Damien who’d been drifting into unconscious quickly snapped his eyes open. He stumbled as he rose to his feet, his body protesting every movement after the grueling fight.
He nearly fell again but caught himself, leaning heavily against Cerbe, who stood at his side like a steadfast guardian. His vision swam for a moment, and he blinked rapidly, willing himself to stay conscious.
As he steadied himself, he heard the sound of footsteps and chanting. He turned his head and saw a group of townsfolk cautiously approaching.
Their attire was simple—commoners, not fighters—and their expressions held a mix of awe and fear. Damien immediately dismissed them from his mind. There was no time to entertain them; the battle was far from over.
The group continued their approach, their voices rising in reverent chants of gratitude. Damien didn’t acknowledge them further and instead focused on Luton, who had wobbled over to his side. The slime bobbled happily, seemingly enjoying the attention, but Damien remained cautious.
The moment the townsfolk got within a certain distance, Fenrir and Cerbe reacted. Both canines positioned themselves protectively in front of Damien, baring their fangs and emitting low, guttural growls. The hostility in their stances froze the group in place.
The townsfolk exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether to press forward or retreat. One brave soul took a tentative step forward, only for Fenrir to emit a deep, rumbling bark that sent him scurrying back.
Above them, Aquila swooped through the air, its sharp eyes scanning for any remaining demons.
Every now and then, it dove down, talons extended, and plucked a demon off the ground, hurling it far outside the town’s borders. Its screech echoed through the air like a war cry, a constant reminder of the ongoing battle.
Damien knew the truth about demons: they didn’t retreat. Unlike humans, who might surrender or scatter and flee after losing their leader, demons were relentless. They fought to the bitter end, driven by an unyielding hatred for anything not like them.
Even now, the remnants of the demon horde were scattered throughout the town, wreaking havoc wherever they could.
Fires burned in the distance, and the screams of both demons and humans echoed through the air. Damien clenched his fists. The battle wasn’t over—not until every last demon was eradicated.
Damien turned to Luton, who waited obediently by his side. “Store it,” he commanded, nodding toward the massive corpse of the Grade Two demon.
Without hesitation, Luton expanded, its gelatinous form stretching and enveloping the enormous body.
“Ehhn?” The townsfolk gasped audibly, some taking hasty steps backward as the slime shrank back to its original size, the demon’s corpse gone without a trace.
The sight unsettled them further. Whatever they had been about to say or do was forgotten as they stared at the unassuming slime now perched at Damien’s side. None of them dared move any closer.
Damien ignored their reactions and reached down, picking up Luton and placing it atop his head. The slime wobbled happily, as though it had returned to its rightful place.
Damien moved to Cerbe and mounted the three-headed hound with practiced ease. The beast’s massive frame barely shifted under his weight.
Turning his gaze to Fenrir, he issued a sharp command. “Scout the eastern side of the town. Kill anything that doesn’t belong.”
Fenrir growled in acknowledgment, his massive paws thudding against the ground as he bounded away, disappearing into the smoke and chaos.
Damien patted Cerbe’s flank, his gaze turning toward the distant town gates. He knew most of the remaining demons would be there, concentrated near the largest point of entry. If the gate fell, the town would be lost.
“Let’s go,” Damien murmured, and Cerbe roared in response.
As they galloped through the streets, Damien’s eyes fell on the broken sword in his hand. It was a gift from his uncle, Osbourne, and had served him well in countless battles. But now, it was little more than a jagged shard of its former self.
“Thank you,” Damien said softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.
With a sigh, he extended the blade toward Luton. “Devour it.”
The slime wobbled excitedly, its form rippling as it absorbed the broken weapon. Within moments, it was gone, its essence consumed by the ever-hungry Luton.
As Damien and Cerbe approached the town gates, the sounds of battle grew louder.
Clang!!
“Aim for its head!”
“Don’t let it get up!”
“Save me!”
The clash of steel against claw, the cries of wounded fighters, and the guttural roars of demons filled the air.
When they reached the gate, the scene before them was pure chaos. Dozens of demons, ranging from Grade Seven to Grade Five, swarmed the area, their grotesque forms tearing through the defenders.
The town guards and mercenaries fought valiantly, but they were clearly outnumbered.
Damien wasted no time. “Roar, Cerbe,” he commanded.
The three-headed hound obeyed instantly, all three heads opening wide and unleashing a deafening roar. The sound echoed across the battlefield, stunning both allies and enemies alike.
Taking advantage of the momentary pause, Damien leaped off Cerbe’s back and into the fray.
Damien conjured flames in both hands, the fiery orbs casting an orange glow across his determined face. With a flick of his wrists, he hurled the fireballs into the densest cluster of demons.
Boooooom!!
The resulting explosions scattered them like leaves in a storm.
Cerbe charged forward, its three heads snapping and tearing through the demon ranks. Its claws raked across flesh, leaving deep, fatal wounds in its wake.
The defenders, emboldened by Damien’s arrival, rallied behind him. They pushed forward with renewed vigor, cutting down the demons one by one.
Damien fought like a man possessed, his flames scorching everything in his path. One demon lunged at him, its claws aiming for his throat, but he sidestepped with ease and drove a fist engulfed in fire into its chest.
The creature let out a shriek as it crumpled to the ground, its body consumed by flames.
Cerbe, meanwhile, plowed through the demons like an unstoppable force of nature. The hound’s crimson flames lit up the battlefield, creating pockets of destruction wherever it went.
Bit by bit, the tide began to turn.