The Demon King's Return (Part 2)

"Is this the Master's plan?" Kergash watched Lanlos, whose aura grew increasingly terrifying under the shroud of Fel, and asked the succubus beside him, who wore a look of pure delight.

For the conquered Darkpine trolls, even Warlord Zul'jin was not enough to be called "Master," but now... the "Master" he spoke of was clearly inseparable from the power behind this succubus.

"Of course." Covering her seductive red lips, Alisa withdrew her gaze from Lanlos and responded solemnly to Kergash's question, "The Master is very satisfied, and your request... will be fulfilled soon."

"But isn't he an enemy?" Kergash had become quite familiar with this aura over time, this demonic presence so powerful it made him tremble; he could not understand.

"Enemy? No, no, no." The succubus laughed, her body trembling with mirth. "Don't you see? He is one of our kind, the Master's tool."

A tool?

A flash of ferocity crossed Kergash's face, but he hid it quickly. He glanced at the Amani trolls charging toward Lanlos, and a grim smile flickered across his face.

There is no reward without sacrifice.

Alisa clearly noticed his subtle movements; the corners of her mouth curled up, and then wisps of green chaotic energy surged beneath her feet, vanishing into the space in an instant. As for Kergash, he had already turned and left with the Darkpine trolls.

"Traitors, come back!" Tregra sensed the Darkpine chieftain's intent, yet before he could pursue, a horrifying roar nearly shattered his eardrums.

"Blood for blood!" Lanlos's voice seemed to come from the netherworld; a single roar was enough to make the nearby Amani trolls collapse, their legs turned to jelly.

Following a sharp whistle of wind, the elf youth wreathed in emerald flames vanished from everyone's sight, only to reappear instantly before a troll.

Pfft!

Sores, the curved blade, tore through the troll's body as easily as if it were tofu. The scarlet blood made the green flames upon the steel dance with joy, instantly crawling onto the troll's body. Cut in half, the troll finally experienced the true meaning of agonizing torment under the searing Fel fire. The shrill, piercing screams reached the heavens, leaving all who heard them trembling.

Soon, his body became like a leaking balloon; in just a few breaths, it withered and dried, turning into a pile of skin-covered bones that crashed heavily into the dirt.

Trolls held a superstitious awe for the soul, and this scene of both flesh and spirit being burned away left everyone in utter horror. Seeing his warriors beginning to waver, Tregra immediately unleashed a battle cry and charged forward without hesitation.

As for Lanlos, having absorbed the troll's soul and life force, the Fel flames upon him burned even more arrogantly and violently.

However, the enemy was no lamb for the slaughter. In the time it took him to savor the kill, Tregra had already reached him, his battle-axe whistling through the air as he hacked fiercely at Lanlos's face.

Clack!

The axe blade easily tore through Lanlos's cloth robes, parting flesh and making intimate contact with the bone, emitting a heart-stopping, crisp sound.

Yet, Tregra felt no excitement. Blood splattered everywhere, only to be licked clean by the green flames in mid-air. This power did not just devour the flesh and soul of others—it did not even spare his own life force?!

Fear took hold in his mind, and accompanied by a sizzling sound in his ears, Tregra realized the Fel flames had crawled up his arm via the hand-axe. The pain, striking directly at his soul, forced him to abandon his weapon and retreat, screaming.

In just a moment of distraction, his right hand had become a blurred mess! Moreover, the twisted flesh continued to wither in the embers; even his vaunted regenerative talent could not resist this power!

"Destroy! Burn!" Like a demon from hell or a devil from the abyss, Lanlos's hoarse voice was heavy, like a hammer striking a war drum. The nearby trolls felt not just their bodies, but their very souls trembling unnaturally.

Deep within the instincts of every living creature lies a primal fear. It is a warning born of an unbearable crisis, an instinct. Yet these hunters, who had spent years crawling through the jungles—a whole group of them—were actually feeling such emotions toward a lone elf? This meant that this enemy was invincible!

"Cowards!" Just as these Amani elites were about to flee, Tregra hacked off his own right wrist with an axe. The pain eclipsed the terror in his heart, and his desperate, guttural roar finally broke through the intimidation that had been crushing his breath. "He's just a white-skinned brat! Kill him! Cut off his ears!"

"For Zul'Aman!"

"Taz'dingo!"

As elites of the Amani, they were actually being scared by a little elf brat?

The trolls, snapping back to reality, let out angry battle cries and turned into streaks of shadows, launching a rapid assault on Lanlos.

However, the latter only let out a demonic, low chuckle before lifting his right foot and slamming it hard into the ground.

BOOM--!

The earth grew restless. The explosive Fel fire centered on his sole, roaring outward and scorching a vast expanse of land into charred blackness in the blink of an eye. Yet, compared to the ground, the trolls' flesh clearly attracted the restless flames far more.

Scorch Earth, the spell Doomguard loved most to torture mortals with. It dealt little damage but covered a vast area; the inextinguishable Fel fire ignited upon contact, slipping through the gaps in armor to bite deep into mortal flesh, gnawing away at the victim's soul and body bit by bit. Belash and his kin had once loved watching their prey wail and roll on the Scorch Earth, and now, Lanlos seemed to understand the significance of this torment and pain.

The Amani trolls, who had been acting so arrogantly just moments ago, all collapsed without exception. The pervasive Fel fire burned their skin mercilessly; every roll or attempt to swat the flames away only served to spread the man-eating demon faster across their bodies.

Unlike the clean and swift demise of Sores, the trolls' flesh churned together under the searing heat. The Fel fire, fueled by the oily substances dripping onto the scorched earth, continued to burn fiercely, driving the trolls to taste even more intense and sharp agony.

