SALVADOR'S POV

"Demon and the heir of Nerraw are here. Demon is wounded."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I immediately rushed down the hallway, my heart pounding. As I rounded the corner, there she was—Demon, peeling off her bloodied clothes, her body a canvas of fresh wounds. Some cuts were shallow, others deep, angry slashes. Her back, which had once bore a large scar, now carried the ink of a queen chess piece tattoo. Fitting for her, I suppose. Always the strategist, always in control.

"Prepare her bath and the medicine," Clyde ordered, standing beside her. Unlike Demon, he was unscathed, not a single mark on him. Anger flared in my chest. Did he just stand there and watch her fight alone?

Before I could voice my outrage, Clyde raised his hands in mock surrender, reading my expression perfectly. “Oops, before you jump to any conclusions, let me explain. She ordered me not to interfere, so I didn’t. You know how she gets when disobeyed.” He casually dropped onto the sofa, lounging like he hadn’t just let Demon fight a war by herself. “She went up against fifty armed men, and she fought them off. Unarmed.”

I clenched my fists, frustration boiling over. “You could’ve at least helped—”

"Conan died because he interfered too much in her plans," Clyde cut me off sharply, his eyes narrowing. “And I don’t intend to end up like him.”

Conan. My chest tightened at the mention of his name. Clyde was right, of course. Conan’s love for Demon had cost him everything. He’d stepped into her line of fire one too many times, always trying to protect her, and it had destroyed him. But still, watching Demon like this, bloodied and bruised, made it hard to keep quiet.

"You can't have Hyra," I said suddenly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The moment they left my mouth, Clyde flinched, visibly taken aback.

His smirk returned, though. “You sure about that?”

I smiled darkly, stepping closer. “You’re not Conan. You’ll never be Conan, and because of that, you’ll never have her.”

I left him there, stunned, but I could feel his gaze burning into my back as I walked away. Clyde could play his games, flirt with the idea that Demon—or Hyra, as she used to be known—could ever belong to him. But I knew better. Demon was broken, shattered by the loss of Conan, and no one—*no one*—would ever fill that void.

As I approached Demon’s quarters, I couldn’t shake the image of Clyde’s painful expression. Poor fool. He didn’t understand. I had seen firsthand how Hyra went mad for Conan, the way her whole world revolved around him. Clyde thought he could fill that role, that he could somehow capture her heart. But he was wrong. Conan was the only man Hyra had ever loved, and he would be the only man she ever *would* love.

I knocked gently on the door before entering. Demon was already sitting on the edge of the bath, her body slumped in exhaustion as the steam from the water rose around her. Her eyes flickered to me, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

“You’re reckless,” I muttered, kneeling beside her to inspect the wounds up close. “Taking on fifty men alone? What were you thinking?”

She smiled weakly, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly. “I wasn’t.”

Typical. Demon didn’t fight for strategy or survival. She fought because that’s what she was—a fighter, a force of nature. And no matter how much she bled, no matter how many scars she collected, she’d always come back for more.

I soaked a cloth and began cleaning the blood from her skin. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move. It was as if she barely felt the pain anymore, as if she had long since become numb to it.

“Conan wouldn’t want this for you,” I whispered, barely audible.

Her eyes darkened at the mention of his name, her expression hardening. “Don’t. Don’t talk about him.”

I nodded, dropping the subject. I knew better than to push her when it came to Conan. His death was the one thing she couldn’t confront, the one wound that would never heal.

As I continued to tend to her injuries, I couldn't help but feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. Demon was powerful, yes, but there was a fragility beneath her strength—a fragility that came from loss, from the ghosts that haunted her.

I glanced at the tattoo on her back, the queen chess piece that stood in stark contrast to her battered flesh. The queen, the most powerful piece on the board, capable of moving in any direction, able to protect, to destroy. But even the queen was vulnerable. Even she could fall.

And one day, I feared, Demon would fall too.

---

"Sir, you need to return to the White Palace."

Ethan’s message cut through the silence of the room. It had been three hours since I’d fallen asleep on the sofa in Demon's quarters. I glanced at her before leaving—her face peaceful, almost innocent. Looking at her like this, it was hard to believe that when she woke, she would become the force capable of bringing a nation to its knees.

"I'm on my way, Ethan," I replied, stepping into the hall. The weight of responsibility tugged at me, but there was something in Ethan’s message that unsettled me further.

"There's something else you need to know, sir," Ethan’s voice trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. But I knew whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

By the time I arrived at the White Palace, the tension was palpable. The faces of my underlings were anxious, their eyes filled with questions they didn’t dare voice. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"Mr. President, are you aware of something called 'Project Demon'?"

My heart skipped a beat. I stared at the man in front of me, speechless, as he continued.

"It was originally called 'Project Luci,' but it was changed when they saw Demon as a more successful prototype. Now, it's Project Demon." His words felt like poison slowly seeping into my veins.

Ethan stepped forward, his voice heavy with urgency. "We've received intel that there's a 'Project Demon' operating out of an orphanage. They're experimenting on babies and children, sir. If this continues... hundreds of Demons will be created and used as weapons across the country."

