Order was a fragile thing.
Aldwin understood that better than most.
With Corvus and Gozu gone on their long term mission, the town was left under the protection of Pietrov and Flambe. The puppeteer demon's cursed constructs patrolled the streets in eerie silence, strings of dark energy connecting them to his will. Flambe coiled near the central plaza like a living furnace, his presence alone enough to deter opportunistic threats.
The people slept uneasily.
They trusted Aldwin, but they feared what followed him.
And Aldwin was gone.
He marched east.
Into the territory of the Blood Demon's Claws.
The martial sect had once been a power worth negotiating with. They wielded internal energy, trained techniques, and numbers that rivaled entire towns. Once, Aldwin might have considered diplomacy. Once, he might have respected strength earned through discipline.
Not anymore.
The Blood Demon's Claws had chosen their path when they aligned themselves against humanity's survival. When they preyed on the weak. When they mistook borrowed power for true authority.
Now they were simply obstacles.
Aldwin walked at the front of his strike force, Tidecaller's Staff in hand. To his right marched Hatch, axe dragging against the ground, sparks flickering with every step. To his left strode Damascus, roots tearing furrows through the earth as its massive form advanced. Behind them moved Marrang, the demon swordsman, his giant black blade resting against his shoulder, eyes calm and unreadable.
They did not hide.
They did not rush.
They announced their arrival by existing.
The outer perimeter of the Blood Demon's Claws reacted quickly. Scouts spotted the group and alarms rang out across the compound. Martial artists poured from training halls and watchtowers, internal energy flaring as they formed defensive lines.
A man stepped forward.
He wore crimson robes reinforced with armor plates, his presence heavy with cultivated power. His eyes burned with fury as he assessed the approaching force.
"This is Blood Demon Claw territory," he shouted. "State your intent."
Aldwin did not slow.
"Surrender," he said simply. "Disband your sect. Kneel, and I will spare those who comply."
The man laughed harshly.
"You think demons make you a king," he sneered. "Leave now and we might let you live."
Hatch chuckled.
Damascus shifted, branches creaking.
Marrang rested his hand on his sword.
Aldwin sighed.
"So be it."
He raised his staff.
Water surged from the ground in a violent wave, sweeping through the front lines. Martial artists screamed as they were slammed into walls, their internal energy disrupted by the sheer mass and pressure of the spell.
Hatch charged.
His axe rose and fell in brutal arcs, cleaving through reinforced bodies as if they were paper. Internal energy flared uselessly as demonic strength overwhelmed technique.
Damascus advanced behind him, roots impaling defenders and dragging them screaming into the earth. Demonic treants emerged from the ground, crushing resistance with relentless force.
Marrang moved like a shadow given form.
The demon swordsman did not rush. He stepped, cut, and moved on. Each swing of his blade took a life. Each strike was precise, lethal, and final.
Aldwin walked through the chaos.
Any martial artist who broke through the demons found themselves frozen in place as water condensed around their limbs, crushing bones and extinguishing internal energy with merciless efficiency.
Elders emerged.
The strongest of the sect.
They attacked together, techniques layered and synchronized, internal energy roaring like a storm.
Aldwin switched.
Verakul's physique surged.
He met them head on.
Fists collided with palms. Blades struck his skin and failed to bite. Regeneration erased wounds as quickly as they formed. Aldwin grabbed one elder by the throat and slammed him into the ground, cracking stone and bone alike. Another charged from behind, only to be impaled by a spear of condensed water without Aldwin even turning.
Within minutes, the elders were dead.
Only one figure remained.
The Sect Master.
He stood atop the central platform, robes billowing, internal energy radiating with the intensity of a high level cultivator. His gaze locked onto Aldwin, anger giving way to something closer to dread.
"You are a monster," the Sect Master said.
Aldwin stopped.
"No," he replied calmly. "I am mercy. You rejected it."
He stepped aside.
"Marrang."
The demon swordsman stepped forward.
The Sect Master snarled and launched himself into the air, blade flashing with crimson energy. Marrang met him without a word.
Their clash shook the compound.
Sword met blade. Internal energy met abyssal steel. The Sect Master fought desperately, techniques honed over decades unleashed in rapid succession.
Marrang endured.
He adapted.
The fight dragged on, neither yielding ground. To the watching martial artists, it was a duel between equals.
Then Marrang shifted his stance.
His blade moved once.
The Sect Master froze.
His head slid from his shoulders and hit the ground with a dull thud.
Silence fell.
Marrang cleaned his blade and turned to Aldwin, kneeling briefly before rising.
"It is done."
Aldwin surveyed the battlefield.
The Blood Demon's Claws were broken.
Those who survived fled or surrendered, dropping weapons and begging for mercy that Aldwin no longer offered.
Contribution points flooded in.
Rankings shifted.
Aldwin turned away.