Horror dawned in his eyes as he saw the wind slash hurtling toward the king.
Just as the slash was about to hit, an electromagnetic force field flickered to life around the king, absorbing the attack and dispersing it into harmless particles. The king stood there, completely unharmed, while Bola, Zola, Marcel, and even the king himself looked on in stunned silence, momentarily frozen by the unexpected turn of events.
Alonso emerged from the underbrush, his right arm raised and directed at the king, a smirk on his face. "Ohhh, that was close, wasn't it?" he remarked.
The king and Marcel looked relieved, visibly pleased to see him. Bola and Zola, however, eyed Alonso with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Bola's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Alonso's unusual appearance. "You there," he called out, his voice dripping with arrogance. "What do you think you're doing? what clan are you from?"
Zola's eyes lingered on Alonso's horns, observing the thin layers of frost curling along them and the patches of ice glistening on his skin. "Something's strange about this Oni. What's with the ice coming out of his horns and skin?" he muttered, bewildered.
Alonso shrugged, feigning innocence. "Not sure what you mean. 'Clan,' huh? Are you two… demons, by any chance?"
Bola scoffed, irritation flashing across his face. "Are you serious? You can't tell? You're asking us if we're demons?"
"Nope," Alonso replied, smiling eagerly. "Never met one before. Would be great to get the chance."
Bola's expression turned incredulous. "You're definitely crazy. Look in a mirror! Aren't you an Oni?"
Alonso froze, something clicking in his mind. Of course, he mused to himself, mentally berating his own oversight. An Oni is a type of demon. How did I miss something so obvious? His face reflected a look of mild horror mixed with disappointment, as though he were about to weep over his own lapse in logic.
The king and Marcel exchanged baffled glances, both silently thinking, Now's really not the time for that.
Snapping back to the present, Alonso straightened, his eyes sharpening. "Anyway," he said, his voice brimming with purpose, "I suppose I should thank you both. I've been in need of some test subjects. And you two seem perfect for the job."
Zola growled, channeling mana into his fists. "Enough of your games. Drop the shield around the king! Why would an Oni side with a human?"
Alonso smirked, unfazed. "Feel free to break the force field—if you're able, that is."
Enraged, Zola's hands flared with mana, conjuring a massive ball of flame that blazed so brightly it cast deep shadows across the forest. Just as he prepared to hurl it at the king, Marcel burst into motion with blinding speed, his mana radiating outward and causing the air around him to ripple. The swirling patterns on his sword glowed an intense green as he closed the distance between himself and Zola in an instant, slicing off the demon's arm holding the fireball.
Caught off guard, Zola barely registered the blow before the fireball, destabilized by its creator's lack of focus, detonated with a deafening explosion. The ground quaked, and a crater formed where the fireball had exploded. As the smoke cleared, Marcel had already moved out of the blast's range, unharmed, but Zola was left bleeding and battered, his body covered in charred wounds. Yet, in mere moments, his injuries began to heal, his severed arm regenerating before their eyes. Once whole, he grinned wickedly, his eyes filled with bloodlust. "You'll pay for that."
Marcel and Zola clashed again, each of their movements faster and more ferocious than before. Marcel's sword flashed in precise arcs as he blocked and countered Zola's powerful punches, while Zola's fists, hardened by mana, deflected Marcel's strikes with unnatural resilience.
Alonso watched from the sidelines, keenly analyzing Marcel's abilities. Not bad, he mused to himself, his curiosity piqued. He's skilled, experienced…
Just then, Bola approached Alonso, his face twisted in irritation. "Why are you interfering? Do you understand what you're getting in the way of?"
Alonso's eyes hardened, his tone cold and dismissive. "Enough talking. If you're so eager to fight, then come at me."
Bola's face twisted with irritation, though he struggled to maintain his composure. "If you're a true demon," he said, his voice tight with frustration, "then you should already know who we are."
Alonso, ever curious, tilted his head with feigned innocence. "Actually, I don't. Care to enlighten me?"
Bola's eyes narrowed, his patience fraying. "Oh, you're in for it now. We are part of the 10 Cataclysms," he sneered, emphasizing the title as if it should strike fear.
Alonso raised an eyebrow, pretending to be puzzled. "The 10 Cataclysms? Sounds like a music group." His tone was laced with mockery, clearly trying to provoke Bola.
Bola's face flushed with anger, his voice rising. "How dare you! Throughout the Demon Continent, there's not a single soul who hasn't heard of us—the only demons who serve the fallen angel, Lord Warmonger!" His tone dripped with pride. "The 10 Cataclysms are Lord Warmonger's strongest soldiers, each bearing a title that reflects our cataclysmic power! I am Bola, the Storm Bringer, and he"—he motioned to Zola—"is the Inferno King. Every one of us could destroy an entire country, and there are two of us here. Do you understand what that means?"
Alonso smirked, completely unimpressed. "Oh, I understand. But if you're truly that powerful, then why would your lord send two of you just to take down one king? I guess he didn't have much confidence in you."
Bola let out a dry laugh, his pride bruised. "My lord is a wise and cautious man. He sent two of us to ensure there would be no… surprises. And clearly, he was right to do so." He glanced pointedly at Alonso, sneering.
Alonso shrugged nonchalantly. "So, you're the Storm Bringer and he's the Inferno King. That means you control wind and he controls fire?" He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I hate to break it to you, but that's just basic elemental magic."
Bola's patience snapped, and he clenched his fists, summoning fierce gusts of wind that howled around him. Meanwhile, Zola, locked in combat with Marcel, laughed mockingly. "Looks like that Oni's pushed Bola's buttons. Sorry for him!"
Bola's voice rose to a furious shout, his mana swirling the winds into a tempest around him. "You dare call it 'just magic'? Three hundred years of study, practice, and sacrifice, and you dismiss it as 'just magic'? You arrogant bastard!"
Alonso met Bola's blazing eyes calmly, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Three hundred years, and all you've mastered is a single element? I was hoping you'd show me some unique power, but you're just magicians. How disappointing." He straightened, his tone full of mock encouragement. "Tell you what—since you seem so upset, I'll fight you on your own terms. For you, I'll use only wind. And for your friend over there, only fire. How does that sound?"
A murmur rippled through the field at Alonso's words. Bola's face twisted into a look of disbelief, laughing in anger and annoyance. Zola's eyes narrowed, seeing Alonso as nothing more than an arrogant upstart. Marcel glanced at Alonso, a hint of concern on his face. What is he thinking? he wondered. The king, too, watched in worry. Alonso's main strength was his ice abilities, and he couldn't understand why Alonso would willingly handicap himself.
Bola's lips curled into a snarl. "You're a fool, Oni. You have utterly annoyed me today… and you will regret it." he shouted Zola stop holding back let's kill this fools and get this over with.