ICE'S POV

"FUCK! FUCK!"

The rage boiled in me, uncontrollable. How had it come to this? Two hundred lives—innocent or not—snuffed out in an instant because of her… or was it my mistake for underestimating her? No, I couldn’t let myself believe that. This was her doing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Claire’s voice snapped me back. She was watching me, concern etched on her face. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, clenching my fists so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“It’s Demon's fault, not yours. She killed them,” Claire insisted, her tone hard.

“But… she’s right. If I hadn’t taken them, some of them might still be alive.” The realization weighed heavily, twisting my stomach.

“Don’t fall for her words,” Claire argued. “That’s what she does—she messes with your head. Demon will say anything to get under your skin.”

“Claire’s absolutely right.” A new voice cut in, smooth and self-assured. We both turned to see the First Elder approaching with a smug look on his face.

“Let me fight her,” he said, his smile growing.

I frowned, studying him. If I had failed to stop her, what chance did he think he had? Still, any plan to weaken Demon was better than nothing.

“How do you plan to do that?” I asked.

The Elder motioned for us to follow him down a dimly lit corridor. We entered a hall where rows upon rows of masked figures stood at attention. Each of them wore a mask identical to Demon’s—an eerie mirror of her presence.

“Demons, greet him,” the Elder commanded.

“GOOD MORNINGGGGGG!”

The voices echoed in unison, the sound unnatural and hollow, filling the hall with a disturbing harmony. My heart stopped as I took in the scene. Hundreds of masked figures, each wearing her face. What the hell is this?

“They’re her former partners from Project Demon,” the Elder explained, his voice cold. “The successful ones, anyway. They’re devoid of emotion, trained to obey without question. With just one command, they’ll kill any target.”

“It’s… horrifying,” Claire murmured, a mixture of shock and anger flaring in her eyes. “These are innocent people. How could you use them like this?”

The Elder shrugged dismissively. “These individuals were given a fixed lifespan. Project Demon extended their lives beyond natural limits.”

“That doesn’t make it right—”

“This is our final weapon against her,” the Elder cut her off, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Each of them has strength comparable to Demon’s.”

I let out a slow breath, the weight of his words sinking in. If they really were her equal, this might be our only shot at taking her down. Nothing else mattered but defeating Demon—she was too dangerous to let roam free.

“I accept your plan,” I said firmly.

“Shawn—”

“Enough, Claire,” I snapped. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her down.”

The Elder nodded approvingly. “Good. We’ll give them their orders at dawn. Demon won’t know what hit her.”

THIRD PERSON'S POV

“What the hell…?”

The control room at the White Monarchy headquarters was in a frenzy. Operators scrambled, confusion and panic thick in the air as reports flooded in from all directions.

“Demon’s attacking the northern sector!”

“What? We just got confirmation of an attack in the east!”

“No, no—she’s also been spotted in the west and the south!”

It didn’t add up. The attacks were happening almost simultaneously, yet everyone knew that Demon was currently fast asleep in her quarters.

Blam! The doors burst open, and Ethan stormed in, his face flushed with agitation.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, his gaze locked onto the chaos on the screens. For a moment, his heart dropped as he watched the devastation unfolding in each quadrant. “These… they’re from Project Demon. The successful clones.”

One of the operators turned to him, her face pale. “Lord Ethan, what should we do now?”

Ethan clenched his jaw. “For now, we retreat. Each of those clones possesses the same strength as Demon herself. If we send anyone else, they’ll just be slaughtered. Only Demon could stand a chance against them.”

“But she’s still asleep, and no one dares enter her room to wake her up,” another operator reminded him, casting a nervous glance down the hall.

Ethan cursed under his breath, massaging his temples as he weighed the options. “She’s really a pain in the ass,” he muttered. This was exactly the sort of chaotic mess Demon would find amusing if she were awake to see it.

In the midst of the control room’s buzz, Ethan took a deep breath and dialed the president. The line connected after only a few seconds.

“Ethan, I assume you’re seeing the same reports?” The president’s voice was strained, nearly drowned out by the sounds of protest in the background.

“Yes. How bad is it on your end?”

“Thousands of people have gathered outside the White Palace,” the president replied, glancing out his window to the throngs of protesters, their shouts echoing through the building. “They believe it’s Demon, of course. The sudden attacks have the whole city on edge.”

Ethan gritted his teeth. “It’s not Demon. These attacks are being carried out by the clones—successful prototypes from Project Demon.”

The president exhaled heavily. “So they’re imitating her… perfect. This is only going to make the situation worse.”

“I’ll do what I can to contain it,” Ethan assured him. “But right now, with Demon asleep and these clones tearing through the city, we need a contingency. I’ll need extra forces and immediate containment procedures for each sector.”

