This was an insult.
Demons were a race that respected strength. They would not allow themselves to be humiliated by a nobody.
But demons were also cunning.
And that was exactly what Damon was counting on.
A white-haired demon stood with his arms crossed, fingers digging lightly into his sleeves as he stared at the towering pillars carved with the sigils of different demon lineages. Some of the markings were variations of ancient symbols tied to the demon lords themselves.
This was a communication array between tower lords.
And Bakemon could feel their displeasure in the air like static before a storm.
He was new here. Many of these demons were older. Some stood firmly in the fifth class. The rest were fourth class, each with partially formed ideas of a domain.
He was strong.
But he doubted this new demon in the tower could face several fifth-class demonkin at once.
Even though he had heard the rumors.
That the man had slain a fifth-class ghoul with a casual gesture.
