Splurt—!
A fresh stream of blood gushed from the demon lord's mouth, staining the ground below in deep red. He gnashed his teeth in frustration, his eyes burning with disbelief.
'How…? How could I… the mighty demon lord… be reduced to this pathetic state?' He mumbled inwardly.
The thought gnawed at his pride more deeply than any wound.
He could have accepted death at the hands of the hero—Terry, with his divine spear and ridiculous strength.
That would've at least been an end worthy of a powerful demon like him. But to fall to a no-name? A trembling weakling with nothing but two daggers and a weak transformation skill?
'Humiliating… utterly humiliating…'
His hands trembled as he forced himself to breathe, his chest straining with each inhale.
In truth, he had already been close to death from the moment Terry struck him with that final blow.
The illusion of his strength—his overwhelming aura—was nothing more than a desperate trick.
A mirage, conjured by pouring every last drop of his mana into a complex veil of deception.
To keep up appearances, he'd used the last of his energy to cast the Cloud of Confusion—a wide-range darkness spell that sent every warrior's mind into chaos.
It made them see false enemies, twisted friends, and illusions of power. It made them believe he was untouched. Unstoppable.
It worked.
For a while.
Even as he lay broken, bones shattered and veins burned out, the humans slaughtered each other under the illusion that he still stood strong.
'I was so close…' He thought, his fingers clenched into the dirt.
'If only this stupid weakling hadn't ruined it… if only he hadn't pierced my fake defense so easily—'
He coughed again, and blood poured from his lips. He looked up with barely-open eyes, his glare filled with malice.
"H-How dare you…" He choked out, his voice ragged and hoarse.
Riley stood above him, his massive crimson form casting a long shadow over the fallen demon lord.
His fanged mouth opened slightly, and from his wolf-like snout, a muffled growl escaped.
"Fuh… Mr… Terree… fuh… humanees…"
The words were barely intelligible, as he couldn't T speak properly when transformed into his werewolf form. But the intent was clear.
Riley's eyes kept burning with rage.
He leapt, pouncing upon the demon once again.
SLASH! CHOMP! THUNK!
Teeth sank into flesh, and claws tore across skin and bone. The demon lord didn't even scream. He simply lay there, unable to move, to resist, to retaliate.
He was already beyond his limit.
CRUNCH.
Riley bit through his face. CRACK. He tore through the skull. CHOMP. The heart followed next.
Within seconds, the once-feared demon lord—terror of humanity for so many years—was reduced to nothing more than a mangled corpse. His head was gone. His chest hollowed.
Riley exhaled, long and tired, his fury having ebbed away with the last strike.
He slowly rose to his feet, blood dripping from his fangs.
The crimson fur covering his body receded, claws shrinking, muscles thinning down.
Within moments, the monstrous form gave way to the familiar black-haired man beneath.
He staggered slightly, still panting.
"I… I killed the demon lord," he whispered.
But then, his gaze swept over the field of corpses. Not a soul stirred. Not a cry, not a groan. Just silence… and smoke.
"…but there's no one left."
He stared blankly for a moment, then turned to walk away—slowly, step after step, dragging his tired legs across the stained soil.
FWOOSH—!
A sharp sound tore through the air.
SHUNK!
A dark gleaming sword suddenly pierced cleanly through Riley's back, bursting out from his chest.
Its blade sizzled with foul energy, which rapidly spread across his body.
"Ghhk—!" Riley gasped, his mouth filling with blood as he dropped to his knees, before collapsing on the ground.
The pain surged through his body like lightning.
But somehow, he turned. With what little strength he had left, he forced himself to roll over, his vision fading into blur.
There.
Just beyond the haze.
The demon lord's severed body still lay broken, but one arm was outstretched… trembling… with a swirling black liquid hovering just above his palm.
Even in death, it seemed that the demon lord refused to let him go scot free.
Riley stared at him with hazy eyes.
Then… he smiled.
'Maybe… this is for the best,' He thought to himself.
His vision flickered.
Then went dark.
And Riley… died.
***
BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!
A loud, jarring alarm blared beside him, and Riley's eyes flew open.
He gasped for breath like a man who had just clawed his way out of the grave. His heart pounded violently in his chest as he jolted upright, hands instinctively patting his chest, his stomach, his sides—everywhere.
To his surprise, he felt… nothing.
No sword. No searing pain. No blood. No torn flesh.
His breaths came in short bursts as he stared down at his own body, still shocked to find it… whole.
"I—I was dead…" he mumbled, voice trembling.
His memories were still crystal clear. He remembered the black sword that pierced through his chest.
He remembered falling, the pain, the darkness.
He remembered the demon lord's hand raised in defiance, that swirling mass of death energy—
'I… died.'
The thought echoed in his mind. He hadn't just been close to death, he had indeed died, and he knew it.
It had happened just seconds ago. He could still feel the burn in his chest where the blade had gone through, still remember the taste of blood in his mouth.
But now… now he was here.
He looked around, blinking rapidly, confused by the setting.
He was lying on a narrow bed with faded gray sheets. The walls around him were cramped, the ceiling low.
On the far wall were strips of torn wallpaper clinging stubbornly to plaster, most of them yellowed with age.
A rickety wooden chair sat in the corner, leg uneven, and a cracked window filtered in a hazy morning light.
It was familiar. Too familiar.
His breath caught in his throat.
'This… this can't be…'
He swung his legs off the side of the bed and slowly stood, wobbling slightly. His feet pressed against the cold wooden floor as he made his way across the room toward the wall-mounted mirror.
It was fractured—thin cracks webbing out from the center like a spider's web—but it still served its purpose.
And the moment Riley looked into it… he froze.
Staring back at him was a slim young man—no older than nineteen—with messy black hair that framed a narrow face. His eyes were deep pitch black, rimmed with uncertainty and disbelief.
'That's… me,' he thought, stepping closer.
His vision felt a little fuzzy, and he turned his head toward the bed again. There, sitting casually on the sheets, was an old, beat-up pair of glasses.
His hand trembled slightly as he picked them up and slid them onto his face.
His vision clarity returned, and his breath hitched.
The reflection sharpened—same messy hair, same pale skin, same slightly crooked nose from that one stupid fall during training. Everything… exactly the way it used to be.
He stumbled back a step, staring at his own reflection as if it were someone else's.
'How… how is this possible?' he thought, mind spiraling.
His fingers clenched tightly around the wooden frame of the mirror.
'I'm back…'
This was his room. From before. From years ago.
The place where it all began.
A trembling breath escaped his lips as his eyes widened even further.