The Demon King reeled.
In his vast crimson throne room, rivers of molten blood carved channels through blackened stone. The air itself screamed, thick with sulfur, magic, and despair. He had ruled here since the dawn of sin. This realm, his infernal domain, bent to his every thought and whim.
And yet now, it crumbled.
His skeletal fingers, wrapped in charred flesh, trembled as he looked upon the lone figure walking through the ruins of his court, a man in tattered silver armor, his gray cloak burnt and frayed, his once-polished knight's crest now blackened beyond recognition.
The Demon King had faced countless heroes across eternity. None had reached him. None had endured.
Except this one.
The mortal's eyes were colorless, empty wells that no longer reflected life. His armor was dented and caked in ash, his blade stained with the blood of demons and monsters alike. And yet he walked with the same quiet determination he had shown since the first day he entered this hell.
"Submit, mortal," the Demon King's voice rumbled, echoing through the chasm of eternity. "You have no comrades left. You have no home left. I can grant you dominion here. Take my offer, and you shall be my right hand, the Demonic Knight of the Abyss."
Leon Drayven did not respond.
He kept walking, his sword dragging against the black marble floor, leaving sparks in its wake.
The Demon King's expression twisted into disbelief. "You defy me? You have slaughtered your way through my armies, through legions of horrors beyond your reckoning, and yet you refuse my gift? Foolish mortal! You could transcend death itself!"
Leon finally looked up. His voice was calm, weary, and laced with venom.
"For someone called the 'Demon King,' you talk too much."
The Demon King's roar shook the realm. His wings unfurled, blotting out the crimson sky. Infernal runes ignited behind him, drawing on the very essence of hell. "You DARE."
"[Infernal Sever]."
A whisper, and then a slash.
A surge of black and crimson light split the horizon. The Demon King's words were drowned by the explosion of his own collapsing magic. His body, both flesh and spirit, was consumed by Leon's strike. For a brief instant, his voice echoed through the flames, raging, promising vengeance.
"You cannot end me here! I am the abyss! I am—"
And then there was nothing.
Only silence.
Leon lowered his sword and exhaled, a hollow, tired breath that carried fifty years of battle and loss. He could no longer tell how many he had killed, or how many times he had almost died. All he knew was that the war was over.
The realm began to break apart. The walls of hell collapsed inward, the sky tearing open as if reality itself wanted to erase this place.
Leon looked around. The bodies of his fallen comrades, or what remained of them, were scattered across the field of ash. He could still hear their voices, faint and distorted, whispering from the shadows.
"Keep fighting…"
"You're the captain now…"
"I leave the rest to you…"
"Captain… live."
He didn't answer them.
He just walked, toward the faint glimmer of green light shimmering in the distance.
The portal.
He didn't know how long it had been since he last saw the sun, or grass, or the color blue. His sense of time had long been devoured by this endless inferno. But that portal — that small, trembling shimmer, was home.
Or whatever was left of it.
Leon Drayven, the last of the Hell Crusaders, once a nameless [Squire], now a Level 999 [Hell Knight], stood at the edge of the abyss he had conquered.
He looked back one last time. The spectral forms of his fallen knights stood behind him, saluting in silence. Leon's throat tightened.
"...We won," he whispered. "Rest easy, everyone."
They saluted once more before fading into dust.
Leon felt his tears going down his cheeks as they all fully disappeared.
"Goodbye."
Leon stepped into the portal.
'Finally, I'm back home.'
[YOU DEFEATED THE DEMON KING AND SAVED THE WORLD!]
[REWARD: RULER OF ABYSS]
[EXP: +999999999999999]
[LEVEL UP!]
[Leon Drayven: Hell Knight Level 1000(Max)]
'What kind of reward is this? Well, whatever, I don't care, I just want to rest.'
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted.
A circle of robed figures surrounded him, their voices rising in manic reverence.
"My, my, my! Another envoy of the Abyss! How glorious!"
Leon's instincts flared instantly. His hand went to his sword.
Cultists.
Their leader, an old man with a mad grin, stepped forward, clutching a staff adorned with skulls. "You have come in answer to our prayer! O blessed servant of our lord, the Demon King."
Leon's eyes sharpened.
Demon King.
So this was a summoning ritual. They had opened the same gate he used to escape, trying to bring the Demon King back into the world he'd just saved.
Disgust burned through him.
He spoke, his tone low and cold. "You idiots."
Before they could react, Leon vanished.
A streak of black light tore through the chamber, one, two, ten, and then silence.
The cultists' bodies fell apart in pieces before their screams could reach the air. Blood pooled beneath his boots. Only their leader remained, frozen, trembling.
"Y-you're no envoy… what are you!?"
Leon's gray eyes met his. "Your executioner."
The cultist raised his staff, chanting, "I am a level 80 [Dark Mage]! You will—"
One swing.
The man's head rolled to the floor.
Leon exhaled, brushing specks of blood from his armor. "Still weak. Humanity's gone soft."
He looked around. The room was filled with notes, runes, and forbidden tomes, all detailing their insane plan to revive the Demon King.
His jaw tightened. He clenched his fist, trying to suppress the surge of fury rising in his chest.
"I came home for peace," he muttered, sheathing his sword. "And this is what I find."
He sighed. "Fine. One more cleanup, then."
'Damn cultists.'