The demon’s remaining eye locked onto Klaus.

  It burned with hatred and recognition.

  Zul’got’s laugh crawled out of his ruined chest, wet and uneven, bubbling through lungs that barely worked anymore. Each breath sounded like gravel dragged through water.

  “You humans…” he rasped, blood running freely from the corner of his mouth. “I underestimated you.”

  He straightened.

  Slowly. Painfully.

  The movement sent rabbits skittering away as a wave of pressure rolled outward, flattening loose stones and snapping scattered debris around. The ground groaned beneath his feet.

  “Now,” Zul’got continued, his voice deepening as the massive orb above him pulsed brighter, “it is time for you to feel despair.”

  The floating orb began to melt.

  Not drip—melt.

  Blackened mana liquefied and poured downward in thick streams, splashing against the ground around him. Wherever it touched, stone hissed and darkened, turning glassy and brittle. The air warped, heavy and oppressive, like standing too close to a furnace made of shadows.

  Zul’got’s broken lips stretched into a grin. “I will show you my true power.”

  Mana surged.

  The pressure intensified so suddenly it felt like gravity itself had been dialed up. The pillar of stone beneath the demon cracked and collapsed, crumbling away—except where the black liquid coated.

  The rabbits tried to charge.

  They didn’t make it three steps.

  Unstable mana lashed outward, flinging them back like leaves in a storm. Delle, relentless as ever, skidded across the ground and tumbled end over end. No matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t get close anymore.

  From the blackened earth, the liquid surged upward.

  It crept up Zul’got’s legs, covering them in glistening darkness. The liquid flowed into the bullet-riddled wounds, sealing and reshaping the damage as it reformed his flesh, leaving behind jagged, thorn-like protrusions along the newly coated areas.

  Shane’s expression finally changed.

  His brows drew together, jaw tightening as the pressure in the air swelled. Mana pressed against his senses like a rising tide, heavy enough to make his skin prickle. He took an instinctive step back, boots grinding against loose rubble.

  “This is bad,” he muttered. “That mana reserve… it’s massive.”

  He glanced sideways at Klaus. “It’s almost on the same level as Peonome Cloverstone.”

  Klaus didn’t look away from the demon. His gaze remained calm, almost detached. “No,” he said flatly. “It’s not even close to Peonome’s mana reserve.”

  Shane blinked. “How would you know?”

  For a brief moment, Klaus’s eyes unfocused—not from fear, but memory. Two years ago, he had witnessed a glimpse of Peonome’s power: a colossal tree erupting from bare ground, hundreds of wooden clubs forming in an instant, and the resulting explosion that rippled across the land like a great calamity, forming a mushroom cloud of smoke that reached the sky. The scale of it had been absurd. Terrifying. Beautiful, in a way only overwhelming power could be.

  It was from his buried past and didn’t want to share any of that.

  “Rumors,” Klaus said lightly.

  With a casual flick of his wrist, he dismissed the Vickers. The massive machine gun dissolved into motes of light and vanished back into his Mindforger, leaving the battlefield unnervingly quiet without its thunderous song.

  “If silver can’t kill this demon,” Klaus continued, rolling his shoulders as if loosening up before a workout, “then I’ll use gold.”

  Shane shot him a sharp look. “You’re serious?”

  “Oh,” Klaus replied dryly, “tragically.”

  This time, he didn’t smile. The usual grin refused to come. The Vickers alone had cost him five hundred silver coins—and an entire day painstakingly embedding trap runes into every single round. Burning through another box wasn’t just expensive.

  It was painfully time consuming.

  He stared at the advancing black armor.

  Then he sighed.

  “Well,” he said, resigned, “they say, time is gold.”

  “Mindforger.”

  The ground shook.

  With a thunderous thud and a cloud of dust, a howitzer materialized beside him—long barrel, reinforced frame, and runic stabilizers etched deep into its metal. A second impact followed as an enormous shell appeared next to it, nearly as large as Illumi’s torso.

  Shane’s eyes widened.

  He started backing away immediately. The ringing from the Vickers still echoed faintly in his ears, and he had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near whatever came next.

  “…You really do keep ridiculous things in your head,” he muttered.

