Three days passed since the false calm. The palace had just begun to recover—the wounded healed, the soldiers reassured—when the horn of war sounded again.
Sir Aldren stood at the western wall, scanning the horizon as the sound of footsteps rushed through the courtyard below. His eyes darkened when he saw the messenger sprinting toward him, face pale and armor blood-stained.
"They've returned," the messenger gasped. "The Demon King's army has launched another assault on the northern border!"
The words hit like a hammer.
Sir Aldren turned to the hero, who was already gripping his sword. "So soon…?" the hero muttered. "He didn't even give us a week."
"No," Aldren said grimly. "He's not finished yet."
The two men exchanged a silent understanding—there was no time to rest, no time to prepare. The knights assembled in formation, the sound of steel clashing and hooves striking against stone filling the air.
Within the hour, they rode again.
---
By the time they reached the border, smoke had already swallowed the skies. The once-green fields were reduced to ash, and the air shimmered with demonic energy. The hero could barely see through the haze.
And then, through the flames, he saw him.
The Demon King—standing tall amid his army, his black armor gleaming like obsidian under the fiery light. His eyes burned like dying stars.
"So," the Demon King's voice thundered across the battlefield, echoing like a god's curse. "The summoned hero returns."
The ground trembled as the two armies clashed once more.
Steel met claw. Magic tore through the air in violent bursts. The hero charged forward, cutting down demon after demon, his blade glowing with the holy light bestowed by the Priestess. Sir Aldren fought beside him, his every strike carrying decades of experience.
But the Demon King was everywhere. His presence alone bent the battlefield to his will—shadows shifting, fire bending around his command.
For six days, the war raged.
Neither side yielded. Neither side rested.
Every sunrise brought more blood, more smoke, more screams.
By the sixth day, the ground itself had begun to crumble from the sheer power unleashed. The rivers boiled, and even the clouds above darkened, as if the heavens refused to witness what was happening below.
And then, everything changed.
---
The Demon King raised his hand, his voice a whisper carried by the storm.
"Souls of the fallen—heed my call."
A low hum filled the air, rising into a scream.
The hero froze as he saw the bodies of both demons and humans begin to glow with eerie blue light. The souls lifted from their corpses like wisps of fire and swirled into a massive vortex above the battlefield.
"Sir Aldren!" the hero shouted. "What's he doing?!"
Aldren's face turned pale. "Something forbidden. Something ancient."
The vortex expanded, twisting into a spiral of shadow and light. The ground cracked open beneath them as a portal began to form—black and red energy swirling like liquid fire.
The Demon King stepped back, spreading his arms. "From beyond the realms of gods and mortals… awaken."
The air shattered like glass.
From within the portal, something emerged—something that should not exist.
It wasn't a creature. It wasn't even alive in the way they understood life. It was wrong, as if reality itself struggled to hold its form. Its body was ever-shifting—a storm of color and darkness, a thousand eyes blinking in and out of existence. Its voice was a chorus of whispers, all speaking at once in languages no human could comprehend.
Sir Aldren fell to one knee, gripping his chest. "That… thing… it doesn't belong here…"
The hero could barely breathe. "What is it?"
"A being from the Outer Realms," Aldren managed. "Beyond gods, beyond death—it can control time, space… even reality itself."
The Demon King turned toward the hero. "You wished to be a savior," he said, his voice calm, almost sorrowful. "Then save your world from this."
With that, the Demon King vanished in a cloud of black fire—leaving the battlefield to the creature.
The hero barely had time to react before the monster struck.
A single motion, and the world bent. The sky fractured into shards of light. The ground beneath his feet dissolved into nothingness. He swung his sword, but his blade passed through empty air—the creature wasn't bound by space, it was space.
A pulse of energy erupted from its core, hitting the hero square in the chest. Pain exploded through his body.
"Hero!" Sir Aldren shouted, but before he could reach him, another wave of distortion burst forth. The knights screamed as the world twisted, warping their bodies and minds.
The hero fell to his knees, the world spinning. His vision blurred—colors bleeding into one another. He tried to stand, to fight—but the next blow sent him into darkness.
The last thing he heard before everything went silent was the sound of Sir Aldren's sword hitting the ground.
---
When the hero opened his eyes, the sky was clear. The smoke was gone. The battlefield—quiet.
He groaned, forcing himself upright. Pain shot through every muscle.
Bodies lay scattered across the field, but there was no sign of the creature. No distortion. No broken reality. Just silence.
He turned—and froze.
He saw the church banners fluttering in the distance. Dozens of priests and priestesses had arrived, tending to the wounded, their healing light shimmering across the plains.
And at the center of them all… stood the Priestess.
Her golden veil caught the morning sun as she moved gracefully among the injured, her hands glowing with divine magic. Not a trace of exhaustion in her posture. Not a speck of blood.
The hero blinked, confusion flooding his mind. "How… long was I out?"
A familiar voice answered him. "You're awake!"
He turned to see Lulu, the young priestess, hurrying toward him with a relieved smile.
"Lulu," he said, steadying himself. "What happened? Where's the monster? The thing that came from the portal?"
Lulu tilted her head, puzzled. "Monster? What monster?"
"The one the Demon King summoned!" he said, his voice rising. "It—destroyed everything! I fought it myself! It hit me and I blacked out—"
Lulu frowned softly. "When we arrived, there was no monster here, Hero. Just the aftermath of battle. You and Sir Aldren were both unconscious when we found you."
He shook his head in disbelief. "That's impossible. I saw it with my own eyes!"
"Maybe you were dreaming," Lulu said gently. "You took a terrible hit."
He stepped closer, his tone desperate. "No! I'm telling you it was real! Ask the Priestess—she must have seen it!"
Lulu hesitated. "Her Majesty was the first to arrive here," she said slowly. "But… she didn't say anything about a monster. She only said that you and the others had fallen unconscious during the battle. She healed you herself before we came."
The hero stared at her, speechless. "She didn't see it?"
Lulu shook her head. "She said nothing of the sort."
He looked around the battlefield again. No trace of the creature. No warped space. Not even the faintest mark of its existence. It was as if it had never been there.
A cold realization crept into his chest.
If the Priestess truly arrived first… and there was no monster left when she did… then what happened in the time between his fall and her arrival?
Did she fight it?
Or—did she erase it?
The questions swirled endlessly in his mind, but he knew he would get no answers from her.
The Priestess turned her veiled gaze toward him across the field, as if sensing his thoughts. Even from a distance, he could feel her eyes—or whatever lay beneath them—watching.
Then she turned away.
---
By dusk, the survivors began their journey back to the capital. The hero walked among them, silent. Sir Aldren, still recovering, rode beside him.
"You should rest," Aldren said quietly.
"I'm fine," the hero muttered.
But he wasn't. His mind wouldn't stop replaying the battle—the creature, the distortion, the impossible power. And how, when he awoke, the only thing that remained was the calm smile of the Priestess, standing over the ruins as though nothing had happened.
He looked back once more, at the now-silent battlefield disappearing behind them.
He knew what he saw was real. He knew.
But if even the Priestess denied it—then what kind of truth was she hiding?
And why did he have the growing feeling… that she already knew that creature long before it appeared?