"Damn it—charge together! For Thaubia!"
One of the men shouted as he lunged forward, opening fire on Alastair. The others followed, fearless and frantic.
"Hmph. Mindless fools."
With a flick of his hand, a barrier formed around the man who appeared to be their leader. The bullets were forced to ricochet—slamming back into the other eight men.
They fell.
Screams tore through the air. Blood sprayed from countless wounds. The stench of death filled the street.
Behind Alastair, Vera collapsed to her knees and vomited.
"All right," Alastair said, striding toward the sole survivor.
"Now… are you willing to talk?"
"For Thaubia!"
The man raised a handgun to his own temple, preparing to pull the trigger.
"Hmph."
Alastair wrenched the weapon from his hand with sheer force and seized him by the head.
"Seems conversation is impossible."
He released his power.
Soul Search.
Moments later, Alastair let go. The man lay motionless, his eyes vacant.
Alastair had no intention of devouring their souls. They were worthless—not enough to matter.
This world is filled with trash souls. Hardly anyone cultivates themselves.
The only ones worth anything are demon hunters and demons… and even they are scarce.
"Come."
"To meet Carla?" Vera asked, wiping her mouth, still pale.
"No. We're going to their leader."
He broke into a swift stride, forcing Vera to jog after him.
"Wait—shouldn't we call Carla first?"
"You may do so. Tell her we are heading to the nest of these zealots—
in the desert southwest of the capital. Tell her to meet us at the western city gate."
"Okay!"
Vera ran alongside him, phone pressed to her ear.
"Carla! That dumb demon is dragging me to the hideout of those weird guys in black who tried to kill him! It's in the desert southwest of the capital! Are they from HQ? I dunno! He won't tell me anything! You should hurry! Meet us at the western gate! Oh—and tell Henry and Simone too!"
She had changed the way she addressed him—from idiot demon to dumb demon.
A negligible improvement. Still unacceptable.
Alastair no longer bothered to care.
Through the soul search, he had learned that these men were not agents of the Hunter Association.
They called themselves the Warriors of Thaubia.
They believed a prophecy—
that this year, a legendary demon would appear and bring about the destruction of the world.
The demon was said to be male.
With black hair.
And crimson eyes—just like his.
Heh… how amusing.
In one world I was the Thousand-Year Demon.
In this one, the demon of the apocalypse.
They are quite diligent in naming me.
.............................
They reunited with Carla at the western gate and boarded Alastair's airship, setting a direct course for the zealots' stronghold.
Once the cloaking system activated, everyone removed their cloaks and face coverings.
"Hey, Carla," Vera said. "We ran into the big-boobed demon and that short demon hunter."
"…The big-boobed demon and the short demon hunter?" Carla frowned. "You mean Maya and Delinda? You ran into them?"
"Yep," Vera said.
Carla turned to Alastair. "They weren't after you?"
"I believe they came for another purpose," he answered.
Vera recounted the encounter in detail.
"And that big-boobed demon even called this guy a wandering trainee demon," Vera snorted. "I almost died laughing. She thought she was stronger than him. So dumb. Hey—why did she call you that anyway?"
Alastair didn't answer.
"A 'wandering demon' usually refers to demons without a contracted hunter," Henry explained.
"And 'trainee'?" Vera asked.
"It means he became a demon not long ago," King shouted from the helm.
"Huh?" Vera blinked. Everyone else seemed unsurprised.
"It means," Simone said, her voice softening, "that not long before you summoned him… he was still human."
"…What?"
Vera stared at Alastair, eyes wide.
"Then why did you become a demon?"
Alastair turned away without a word.
"Don't ask," Simone said. "That's not something easy to talk about."
Vera watched him walk away, thoughtful.
"…Will I become a demon one day too?" she murmured.
..............................................
Carla stepped beside Alastair, gazing out at the desert below.
"I'm still bothered by what Delinda said—'there's no time, we'll be late.'"
She glanced at him.
"Are they involved with Elijah and Hyde? Two S-rank hunters and two S-class demons coming to Thaubia—it's suspicious. Personal business, or a mission from HQ?"
Alastair studied her.
She was young—but composed beyond her years. Able to separate duty from emotion, to make swift decisions, prepared to die for a mission without hesitation.
He felt a flicker of respect.
"What do you think, Alastair?" Carla asked.
"They are suspicious," he said. "But irrelevant. We should focus on pieces that are actually useful."
A thin smile curved his lips.
I've already planted a soul tracer on Maya.
If she moves, I will know.
......................
At last, the airship arrived at a crude structure rising from the desert—
the stronghold of the zealots.
They disembarked.
"It's so hot," Vera groaned, fanning herself. "How do people live like this?"
Sweat drenched her hair and pale face.
"Aren't you hot?" she asked Alastair. "You're wearing a full suit!"
"No."
Since becoming a demon, he no longer felt heat or cold.
He glanced at King and Simone—neither showed signs of discomfort.
Henry and Carla, however, were drenched in sweat.
"Being a demon is kinda convenient," Vera muttered.
"Obviously," King scoffed. "Way better than being a weak human."
"You're the weak one," Vera snapped.
"Should we split into teams and infiltrate?" Carla cut in.
"No," Alastair said, raising a hand.
He stepped forward and declared, his voice ringing across the desert:
"I am Alastair—
the demon of the apocalypse.
If you believe you can stop me…
then come."
The desert answered with silence.
For now.