  Klaus grabbed the shell and heaved it into the breach with a grunt. The metal scraped into place.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “This is my last option,” Klaus said, tone casual but tight. “And my strongest.”

  He adjusted the barrel slowly, carefully, angling it toward Zul’got’s chest—toward the torn flesh where he’d glimpsed that fragment of purple orb beneath the torn shoulder.

  Zul’got watched, amused.

  The black liquid had already reached below his chest, thickening into layered armor. “You think that can kill me?” the demon scoffed. “Your holy barrage of pellets couldn’t even finish me. How could that oversized junk of yours harm me?”

  Klaus glanced up at him. “First of all,” he said pleasantly, “it wasn’t a pellet.”

  He placed his hand on the firing mechanism.

  “It was a bullet.”

  His smile sharpened. “And this big boy doesn’t need to be holy to pulverize you, demon.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  The explosion of sound was immediate and overwhelming.

  The howitzer fired with a deafening boom that ripped through the mountains. The ground bucked violently as the artillery skidded backward from the recoil, carving deep grooves into the dirt.

  The shell screamed through the air.

  Zul’got reacted instantly, roaring as he hurled the black liquid forward. It surged like a tidal wave, forming a thick barrier that slammed head-on into the projectile.

  The impact shook the battlefield.

  Sparks flew as demon and artillery strained against one another. Zul’got gritted his teeth, muscles bulging as he forced the projectile to a halt midair. The transformation wasn’t complete yet—he couldn’t afford to let it hit.

  For a heartbeat, it worked. The black liquid stopped the projectile, only allowing the tip to pass through.

  The demon grinned.

  Then the tip of the shell began to glow.

  The second trap was activated.

  Zul’got’s eye widened. “No—”

  The shell detonated.

  The explosion erupted forward, swallowing everything in a blinding flash. The shockwave slammed outward, ripping chunks of earth free and hurling debris—and rabbits—through the air like shrapnel.

  Shane threw up his arms and braced himself, boots digging in as the blast washed over him. Dust and fragments pelted his clothes.

  When he looked up again, smoke filled the battlefield.

  He squinted through it, then glanced toward Klaus, who stood behind the howitzer, untouched.

  Shane shook his head slowly. He muttered to himself, “…So this is your real power, Slouch.”

  Klaus peeked out from behind the artillery, smiling faintly.

  The smoke began to clear.

  First, feet appeared.

  Then legs.

  Then a waist—nothing above it.

  Zul’got’s upper body was gone.

  Shane stared at the remains, then sighed. “That was anticlimactic. I really wanted to see his true form.”

  Klaus, standing a few steps away, tilted his head as if evaluating an overcooked meal.

  “I’d rather not deal with him in his true form,” he said lightly. “Too troublesome.”

  Shane shot him a glance. “Fair enough.”

  Shane lifted two fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.

  The sound echoed across the crater—and was immediately answered.

  Crimson shapes peeled themselves off the rubble.

  Delle’s clones, scattered all around the battlefield like forgotten chess pieces, suddenly snapped to attention. They sprinted toward Shane. One of them nearly tripped over a jagged rock at the crater’s edge, arms windmilling wildly before regaining balance, ears flopping as he kept running with renewed determination.

  Another leapt down from a higher ledge, landed poorly, rolled twice, then popped back up and continued as if nothing had happened.

  Shane watched them come, lips twitching despite himself.

  They converged mid-run, bodies blurring and overlapping, red light folding inward until the many became one.

  A single crimson rabbit emerged, hopping briskly toward Shane and springing effortlessly onto his arm. As soon as it settled, the glow faded, leaving behind a familiar small white rabbit with plush fur and twitching ears.

  Shane glanced at the disintegrating corpse. “Maybe even if I used my ultimate… I’d still have no chance against his true form.”

  Delle curled instinctively around Shane’s forearm, clinging tighter the moment he heard the word ultimate.

  Shane lifted his arm slightly, allowing the rabbit to adjust, then reached up with his free hand and gently scratched behind Delle’s ears. The tension in the little creature’s body eased almost immediately.

  Klaus noticed.

  “So,” Klaus said, glancing at the rabbit, “that’s what fear looks like on him.”