The air felt thin, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I sank into my office chair, my mind reeling. *Project Demon.* They were trying to recreate her. They were turning children—innocent, helpless children—into monsters like her.

"We have to tell Demon," I muttered, my hands trembling as I massaged my temples, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding before me.

They were doing the same thing to those children that had been done to her. The experiments, the torture, the training. They were turning them into weapons, stripping them of their humanity, just as Demon had been stripped of hers. The thought of it made my stomach churn.

It all made sense now—how something so dark could be hidden in plain sight. The orphanages, supposed havens for the homeless and abandoned, were a perfect cover for such atrocities. No one would suspect that such horrors were being committed there.

“Sir, this has been going on for years,” Ethan continued, his voice grim. “It’s been buried deep, so far below the surface that no one paid attention. But we’ve uncovered the truth, and it’s worse than we ever imagined.”

My blood ran cold. The world was a dangerous place, but this... this was a new level of depravity. *They’re creating an army of Demons,* I realized. An army that could be unleashed at any moment, used to control the masses, to tear apart everything we’ve tried to build.

Images of Demon as a child flashed through my mind—broken, beaten, and conditioned to become what she is now. She’d been their first success, the prototype for this sickening project. And now they were doing it to more children, robbing them of their lives before they’d even had a chance to live.

“We need to move on this, Ethan,” I said, my voice low and tight with fury. “Before it’s too late.”

But the weight of it all was crushing me. How would I tell Demon? How would she react when she found out there were others—children—being subjected to the same horrors she endured? Would she be able to handle it, or would it drive her further into the darkness?

As I sat in silence, my mind whirring with the weight of the decision before me, I knew one thing for certain. This couldn’t be kept from her. Demon had to know.

But once she did, all hell would break loose.

THIRD PERSON'S POV

“Hmmm, it looks like I’m not doing well because there are still mice sneaking in,” Demon remarked, her voice laced with cold amusement. She turned her gaze towards Mr. Salvador, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “What do you think, Salvy?”

Salvador stiffened in his seat. Her playful tone didn’t mask the deadly intent beneath it, and everyone in the room felt the tension suffocating the air. He knew better than to aggravate her further. One wrong word, and things could spiral into chaos.

“No,” Salvador replied carefully, trying to keep his tone measured. “It was our fault. We were negligent.” He forced himself to meet her gaze, swallowing the lump of fear rising in his throat. “This happened while you weren’t around, so the blame falls on us.”

Demon’s smile widened, stretching across her face in a way that unsettled everyone present. It wasn’t a smile of amusement—it was the smile of someone who enjoyed watching others squirm, who relished the chaos she could unleash at any moment.

“And those kids,” she asked, her voice dripping with mock curiosity, “how did they end up there?”

Ethan stepped forward, his face twisted in disgust. “Based on the intel we gathered, some of the children were kidnapped. Others were beggars, taken off the streets, and some were sold by their own parents. They experiment on them, and if the experiments fail, they harvest the children's organs and sell them for a fortune.” His voice faltered as he continued. “These kids… they’re innocent.”

A long silence followed his words, broken only by the flickering sound of a video being projected onto the screen.

“This is some of the footage we recovered,” Ethan added, unable to hide the revulsion in his voice. “The process of Project Demon… how they experiment on these young children.”

As the video played, the room was filled with the sounds of whimpering children, the cold metal of surgical tools, and the hollow screams that echoed through sterile hallways. The footage showed young children, no older than five or six, strapped to tables, their bodies writhing as scientists injected them with unknown substances. Some children’s bodies convulsed violently, their eyes rolling back, while others lay motionless, their small forms drained of life.

Several people in the room turned away, their faces pale with horror. Some couldn’t contain themselves and had to rush out, retching from the gruesome sight.

Mr. Salvador’s hands gripped the table tightly, his knuckles white as he forced himself to watch. His stomach twisted with every frame, every agonized scream. But even as his body screamed to look away, his eyes kept drifting toward Demon.

She sat completely still, her face expressionless. But Salvador knew better. This was the exact same process she had endured—the tortures she had survived. Yet, there was no anger, no pain in her eyes. Only the same eerie calm that terrified everyone in the room.

When the video ended, the room fell into a suffocating silence.

“No one can find out about this,” Demon said softly, breaking the stillness. Her voice was a chilling contrast to the nightmare they had just witnessed. She stood up, her hand gripping the scythe she always kept by her side. “I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

Salvador’s breath caught in his throat as she swung the massive blade over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger.

“I’ll collect some souls,” she added with a twisted grin, her words sending a shiver down everyone’s spine.

Salvador turned to Ethan, his voice trembling with concern. “Can she handle this? She went through this same process, endured the same horrors. I’m worried she might—”

“She’ll be fine,” Ethan interrupted, though his voice lacked conviction. He watched as Demon walked towards the door, her figure framed by the dim light, casting a long, menacing shadow. “She has to be.”

But deep down, they all knew the truth. This wasn’t something anyone could walk away from unscathed.

As Demon exited the room, the atmosphere grew heavier. The faint echo of her boots tapping against the cold floor reverberated through the hall, each step a reminder of the darkness she had once been forced to embrace. And now, she was walking back into it willingly, ready to unleash the same horrors she had once suffered onto those who dared recreate it.

