The Demon King Returns (Part 2)

"Is this the master's plan?" Kergash watched Lanlos, whose presence grew more terrifying as Fel energy wrapped around him, and asked the Succubus beside him, whose face brimmed with delight.

To the conquered Darkpine Trolls, even Warlord Zul'jin wasn't worthy of being called master. But now... the "master" Kergash spoke of was clearly connected to the power behind this Succubus.

"Of course." Alisa lightly covered her sensual red lips, turned her gaze away from Lanlos, and answered Kergash solemnly. "The master is very pleased, and your request... will be granted soon."

"But isn't he our enemy?" By now, Kergash had grown quite familiar with that presence—the powerful demonic aura that made him tremble. He couldn't understand it.

"An enemy? No, no." The Succubus laughed so hard she swayed. "Can't you see? He's one of us, a tool of the master."

A tool?

A fierce glint flashed across Kergash's face, but he quickly concealed it. He glanced at the Amani Trolls charging toward Lanlos, and a savage smile flickered across his face.

Sacrifice brought rewards.

Alisa had clearly noticed his little movement. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, then tendrils of green chaotic energy welled up beneath her feet. In an instant, she vanished from this space. As for Kergash, he had already turned and led the Darkpine Trolls away.

"Traitor, come back!" Tregra realized what the Darkpine chieftain intended. But before he could give chase, a terrifying roar nearly burst his eardrums.

"Blood for blood!" Lanlos's voice seemed to come from the depths of the underworld. That single roar nearly made the Amani Trolls around him collapse as their legs gave way.

A sharp whistle of wind cut through the air. The elven boy, wreathed in emerald flames, vanished from everyone's sight. When he appeared again, he was right in front of a Troll.

Pfft!

Sores's scimitar tore through the Troll as easily as it cut through tofu. The crimson blood made the green flames licking along the blade dance with delight. In an instant, they climbed over the Troll's body. The Troll, cut in half at the waist, finally learned the searing agony of being consumed by fel fire. His shrill scream shot into the sky, sending shivers through everyone who heard it.

Before long, his body deflated like a punctured balloon. In just a few breaths, he had shriveled into a pile of skin-covered bones, which crashed heavily into the dirt and shattered.

Trolls revered souls with almost superstitious awe. Now, seeing flesh and soul burned away together, they were all horrified. When Tregra saw his warriors begin to falter, he immediately let out a battle cry and charged forward without hesitation.

Meanwhile, having absorbed the Troll's soul and life force, Lanlos's Fel Fire burned even more wildly and savagely.

But his enemies weren't lambs waiting to be slaughtered. While he savored the moment, Tregra had already reached him. His axe whistled through the air as it came crashing down toward Lanlos's face.

Crack!

The blade easily ripped through Lanlos's clothes and flesh, then struck his bones with a crisp sound that made the heart tremble.

Yet Tregra showed no sign of triumph. Blood sprayed everywhere, only to be licked clean by the green flames before it could even reach the ground. This power didn't just devour the flesh and souls of others—it was consuming its wielder's life, too?!

Fear clung to Tregra's mind. As the flames hissed in his ears, he finally realized that the Fel Fire had climbed up his arm from the hand axe. The pain reached straight to his soul. He immediately abandoned his weapon and shrieked as he stumbled backward.

In a mere moment of distraction, his right hand had become a bloody blur! The twisted flesh continued to wither in the embers, and even his vaunted regenerative gift couldn't withstand this power!

"Destroy! Burn!" Lanlos's hoarse voice was as heavy as a demon from hell, or a demon king from the abyss, as though a massive hammer were pounding a giant drum. The Trolls nearby trembled uncontrollably—not only in body, but in soul as well.

Instinctive fear lay hidden within every living creature. It was a warning born of overwhelming danger, a primal response. And now, these hunters, who had spent years surviving in the jungle, were part of a great host—and they were afraid of a lone elf? That meant this enemy was unbeatable!

"Cowards!" Just as the Amani elites tried to flee, Tregra hacked through his right wrist with his axe. The pain drowned out his fear, and his furious roar finally broke through the pressure bearing down on him. "He's just a little white-skinned brat! Kill him, and cut off his ears!"

"For Zul'Aman!"

"Taz'dingo!"

They were Amani elites. How could they be scared of some little elf brat?

The Trolls came to their senses and let out furious battle cries. They became streaks of shadow as they rushed toward Lanlos.

But he only gave a low, demonic chuckle, then raised his right foot and slammed it into the ground.

Boom—!

The earth shuddered. Explosive Fel Fire roared out from beneath his foot, surging outward and scorching a vast stretch of land black in an instant. But compared to the ground, the Trolls' flesh was far more enticing to the restless flames.

Scorch Earth—the Doomguard's favorite spell for tormenting mortals. It did little damage, but its area of effect was vast. The unquenchable fel fire ignited on contact, slipped through gaps in armor, and clamped onto mortal flesh, slowly tearing at both body and soul. Belash and his kin had once loved watching their prey writhe and scream on Scorch Earth. Now, Lanlos seemed to understand the purpose of such torment and agony.

The Amani Trolls who had just been swaggering about all fell to the ground. The all-consuming fel fire mercilessly scorched their skin. Every time they rolled and beat at the flames, they only helped the man-eating fiends spread faster across their bodies.

Unlike Sores's swift, clean death, the Trolls' flesh twisted and bubbled beneath the flames. The Fel Fire fed on the oily substance splattered across Scorch Earth, where it continued to blaze. The flames drove the Trolls to endure an even hotter, more piercing burn.