“Understood. I’ll authorize reinforcements. But Ethan…” The president hesitated. “If we don’t stop this soon, I’m afraid there will be… larger consequences.”

Ethan felt the weight of the warning and ended the call, his mind racing. He turned to the operators.

“All right, listen up! Redirect any patrols from non-critical areas to create a containment perimeter. We need to slow those clones down until we can figure out a strategy.”

As the control room erupted into action, Ethan cast a glance toward Demon’s quarters. He knew the chaos unfolding outside would amuse her, and the thought made him shiver.

---

“It’s strange… Miku used to be the only one I’d visit here. Now, it’s you,” Mr. Azakura said, giving Vladimir a smile as he sat across from him in the cold, dim room of the eighth basement of the White Monarchy. Vladimir took a slow sip of his tea, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a quiet intensity.

“Anything worth noting going on upstairs?” Vladimir asked, barely concealing his disinterest.

“The Elders released the successful experiments from Project Demon,” Mr. Azakura replied, glancing briefly at the ceiling. “They’re wreaking havoc across the country as we speak.”

Vladimir raised an eyebrow, his voice low. “You look calm about it, considering there are hundreds of them—all with Demon’s strength.”

Mr. Azakura chuckled, a sound almost eerie in the silence of the room. His laugh grew louder, his eyes narrowing with a strange glint as he leaned forward. “The successful projects may be deadly, yes. But do you know what’s far more terrifying?”

Vladimir met his gaze, silent.

“The failed project,” Mr. Azakura whispered. “Demon herself.”

Vladimir’s face remained stoic, but he leaned in, curious. Mr. Azakura shifted in his seat, as if settling in to tell a ghost story.

“When Demon entered the Dungeon, she met Mr. Hwang, a scientist notorious for his brutal experiments. He was seeking test subjects for a new drug—something that would make a person immune to pain. No one volunteered, of course… until Demon offered herself.”

“Make me numb, and I’ll give you my eye.” Mr. Azakura mimicked Demon’s words, voice chillingly detached. “She said it with those crimson eyes, rare and hypnotic. Mr. Hwang agreed. He began injecting her with cocktails of painkillers, sedatives, and experimental serums. The objective was simple: take away her ability to feel anything.”

Vladimir listened, a growing unease settling over him.

“When the drugs took hold, Mr. Hwang tested their effects—stabbing her, cutting her. Demon didn’t flinch,” Mr. Azakura continued. “It was then she realized she’d gained an advantage, and she began to study the dungeon, learn its workings. But the dungeon wasn’t some passive place. It was filled with criminals, traitors, killers—all of them hated her sudden rise. They beat her, tortured her, bound her to a chair and threw her into pools of filthy, icy water to see if she’d drown. And every single day, someone tried to kill her.”

Vladimir gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles white. He could almost see it: Demon struggling, bound and bruised, barely clinging to life as she was thrown into impossible situations. And yet, she survived.

“They would chain her, starve her, toss her into fights with more seasoned prisoners. The stronger she got, the harder they tried to break her.” Mr. Azakura’s voice took on a haunting quality, his eyes gleaming with something unsettling.

“There was one night,” he continued, “when they left her bleeding in the dark, wounds deep enough to kill anyone else. She lay there, surrounded by the bodies of those she’d already killed, her breath shallow. She was barely alive. But somehow, she pulled herself up, crawled from her bloodied prison, and fought her way back to life. Day after day, she endured, studying every corner of that dungeon, memorizing the faces of those who sought to destroy her.”

Vladimir swallowed, a quiet horror settling into his bones. But Mr. Azakura’s story wasn’t over.

“Once she understood the dungeon and its captives, she hunted them down. One by one, she silenced every soul within those stone walls. It was no longer their prison—it became her domain. She spared only a handful, those she deemed… useful. And Mr. Hwang, of course. She kept him alive, the man who had created her numbness, though he would never sleep soundly again.”

There was a long silence. Vladimir, still gripping his cup, exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Mr. Azakura’s story painted a terrifying image: a girl who had once been helpless, now a monster haunting the same dungeon that once sought to consume her.

“What… what was the point of telling me all this?” Vladimir asked, voice strained.

Mr. Azakura simply smiled, a chilling look in his eyes. “Just wanted to remind you who you’re dealing with,” he said, leaning back with a casual air that belied the horror of his tale.

CLYDE'S POV

"Please, Lord Nerraw, you're the only one who can enter her room." The underling knelt before me, his face pale as he begged me to bring Demon the news. Jigs told me there were reports of hundreds—hundreds—of versions of Demon wreaking havoc across the country. It was horrifying. We already struggled to handle one Demon; how could we stand against an army of her?

"I’ll try." I sighed, reluctantly rising. I looked at Jigs and Rafa, hoping they’d join me for backup, but they averted their eyes, feigning ignorance. Cowards.

