Warning: This chapter is somewhat on the darker side. Not really. My friend told me it was, though. I think that she's weak, to be honest.

Confusion among the ranks. The human army was confused as to what happened. The enemies they had been fighting disappeared completely. Only three figures stood not too far off in the distance.

Had they surrendered? Was that what happened?

"Do not be confused! Our duty is to kill the evil Demon Lord!" the commander shouted in a booming voice. He slammed his lance into the ground. "Onwards!"

The army roared and began to charge towards Erebus, Weryn, and Lilian.

Erebus completely ignored the incoming army.

Tear, Magnus, Vyne, and Stone, get out here this instant.

Four voices responded in the affirmative.

Their master was back! Their hearts were singing with complete and absolute joy.

When the four servants came out. Erebus didn't hesitate to command them, "We five will be fighting all of them." He pointed to the army that would be on them soon.

"Yes!" Tear cried, raising up her bow and began to fire off her infamous mana arrows.

"Keep Weryn safe, Lilian," Erebus told her grimly.

Lilian pulled the small child close to her, then she raised up a simple mana barrier. It would be enough to keep any stray magical attacks from hitting them, thus securing her life.

The three demons flapped their wings. Standing tall with a new found confidence. Stone and Magnus held a pike and mace respectively. Vyne’s weapon materialized in his hand.

“For Lord Erebus!” they cried and charged forward. Stone impaling enemies on his pike, Magnus destroying bones with a swing of his mighty arm, Vyne slicing through their bodies and armor as if it were nothing.

Weryn couldn’t help but watch them progress in complete awe. A bloody spray surrounded them and corpses littered their feet. They continued to move forward slowly, very slowly.

Crimson seeped into the bright green grass. Dead, mutilated bodies would rise up and attack their previous comrades because of Lilian who was casting her magic on the sidelines while protecting Weryn.

Since the lower-class zombies weren’t extremely difficult to control or summon, she was able to hold the barrier and resurrect them with little to no difficulty.

The zombies were a revolting sight. If their bodies had been cut in half, the pieces would inch back together and fuse together. In the area where the bodies had fused back together, the skin would bubble up then pop, pus would ooze from the blister-like bubbles.

If they were headless, some would either fuse back together or simply carry their head.

Disgusting, blood still dripped from their wounds and their skin turned papery and a filthy shade of gray. All of them had a certain rancid scent to them, even though they had just died recently.

Tear was still firing indiscriminately, so sometimes her arrows would pierce the zombies. She miraculously managed to not hit Stone, Magnus, or Vyne.

Erebus, too, drew the sword that had appeared on his hip when he transformed into a human. Normally he would fight with his [Lost Magic: Void], but where was the fun in that?

He had a little less than 10,000 playtoys. Why spoil the enjoyment now! A brutal, blood-hungry smile appeared on Erebus’ face. His spar with Lisset the other day had been invigorating, a perfect warm-up to face the army of humans.

Erebus ran into the fray, going completely off on his own. He moved with the sword as if he was dancing, his movements were so fluid and elegant.

If the other soldiers weren’t too busy trying to kill him, they, too, would admire his beautiful swordsmanship. Alas, such a thing was not possible. How could a treacherous man who was slaughtering their comrades be a person worthy of their praise?

“Whew...” Erebus let out a breath as he swung his sword again. He was surrounded by enemies on all sides. Erebus was slightly exhausted since he had flown full-speed to his castle and now was engaged in a strenuous physical activity.

A small sheen of sweat dare appear on his pristine forehead.

The humans weren’t as easy to kill as they normally were. He had to fight multiple enemies at one time and the sword was not his specialty.

It was a surprisingly difficult task for him.

But Erebus enjoyed the struggle (it didn’t look like he was struggling in the slightest) because he had more or less always easily defeated his enemies. This was a truly electrifying experience.

He could feel the excitement welling up inside of his body, he was enjoying himself.

The battlefield was his home.

The blood was his solace.

The corpses were his motivation.

The chaos was his sinful bliss.

Yes, the true habitat of the dragon kind! A race born to fight, born to kill, born to be superior.

Delight and Carnage walked hand in hand. As if the two had just finished a dreadful wedding and were forever bonded in time.

Another swing of his sword. Another life taken. Erebus continued to mow down his opponents, the same for his servants.

The humans felt a great fear. They weren’t necessarily losing at the moment, but neither were they winning. In terms of numbers, they clearly had the advantage over Erebus and co.

Yet, why on Eirlok was this happening? A man watched as his comrade next to him lost his head with a spurt of blood and fell to the ground. Only to shudder violently and stand up again.

His fallen comrade bit into the man’s neck. Tearing the skin away, ripping at the muscle.

The man screamed in agony before his life’s candle flickered and went out.

Another life lost.

Tear’s arrow impaled a man between the eyes.

Another life lost.

And another, more, more, and more!

Erebus didn’t bother to wipe the blood off of his face.

He was a bloody visage of beauty. His aura had changed completely, lost was the air of uselessness, lost was the air of confidence.

This was the aura of a killer.

A killer whose face would smirk cruelly before fading into a stony mask of blankness.

Even Weryn, tens of meters away, felt fear instill itself into his very being. Was this what he was destined for?

He felt scared, sick, yet very eager.

The dragon blood that flowed through his veins was awakening. The thick, metallic scent of spilled blood in the air tickled his nose and created the strangest sense of serenity.

His heart beat to a tune of fear and peace.

How he wanted to join! How he wanted to revel in the gory sport and dance in the crimson liquid.

Two dragons found euphoria in death. It intoxicated them.

A vicious race. A violent race. A fearsome race.

Weryn clutched his throbbing heart and continued to watch them fight.

With the arrival of Erebus, their victory was certain. Not only because of his unimaginable power, but because of the motivation he provided his servants. They fought even harder than they normally would have. They pushed themselves extremely hard, to the point of collapsing.

But they did not stop.

They did not relent on their onslaught.

Humans continued to fall and rise.

Some of the more powerful ones proved to be difficult, but since their opponents were not humans, they had a natural advantage that allowed them to defeat them.

The humans were the weakest race. Their strength was in their number, seeing as it exceeded the number of all of the other races.

Hope and morale were plummeting rapidly. Their commander was currently facing off against Vyne.

And Vyne does not fight (never even thought of it) fairly.

Unlike the other races, who did believe in honor, the demons could care less about such a thing. They would use whatever underhanded trick necessary in order to win.

So he did.

He utilized his [Illusion Creator ] to use against the commander. Since the man had a rather high magic resistance, it didn’t provide all of the effects he wanted, but it was still enough to hinder the commander greatly.

Currently, he was using his magic to create multiple projections of himself. The commander could not tell which one was real, seeing as they were all solid.

To a bystander, it would look like he was swinging madly at the air.

The multiple Vyne’s would all strike at once, all their swords piercing his body. His blood seemed to drain from multiple gashes, but in truth, there was only one.

He looked around wildly. He could hear voices, so many voices. His wife? His son and daughter? Why were they here? They were crying for him, screaming loudly in pain and agony.

The sound was so real it almost threw him into madness.

The Vyne’s kept stabbing him. His family kept making bloodcurdling screeches, begging for his help.

“Elize! Rayne, Marc! I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to save you,” the commander cried out in the purest form of pain and suffering, falling to the ground. He had countless wounds in his strong body. His blood became another stain on the green grass.

He became another corpse that rose up from the ground