Outside, the wind howled through the corridors like a warning. There would be no mercy tonight. Only blood and death.

---

The orphanage sat on the outskirts of town, its towering, dilapidated walls concealing the horrors within. From the outside, it seemed like a haven for the lost, a shelter for children abandoned by a world too cruel to care for them. But deep inside, beneath the quiet façade, a nightmare was unfolding.

The dark hallways smelled of antiseptic and fear, the cries of the children barely audible through the thick walls. In the lab hidden in the basement, rows of sterile metal tables were lined with restraints, cold and unforgiving. Scattered instruments—syringes, scalpels, and tubes—were stained with the evidence of failed experiments, the twisted remnants of the "Project Demon."

A small boy, no older than five, lay strapped to one of the tables, his frail body trembling. His name was Haris, though no one here called him by that name anymore. To the scientists, he was simply "Subject 13."

His heart raced, pounding in his ears as the cold metal of a needle pierced his skin. His small hands gripped the restraints, knuckles white as tears streamed down his dirty face. He had been here for weeks, enduring pain after pain, the vague memory of freedom slipping further and further away. He no longer remembered what it felt like to run or laugh. All he knew was the agonizing fire that burned through his veins every time they injected him with their poison.

"He's not responding to the treatment," one of the scientists muttered, eyes flicking to the monitor. "His vitals are dropping again."

The head scientist, a man with dark, calculating eyes, clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Another failure," he said coldly. "Prepare the next subject. We need to move faster."

Haris's breath hitched as he heard the words. Another failure. He knew what that meant—he'd seen it happen to the others. Children like him who didn’t "respond" to the treatments were disposed of like trash. Their bodies tossed into unmarked graves, their organs harvested for profit. The lucky ones died quickly. The unlucky ones… were left to suffer.

"No, please," Haris whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. But the scientists paid him no mind. To them, he wasn’t a person. He was an experiment.

In the corner of the room, another child—a girl no older than Six—sat huddled in a cage, her eyes wide with terror. Her name was Iona, and she had seen it all. She had seen the other children dragged away, never to return. She had heard their screams, their cries for mercy. And she knew she was next.

Iona pressed her small hands against the bars of the cage, her fingers trembling as she watched Haris. She wanted to help him, to scream, to beg for his life. But she couldn’t. Her voice was gone, stolen by the fear that gripped her heart. She knew there was nothing she could do. In this place, kindness was a weakness, and hope was a cruel joke.

The head scientist glanced over at her, his gaze lingering for a moment. "Bring her out next," he ordered. "If Subject 13 fails, we’ll need another test immediately."

Iona's heart stopped. She pressed herself against the back of the cage, her body shaking violently. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. But there was no escape. No one was coming to save them. No one even knew they were here.

Suddenly, the lights in the lab flickered. The hum of the machines wavered, and a chilling silence fell over the room. The scientists paused, exchanging uneasy glances.

Then, they heard it—a slow, deliberate tapping. Boots, echoing down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second.

The door to the lab swung open, and Demon stepped inside, her scythe gleaming under the dim lights. Her face was expressionless, eyes cold as they swept over the room. The scientists froze, terror gripping their hearts as they recognized who she was.

She moved with a deadly grace, her boots hitting the floor with a rhythm that sent chills down their spines. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her mere presence was enough to silence the room.

Haris turned his head weakly, his vision blurry with tears. He didn’t know who she was, but in that moment, she seemed like an angel—a dark, vengeful angel come to save them.

“Please…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Demon’s eyes flickered toward him, then to Iona in the cage, and the other children huddled in fear.

Without a word, she lifted her scythe and swung. The blade cut through the air with a deadly precision, and the first scientist’s body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. The others barely had time to react before she moved again, swift and merciless, her scythe slicing through flesh and bone like it was nothing.

Screams filled the lab, but they weren’t the screams of the children this time. The scientists who had tortured and experimented on the innocent now found themselves at the mercy of the monster they had tried to create.

One by one, they fell. Blood splattered the walls, the floor, soaking into the sterile white tiles. Demon didn’t stop until the room was silent, save for the soft whimpers of the children who were too shocked to comprehend what had just happened.

When it was over, Demon wiped the blood from her scythe and turned to Haris. His wide eyes stared up at her, a mix of fear and awe in his gaze.

“You’re free,” she said softly, her voice carrying a dark finality.

Iona, still shaking in her cage, watched as Demon approached. Her tiny body tensed, but Demon merely knelt in front of her, slicing through the bars with ease.

"Get out," Demon said, her tone sharp. "And don’t look back."

The children didn’t need to be told twice. Haris struggled to his feet, his legs weak, but he managed to stumble toward the door. Iona followed, her small hand clutching his. They didn’t know where they were going, but anywhere was better than here.

As they fled, Demon stood alone in the blood-soaked lab, her eyes staring blankly at the carnage around her. She had freed the children, but deep inside, she knew the truth.

They would never truly be free. Not after what had been done to them. Not after what they had seen.

Just like her.