“I’m praying you come out alive,” Rafa said, pressing his palms together as if I were about to walk into the jaws of death.

“When you die, I’ll handle Nerraw’s estate.” Jigs smirked, and I couldn’t tell if he was being supportive or just greedy.

Ignoring their sarcastic remarks, I turned toward Demon’s room, steadying my nerves. Outside her door, I could hear muffled voices. They’d told me she was sleeping, but the sound inside suggested otherwise. Without knocking, I pushed open the door—and froze.

In front of me was a tea set, meticulously arranged with a ring of ten chairs around it. Tied to each chair, gagged and visibly furious, were the ten district leaders. I scanned their faces, and my eyes landed on Nathan Fukushima. Her brother. She had bound them all, forcing them into some twisted tea party. Each one of them glared, fury and helplessness etched on their faces.

Demon sat in the center, sipping her tea, a twisted smile on her lips. It was like staring into the face of madness itself.

"Ah, a guest," she purred, setting down her cup with calculated grace. “You didn’t say you were coming, Clyde. Had I known, I’d have prepared an extra chair—and maybe some rope.” Her eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam, and I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

My instincts screamed at me to get out of there, but I kept my composure. "Tch." I shifted my gaze to Nathan, hoping he’d have some semblance of an answer, but he, like the others, was helpless.

“Insane,” I muttered under my breath. I had to keep my cool, had to stay steady, even though every fiber of my being was screaming to run.

Her eyes bore into me. “What brings you here, Clyde?” she asked, her voice soft and deceptively sweet.

My mind raced. Should I tell her? There was no way of knowing how she’d react. But one wrong move, one wrong word, and I was dead.

“Nothing. Forget it.” I turned on my heel, attempting to leave. I’d barely taken a step before something whizzed past me and slammed into the door with a heavy thud. I turned, heart pounding. An axe was embedded in the wood, inches from my head.

My gaze shot back to Demon, and she was smiling, the glint in her eyes as sharp as any blade.

“Tell me,” she whispered, voice as smooth as silk but as deadly as poison.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of her command. She wasn’t going to let this go. Damn it. My pulse hammered, but I relayed the situation outside—how the Elders had unleashed the clones of her, how they were tearing the country apart. I expected her to be shocked, but her grin only widened, a gleeful anticipation lighting up her face.

Before I could process her reaction, she brushed past me, heading toward the door, leaving me alone in the room with the ten bound leaders.

I slumped against the wall, breath coming in short gasps. I’m dead.

DEMON'S POV

Sleep evades me, and every nerve in my body hums with energy. I need to release it, but there’s no one here worth my time, no worthy opponent to challenge me. The urge claws at me, wild and insatiable. If only the district leaders were around, I might have had a little fun.

“Wait,” I murmur, a wicked idea blooming in my mind. Without hesitation, I stride toward where the district leaders are held. The thrill intensifies with each step. “Jarvis, I’m going to pay the Masks a visit. Make sure they’re gagged—I don’t want to hear a single sound.”

“Roger.”

Good boy, Jarvis. I don't regret keeping him around. At first, I thought he might make a decent sparring partner someday—perhaps he’d grow disillusioned and challenge me, and we could fight to the death. But he’s obedient, loyal, and entirely committed. Tch, disappointing.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” he says as I reach the holding chamber.

Your Majesty? *Cringe.*

I walk in, and ten pairs of eyes glare at me—angry, dark, and defiant. Their hatred is palpable, electric in the air. My heart pounds with excitement, a feral urge to see them beg, to watch them break. I could kill them all right here, savor the fear and desperation painted across their faces.

“You’re not here to kill them, are you?” Jarvis's voice cuts through my thoughts, breaking the spell just as my fingers twitch with anticipation.

Ah, almost lost control there. But his words bring me back, if only a little. I smile, darkly amused by my own restraint. One day, I’ll see you all in tears.

“Dress them in noble attire and bring them to my room,” I order, a hint of playfulness in my voice. Jarvis turns to me, startled.

“You can’t use them as...your personal toys, you know,” he mutters, a look of disgust flickering across his face.

Ugh, filthy-minded fool. As if I’d even consider it. They’re not nearly worthy enough.

“I’m planning a tea party, Jarvis. I need guests.” I tilt my head, grinning. “Would you care to join?”

“No thanks,” he replies quickly, already retreating. “I’ve got other orders to finish, so I’ll go ahead. Please, be...gentle with them.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone. I turn back to the prisoners, bound and gagged, smirking as they look on with helpless rage.

“Prepare them,” I command, smirking as my mind races with anticipation. “And bring me old Azakura’s finest tea set, along with the sweetest desserts you can find.”

Yes, today is going to be deliciously entertaining.