  Shane sighed. “He doesn’t like it when I talk about my ultimate.”

  As if in agreement, Delle tucked his head in, tail flicking anxiously.

  “Can you blame him?” Klaus replied. “I don’t like it either.”

  Shane looked back at the crater, eyes narrowing as he replayed the battle in his head. “Even if I used it,” he said slowly, “the level gap would still be the biggest problem. Maybe… two of me might have pulled it off.”

  “I doubt that,” Klaus said. “Two of you would probably be ripping each other apart while the demon watches from the sidelines.”

  Delle tightened his grip, tiny claws pressing into Shane’s sleeve.

  Shane chuckled softly and stroked him again. “Maybe you’re right. I hate myself, too.”

  He pulled the rabbit closer, cuddling him in an almost embarrassing display of affection, even rubbing his cheek lightly against the rabbit’s fluffy belly in an effort to comfort him.

  Delle stiffened for half a second—then gave up entirely, ears drooping as he endured his master’s shameless affection.

  Klaus, meanwhile, looked around entirely at ease.

  A familiar translucent panel bloomed into existence before his eyes.

  “You’ve killed High Demon Magus Zul’got.”

  “Congratulations. You have earned 2,538,273,629 experience.”

  Klaus blinked. Killing high level creatures really give hefty experience.

  The notifications didn’t stop.

  “You level up.”

  His level climbed rapidly—numbers ticking upward in smooth succession—until it finally settled at level one hundred eighty-one.

  “You obtained: Cloak of Nothing.”

  “You obtained: Familiar Binding Contract.”

  “You obtained: Devil’s Arm.”

  “You obtained: Curse Egg.”

  “You obtained: Sword of Despair.”

  Klaus’s brows lifted higher with each line.

  “And now it’s just showing off,” he muttered.

  “Initializing Reaver’s Graver.”

  “Do you wish to proceed?”

  Yes / No

  Klaus whistled softly, impressed despite himself. “Quite the loot we have here.”

  He lifted a finger, about to tap the panel. “Let’s see what—”

  A voice cut through the air.

  “Long time no see, priestess.”

  It came from above—smooth and amused—carrying just enough weight to make the ground feel suddenly… smaller.

  Klaus froze.

  “I never thought you’d become such a feisty, provocative one.”

  The air shifted.

  Something descended fast.

  The figure struck the ground between them and the crater in a sharp, controlled impact—one knee down, one hand braced against the earth, the opposite foot planted firmly. Dust burst outward in a ring, pebbles skittering across stone.

  She rose smoothly, one hand lifting, head tilting up as if posing for an audience that hadn’t been invited.

  Like an iconic hero’s landing.

  But it didn’t excite either of them.

  Klaus’s eyes widened.

  Every instinct screamed.

  He took a step back without thinking.

  “…Samantha Hawk.”

  Samantha walked casually toward the two men, boots crunching against debris. “How did the gentle, conservative priestess turn into someone so feisty and provocative? I like it though.”

  She glanced around, whistling softly. “Whoa. Looks like you had an epic battle…”

  Then she paused.

  Her nose twitched.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “…You’re not Illumi.”

  Klaus remained silent.

  Shane, his face still buried in the rabbit’s belly, subtly began materializing a bottle in his free hand.

  Klaus raised one hand without looking, signaling Shane not to move.

  Samantha clicked her tongue. “Show your real self, impostor.” She drew an enchanted dagger, its edge humming faintly.

  Klaus didn’t transform back. Instead, he asked calmly, his voice gentle and almost curious, “How could you tell I wasn’t the real one?”

  Samantha didn’t hesitate. “You stinks.”

  She took another step forward. “Illumi smells like incense, old books, and a hint of sweetness. You, on the other hand—” her eyes flicked over him “—reek of blood and gold.”

  Klaus sighed.

  He let the disguise fall.

  Crimson hair spilled free, silver eyes catching the light.

  “Does gold even have a smell?” he asked mildly.

  Samantha’s eyes widened.

  Recognition hit her like a punch.

  She knew him.

  From the battle two years ago.

  Her grip on the dagger tightened as disbelief gave way to something sharper.

  “…You.”