Pain that drilled into their bones gave rise to ghostly wails across the battlefield.

Lanlos stood in place, as though listening to a beautiful symphony. Delight gradually spread across his face, drowning out his reason.

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

Ahead of him, Tregra was barely recognizable beneath the Fel Fire. With his remaining left hand, he clutched his axe and staggered toward Lanlos. Lanlos tilted his head and looked at him, seemingly unable to understand how a lump of charcoal about to turn to ash could still speak, or walk. Before long, that confusion gave way to the only emotion he had left.

No one could stop his revenge! No one could escape torment! Burn! Destroy!

His fury surged even more fiercely than the flames blazing across Scorch Earth. Before the Troll could swing his battle axe, Lanlos kicked him to the ground and plunged the scimitar in his hand, red-hot and nearly melting, into the Troll's eye socket with lightning speed.

"Ah—!"

Blood gushed upward, but the ravenous Fel Fire devoured it greedily before it could even rise. As if an iron brand had been driven into his eye socket, the agony burrowed into Tregra's brain. Somehow, he found the strength to grip the glowing blade. The more it hurt, the tighter he clung to it; the tighter he clung to it, the more it hurt. The endless cycle tore his throat raw and split his fingers open. Even his heels ripped apart as he kicked wildly.

But what truly terrified him wasn't the piercing pain that left him covered in wounds. It was the fiendish grin on his attacker's face, the eyes that reveled in witnessing torment and agony, and the contempt for all living beings that took pleasure in suffering without fear of punishment.

In all his years fighting elves, he had never seen an expression like that. This wasn't a living being. It was...

Tregra's hands gradually lost their strength. His only remaining eye quickly blurred under Scorch Earth's heat. But that expression, which didn't belong in this world, that terror and calamity transcending the soul, was burned deep into his mind.

His ravaged, hoarse throat trembled slightly. With the last breath left in his lungs, he slowly let out his fear and pain.

"You... demon..."

The Troll's hands lost their strength and slowly fell toward the ground. The Fel Fire had long since been waiting for its chance. Now that its master could no longer enjoy inflicting torment and pain, the flames would have their turn. By the time the Troll's hands hit the ground, he had become a withered corpse.

Although Fel energy could devour anything as sustenance, its master hated Troll flesh. The rest of the body deserved only to become burning ash.

But right now, Lanlos clearly had no mind to care about that. The grotesque expression on his face had vanished, leaving only a blank look of shock and disbelief.

I'm a demon?

The nearly melted blade sank deep into the earth. The air before him wavered in the heat. In a daze, Lanlos seemed to see the Troll, charred by the flames, open his eyes once more and glare at him with an expression of endless terror.

But now, aside from the satisfaction of revenge, he felt mostly disgust.

The elf fell silent for a long while, then suddenly let out a faint laugh. It sounded out of place amid the cries of agony still filling the scorched earth. Like a candle lit in the dead of night, it was faint and small, yet changed everything.

"Well said." The boy looked at the remains, now completely charred to ash, and murmured to himself.

"But it's meaningless." He wasn't qualified to be a demon.

The Fel Fire that had been clawing wildly around him seemed drawn by a magnet. It surged toward his palm like a river pouring into the sea, swirling into a fireball the size of a human head. The elf casually swept his hand, and the blazing ball shot toward the area thickest with cries of pain. With a deafening boom, the explosive Fel Fire reduced the surviving Trolls to ash in an instant. Then came a second, a third...

The scorching heat spread rapidly, propelled by the baleful flames. The magic power gained by sacrificing Sores's soul was unleashed without restraint upon the Amani Trolls, with only a small wisp held back. This was Sores's power, and it should be used for revenge—against that Succubus, and that Darkpine Troll Warlock.

"Anar'alah belore. I swear by the light of the sun: blood for blood." Kneeling before the memorials to Fergus and Sores, bare-chested Lanlos slowly lowered the misshapen scimitar in his hands and spoke those words, soft but resolute. At the same time, he felt his body grow light. The Fel Fire around him suddenly went out. Weakness and emptiness welled up throughout his limbs, followed by pain that swept over him like a tidal wave.

This body wasn't his own, after all. It bore the imprint of another Lanlos. How domineering and unrestrained was the chaotic energy from his own soul? Even he, its master, had nearly lost himself in these negative emotions that pulled him toward chaos. What chance did a body of flesh and blood have?

It felt as if his internal organs and every inch of his body had been burned to ash, then reborn. Pain and tingling mingled, as if a knife had been carved through his brain. Yes, this wasn't pain he was feeling now. It was a signal left behind in his memory, born of new nerves that were still numb but couldn't be erased.

Whether because of the pain or something else, Lanlos suddenly felt his vision blur. He reached up without thinking and found his hand wet.

He froze, then gave a self-mocking laugh. "I'm a grown man. Why am I suddenly crying?"

As he spoke, he raised his hand to wipe away this embarrassing trace. But the warm tears wouldn't stop. His vision grew blurrier, his cheeks wetter, and his hand moved more and more frantically.

"Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic... I won. I clearly won! I won, damn it! Ah—!"

He clutched at his eyes, as though pain could force the tears back down. But collapse often came in a single instant.

He sobbed and roared, his long gray hair disheveled over his shoulders, his face smeared with black ash and tears, making him look like a pitiful, lonely ghost. He kept going until his throat was raw and his strength was gone, until for miles around, nothing remained but the echo of his anguished cries.