My name is Andras, a Marquis-class devil under Lord Sarvest—one of many who serve within his vast and myriad Factions.
While my rank is relatively low, my influence in the Heavenly Pieces is far from insignificant. Serving my Lord is a privilege, one I do not take lightly.
A day ago, I received a summons—a direct call to Sarvest's Domain, near the heart of Hades.
That alone was cause for alarm. Ordinarily, my Lord would send a messenger, and even that I considered a tremendous honor.
To be called before him in person? It could only mean something dire.
Upon my arrival, I found Lord Sarvest on his eminent throne, grievously wounded.
A sight that should have been impossible. By nature's very law, my Lord cannot be harmed by physical means.
Since his birth, he had never shed a single drop of blood. He was the true proxy of the Great Evil, Lucci Fernostar.
But reality was bared for all to see;
A deep slash marred his chest. His jaw hung broken. His body bore clear signs of battle—of being manhandled.
At first, I assumed he had been ambushed—perhaps by multiple Heavenly Beings. A rare but not impossible event.
But no—
It was done by a Principality.
Two, to be precise.
Two newcomers who had migrated into Pison.
That revelation sent a cold shiver through me.
A Principality? Capable of wounding Lord Sarvest?
No one—not even among the 14 Great Powers of either Darkness and Mortals—should be able to so much as scratch him.
And yet, these two unknowns had not only harmed him—
They had walked away alive.
It seems the world is indeed vast.
Even so, Lord Sarvest was not so easily undone.
This injury, though severe, would do no more than slow him down. His body was already healing, though the process was sluggish.
Still—
*
Now, back to the reason I had come to Lord Sarvest's domain.
He had given me an order.
A group of insolent fools lived near the coast—individuals my Lord had graciously invited to pledge fealty to him. Yet, despite multiple opportunities, they had refused.
This was to be their last warning.
If they rejected his kindness once more, I was to wipe out their entire community.
They claimed to serve only one god, rejecting Lord Sarvest's authority. How pathetic.
Their devotion would earn them nothing but devastation.
Honestly, I saw no need for warnings.
When I arrive, I intend to skin every last one of them alive—children included—and feed their hides to my mount, Chronikus.
Then, after granting them a taste of living hell, I would hand over the survivors to the Red Dragonkin.
Their fate? The eternal flames. A fire that burns endlessly, yet refuses to consume its victims.
That was my personal judgment.
Which brings us to now...
Before summoning my Legion of devils, I had a side objective—
I sought a peculiar coastal poison flower, one capable of making human skin fall away like sweat. It would make my work more… efficient.
But I had no intention of venturing too close to the sea.
Not with Leviathan now awake.
The last thing I desired was to lose my physical body to that beast, so I maintained a cautious distance.
As I emerged from the hills, I noticed them.
A band of Principalities in the far distance.
Not just a handful.
203 of them... and one human.
Two full battalions.
It was an absurd sight. Principalities did not simply gather en masse without reason.
Who were they preparing to wage war against?
Whoever it was—I truly pitied them.
Before I drew closer, I took in their full appearance.
200 of them were Specter wolves—massive wolf-like beings at least twice the size of humans.
Each radiated a distinct presence. Each one a Principality in its own right.
And 200 of them.
Though, among them, seven stood out.
But at the forefront of the Specters, one stood apart.
A yellow-eyed Specter whose sheer presence made the air feel heavy, forcing even my eyes to squint under the crushing pressure of its quality.
Undoubtedly, he was the pack leader.
A High-level Principality—one on the same scale as myself.
Flanking him were two equally striking figures:
A blue-eyed wolf, whose aura sent waves of frost into the sweltering coastal air. A High-level Principality as well, though likely on the lower end, comparable to Chronikus, the beast I was currently riding.
A green-eyed wolf, bearing the icon of a... four-pointed weapon… a shuriken(?) An unusual emblem, nonetheless.
He radiated chivalry—calm, observant, yet unmistakably dangerous. Equal in strength to the blue-eyed one.
Behind them, the rest of the Specters lurked like a sea of shadows, their very existence a promise of suffering and agony.
And then—there was her.
A Fox Spirit.
In Pison.
Why?
Fox Spirits were native to Gihon and parts of Tigris. They did not belong here.
Yet, even beyond the impossibility of her presence, what struck me most was—
She was different from what I knew—from the norms.
Unlike any Fox Spirit I had ever encountered.
Could she be... even stronger than me?
Standing ahead of the wolves were two figures that appeared human.
But my millennia of foresight refused to be fooled.
A young woman, seeming to be 20 or 22 years old, stood with menacing beauty.
Her yellow eyes gleamed, her long white hair tipped in darkness itself.
She radiated an Aura that wasn't human.
No—worse.
Its intensity could drive one mad.
On the other side stood another young woman.
A human.
Or was she?
Perhaps a Defect—one who had embraced the Path of Darkness?
She wore a brown embroidered skirt—noble craftsmanship.
Her pale yellow blouse, with its delicate Victorian-era style, suggested she was not from the primitive Pison.
But most unsettling—
Her magic pool was unbelievable.
Far beyond anything a human should possess.
And then, there was her jewelry. An instant-death artifact.
I recognized it immediately—