The bone-deep pain brought forth wails and howls across the field.

Lanlos stood in place, as if listening to a symphony of the highest beauty. Pleasure spread across his face, gradually drowning his reason.

"For... Zul... Aman..."

Ahead, Tregra, now barely recognizable under the burning Fel fire, dragged his axe with his remaining left hand, stumbling toward him. Lanlos tilted his head to look at him, seemingly unable to understand why a lump of charcoal about to turn to ash could still speak or walk. Soon, this confusion shifted into the only remaining emotion.

No one could stop the vengeance! No one could escape the torment! Burn! Destroy!

Anger, more turbulent than the flames erupting on the Scorch Earth, surged within him. Before the troll could swing his axe, Lanlos kicked him to the ground, and the curved blade, heated until it was nearly melting, plunged into his eye socket like lightning.

"Ah--!"

The blood had barely begun to spray before the thirsty Fel fire greedily swallowed it. It was as if a branding iron had been driven to the root; the pain, piercing from the eye socket deep into his brain, gave Tregra a surge of strength from nowhere to grip the red-hot blade. The more it hurt, the tighter he gripped; the tighter he gripped, the more it hurt. The infinite, escalating cycle made him tear his throat, claw his fingers to the bone, and even rip his heels apart as he kicked in agony.

Yet, what truly terrified him was not this bone-deep pain that left him flayed, but the demon-like grin of his opponent—those eyes that watched the torment and pain with insatiable hunger, that contempt for all life that ignored justice and punishment for the sake of pure amusement.

In all his years of fighting elves, he had never seen such an expression. He was not a living being; he was...

Tregra's hands gradually lost their strength, and his only remaining eye blurred rapidly under the roasting heat of the Scorch Earth. But that expression, which did not belong in this world, that fear and calamity that transcended the soul, was deeply branded into his mind.

His rotting, hoarse throat trembled slightly, and with the last breath in his lungs, he slowly spat out the fear and the pain.

"You... demon..."

The troll's hands lost their strength, slowly falling toward the ground. The Fel fire, having waited for its moment, could no longer be restrained; since its master could no longer enjoy the pleasure of inflicting pain and torment, the remains were for it to consume. By the time the troll's hands hit the dirt, he had already been reduced to a withered, decaying corpse.

Although Fel could devour anything as sustenance, the master's disgust for the troll's flesh meant the remaining carcass was fit only to become burning ash.

However, Lanlos clearly had no mood to pay attention to this now. His originally twisted, perverted expression had vanished, replaced by a blank face filled with doubt and astonishment.

Am I... a demon?

The nearly melted blade was driven deep into the earth, and the air before him twisted incessantly in the high heat. In a trance, Lanlos felt as if the troll, now charred to a cinder by the flames, had opened its eyes once more, staring fixedly at him with pupils filled with endless terror.

Yet, at this moment, beyond the satisfaction of revenge, what he felt most was nausea.

The elf fell silent for a long time before suddenly letting out a faint laugh, which sounded jarring amidst the wailing that still filled the Scorch Earth. It was like lighting a candle in the dead of night—feeble and insignificant, yet it changed everything.

"Well said." The youth gazed at the completely carbonized remains, whispering to himself.

"But this is meaningless." He had no right to be a demon.

The Fel fire that had been clawing and dancing on his body was suddenly drawn as if by a magnet, surging toward his palm like a hundred rivers flowing into the sea. The swirling flames instantly coalesced into a fireball the size of a human head. With a casual flick of his hand, the elf sent the hurtling fireball into the area where the wailing was densest. With a thunderous boom, the erupting Fel fire instantly burned the surviving trolls to ash. Then came the second, the third...

The scorching heat wave spread rapidly, fueled by the ominous fire. The magic power gained from sacrificing the soul of Sores was vented by Lanlos without reservation upon these Amani trolls, leaving only a tiny wisp behind. This was the power of Sores, and this power should be used for vengeance—against that succubus, against that Darkpine Troll Warlock.

"Anar'alah belore, I swear in the name of the sun, blood debts must be paid in blood." Kneeling before the cenotaphs of Fergus and Sores, the bare-chested Lanlos slowly set down the mangled scimitar in his hand, speaking the words softly yet with absolute resolve. At the same time, he felt a sudden lightness; the Fel fire on his body extinguished, and a sense of powerlessness and emptiness surged through his limbs, followed by overwhelming agony.

This body was, after all, not his own; it bore the imprint of another Lanlos. How tyrannical and rampant was the chaotic energy originating from his own soul? Even he, as the master, had nearly lost himself in these negative emotions trending toward chaos, let alone this flesh and blood vessel?

The sensation was as if his internal organs and limbs had been burned to ash and then reborn. The intertwining of sharp pain and numbness carved a deep gash into his brain. Yes, this was not a current sensation, but a dull yet indelible memory signal from his newly formed nerves.

Whether due to this pain or something else, Lanlos suddenly felt his vision blur. He reached out instinctively to touch his face, only to find his hand wet.

He froze for a moment, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. "How old are you? Why are you crying for no reason?"

As he spoke, he raised his hand to wipe away the shameful traces, but the warm tears would not stop. His vision grew increasingly blurred, his cheeks wetter, and his movements became more frantic.

"Disgraceful, disgraceful, disgraceful... I clearly won, I clearly won! Ah—!"

He gripped his eye sockets tightly, as if trying to swallow the tears back through sheer pain, but a breakdown often happens in a single instant.

He wailed and roared, his gray-white hair disheveled over his shoulders, the black ash mixed with tears painting him into a lonely, pathetic wretch. He continued until his throat grew hoarse, his strength vanished into nothingness, and until nothing remained for miles around but that desperate, echoing cry.