"To think I was saved by a human…"
Zephyra muttered, her voice heavy with disgust as she paced back and forth in the crumbling ruins of an ancient dungeon.
Her crimson eyes burned with frustration, her claws tapping rhythmically against the stone wall as she thought of her humiliating defeat.
"Next time I see him, I'll kill him with my own hands."
The taste of failure lingered bitterly in her mouth. Though she had lost the battle, the war wasn't over—not yet. Her attack had sent a message to the world: the demons had returned.
This revelation had forced other demons to rise from the shadows, uniting under their respective commanders. Zephyra's retreating forces whispered amongst themselves, wondering who the mysterious figure was that saved their leader during the battle.
Elsewhere, far deeper in the ruins, other elite demons stirred. Each commanded their own armies, biding their time, scheming their next moves.
Among them was Nyaxara, the strongest of the elite.
Nyaxara sat silently in the heart of the ruins, her domain where the winds never rested. The room swirled with an unending tempest, the howling of air creating a symphony of chaos.
She was striking in appearance—1.6 meters tall, her delicate figure at odds with her immense power. Two elegant, spiraling horns curved from her temples, their shape reminiscent of the wings of a dove.
Her long robes seemed alive, rippling and shifting as though stirred by an invisible storm. Symbols of storms and tempests glowed faintly along the fabric, pulsing with her every movement.
She was over five hundred years old, the eldest of the elite demons, and the most cunning. Her power, 'Tempestuous Control', allowed her to command the winds and storms with unmatched precision.
She had remained in the shadows, guarding the lifeless body of the Demon Lord, who slumbered eternally.
But Nyaxara had found a way to awaken him.
Her hand brushed the ancient markings etched into the stone altar before her, her piercing silver eyes scanning the runes. The writings confirmed her theory: the Demon Lord's slumber had been sealed by the sacrifice of a hero.
To undo the seal, another hero had to be sacrificed in return.
For centuries, she had waited. She watched from the shadows as new heroes were summoned to this world, each bearing the potential to become the key to her master's resurrection. Now, the wait was over.
"They'll be strong," she whispered to herself, her voice soft yet laced with menace.
"But not strong enough."
She turned to the demons gathered in the vast hall. Hundreds of them knelt before her, the faint glow of their eyes casting an eerie light in the dim chamber. The winds surged as she raised her hand, commanding their attention.
"The time has come," Nyaxara announced, her voice carrying through the tempest like a thunderclap.
"The heroes have revealed themselves. We will strike, and I will take one of them. With their life, we shall awaken our lord!"
A deafening roar erupted from the gathered demons.
Nyaxara allowed herself a rare smile, though it was as cold as the winds she commanded. She turned away, her robes swirling like a cyclone as she began to plan her assault. She would lead her army to Alderoth, where the heroes had retreated.
In her mind, the image of her master—his immense, dormant power—was all the motivation she needed.
"Their light will fade," she murmured, "and the storm will consume them."
The heroes had finally completed their rigorous training. Each of them had unlocked every spell in their respective magic classes, but they knew raw power wasn't enough.
What they lacked now was experience—how to wield their newfound strength in the chaos of real battle.
Meanwhile, the King of Aeldrath was consumed with worry. The devastating loss of 750 knights in the last battle had left the kingdom vulnerable. The remaining 250 knights weren't enough to protect the land if the demons launched another attack.
The thought kept him restless, and he acted swiftly to bolster the city's defenses, recruiting more soldiers and fortifying the walls of Alderoth.
Yet, despite his efforts, an unshakable feeling of dread lingered—almost as if he could sense the storm brewing on the horizon.
Far from the city, Nyaxara was already on the move. Her army was vast: 1,200 demons of varying strengths marched under her command. Among them were 100 mid-tier demons with enhanced abilities and 500 carefully chosen monsters.
The monstrous ranks included 20 massive ogres, each wielding enormous battle axes that could crush walls and split stone.
Nyaxara herself led the charge, seated atop a colossal horse-like creature with fiery red eyes and a body covered in jagged, armor-like scales. Her tempestuous power swirled around her, bending the wind to her will as her flowing robes seemed alive with the storm.
Her singular goal was clear: to capture one of the heroes alive.
As they marched, their thunderous footsteps echoed through the land. Villages in their path lay silent and abandoned, the inhabitants fleeing in terror. The army moved with purpose, unrelenting and fearsome, as they closed the distance to Alderoth.
By the time news of the demon army reached Alderoth, the city had already begun bracing for the attack. The atmosphere was tense as the citizens scrambled to safety.
Women clutched their children, running through the cobblestone streets toward the fortified inner sanctum. The cries of frightened townsfolk filled the air as knights and mages rushed to their positions.
For the first time in 500 years, Alderoth was under threat from a full-scale demon assault.
The city had its defenses ready. The grand gate of Alderoth stood tall, a towering structure of reinforced stone, flanked by enormous walls.
Behind the gate, an army had been assembled—a staggering 5,000 knights, 2,000 mages, and a scattering of adventurers who had volunteered to fight for free. They outnumbered the demon forces six to one, and morale should have been high.
Yet no one underestimated the enemy this time.
At the forefront stood the five heroes, fully equipped and battle-ready. They had learned from their past mistakes. This time, they were prepared to give it everything they had.
Max adjusted his twin blades, their edges gleaming in the sunlight. Leo stretched his fingers, summoning frost to his palms in preparation.
Mei's spirits hovered faintly beside her, glowing with newfound strength. Mia, her hands glowing with radiant energy, silently prayed to focus her light magic.
And then there was Xender, standing just slightly behind them.
He eyed the approaching demon army from beneath his hood, his thoughts guarded.
"Another elite demon," he muttered, recognizing Nyaxara at the head of the army.
Her aura was overwhelming, even from a distance.
"What does she hope to accomplish with those numbers?" he thought, his eyes narrowing.
Xender knew better than to underestimate an elite demon, even if they were outnumbered. But he had his own plans. He needed to participate just enough to appear helpful, yet not so much as to expose his true power.
The demon army halted 500 meters from the city walls, their ranks a sea of monstrous shapes and glowing red eyes. The air grew heavy, charged with tension as the knights held their formation. On the walls above, mages prepared their spells, their hands glowing with magic.
Nyaxara dismounted her beast, her robes billowing around her as she walked to the front of her army. She raised one delicate hand, and the winds around her roared in response, silencing the murmurs of her soldiers.
"Humans," she called out, her voice carried by the wind.
"Your time has come. Surrender the heroes, and I may show mercy. Resist, and I will bring the storm upon you."
Her words hung in the air, met only by the silence of the human army.
On the other side, Max gripped his blades tightly, his muscles tensing as he stepped forward.
"We're not falling for that," he growled.
"Good," Nyaxara whispered to herself, a cold smile creeping across her lips.
"I was hoping for a fight."
The battle was moments away. The ground seemed to tremble as the two armies stared each other down.
The heroes, the soldiers, and even Xender—all braced themselves for what was to come.
This wasn't just a fight for Alderoth. This was a fight to survive.