"Sandy, the master of your fate and the captain of your soul—is that really what you believe?" the man said, staring up at Lade, who still held him by the head.
"Of course that's what I believe," Lade replied, his grip tightening slightly.
The man's voice carried a mocking edge despite his vulnerable position. "You think you can really change that? I want to see you do it."
Searching Lade's face for any hint of doubt, the man pressed on. "You really want to see me change your fate? For real?"
"If that's what you want, then I'll do it," Lade said coldly. His expression remained unreadable, carved from stone. "Since you seem to care about nothing, you'll never die. I'll make you care about something else. I'll make you wish that you were dead." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I know being dead means nothing to you, but pain might mean something."
"Don't hurt him. That's my job," Morris announced. He stood right behind Lade, holding his greatsword with casual menace. His demonic red eyes glowed faintly in the dark crimson forest, twin embers in the shadows.
The man stared at Morris with desperate defiance. "That's your job? Your job is to give me five demon cores."
"Who said I wasn't doing that?" Morris replied. He rested his greatsword against his shoulder for a moment, then rushed forward without even a second thought. He swung the massive blade down toward the man with brutal efficiency.
The man tried to dodge, twisting frantically, but Lade still held him fast. His hands squeezed the man's skull like a vice. "Let me go! Let me go!" the man screamed. He tried to kick Lade, but Lade simply stood there, unmoved as a mountain, as the greatsword descended.
Bam! The greatsword sliced completely through the man's neck with a sickening crunch. Lade caught the severed head mid-air and hurled it into a nearby tree. The rest of the body crumpled to the ground in a heap. Blood pooled in the dirt, dark and thick.
Both stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what they'd done hanging between them.
"You are not as bad as I thought you were, Lade," Morris said, breaking the quiet. A note of genuine respect colored his voice. "I thought you were weak, demon. I thought you were the weakest of the weak, but it seems—it seems like things have changed." He studied Lade with new interest. "I don't like you, Lade. Actually, I do like you now."
Morris wiped his blade clean. "All we have to do is make sure that my father won't get in the way of things." He walked off and motioned for Lade to follow.
*You want us to kill your father?* Lade thought, intrigued. *How interesting. It seems like this demon who has so much pride—his philosophy isn't wrong, though. The weak do deserve to die. It's a dog-eat-dog world, after all. Only the strong survive here.*
Lade moved to follow Morris as they both walked out of the path. Soon they entered a large city that gleamed with powerful lights. The city still had a red tint over everything, but there were other colors as well—a few blue crystals here and there, and some light crystals serving for actual illumination instead of the red-tinted crystals that demons usually favored.
Morris led Lade to a random house in the middle of the town. The house didn't really look eye-catching, but it didn't look like whoever lived in it was poor either. It appeared to be just a normal house, nothing too outrageous or ostentatious.
Morris walked up and opened the door without knocking. "Father, are you in here?" he called out.
"What do you want, Morris?" his father said, walking up from another room. He stopped when he saw Lade. "Oh, you didn't hurt this kid. I'm glad to see that Lade is alive. Thank you for not hurting him." He stared at Morris with cautious relief.
But Morris had bloodlust in his look, barely contained beneath the surface. *You're lucky that Lade changed. You're lucky that Lade is better, that he's grown more... let's say weak,* Morris thought. *Or I would have killed you on the spot when I saw you.*
"That's good," the father said, stepping aside to let both Morris and Lade in.
The man had bulging muscles and very deep red eyes—deeper than any other demon Lade had seen. He had much paler skin than most demons, almost ashen, and it looked like he could be a very strong demon despite his age.
"Ron," Lade said suddenly. The name just rolled off his tongue without thought.
Lade was confused. The name had emerged unbidden—he didn't even know it consciously, but somehow the body remembered. It knew the man's name. Somehow, Lade's brain caught up to what his body already knew, and he had a puzzled look on his face for just a moment. *I don't know that name,* he thought. *I had no idea who Ron was, but this body sure does.*
Lade continued with the act. After all, he wanted this to go through smoothly. He didn't want Ron to gain suspicion and do something reckless. The mission needed to be carried out perfectly.
"Yes, Lade?" Ron answered warmly. "What do you need?"
"I was wondering if you could get us some food," Lade said, managing a weak smile and playing the part of the injured friend. "After all, from the beating that Morris gave me, I'm pretty hungry."
"Gladly," Ron said, smiling genuinely as he headed toward the kitchen area of the house.
*Perfect,* Lade thought, his mind turning cold and calculating. *This is my chance to end your pathetic life, Ron. You're weak—that's what you've always been. Even before I entered the demon world, even on Earth, it's been that way. The more magic, the more powerful you are, the more you can beat around the weak like it's nothing.*
His thoughts grew darker. *It seems like the rules are the same here as they were on Earth, which means that no matter what world you go to, the strong always win over the weak. It's the same here as well. I'm sure he would understand.*
While Lade's thoughts were sinister and coldly calculated, Morris's were more bloodthirsty—like he couldn't wait to do this, as if he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.
Ron entered the kitchen to prepare some of the best demon snacks he had, which only cost around two or three demon stones. For reference, five demon stones were equivalent to one demon core, and even demon stones were kind of hard to find. But somehow Ron had gotten two demon stones. He'd spent those precious stones on snacks for his son and, of course, for Lade as well—just in case Lade ever decided to come over.
Of course, that was for the old Lade. If Ron knew better, he would never have invited this new Lade to his house—not knowing what Lade had become, the transformation that had hardened his heart.
While Ron prepared the snacks for the two, Lade stared into Morris's red eyes. The air between them crackled with unspoken understanding.
"Do you really want to end his life?" Lade said, staring at Morris.
Morris smiled, his eyes filled with bloodlust. "Of course. My father has been weak, disappointing, a burden to the demon race. In fact, I might have even hated him more than I hated you, Lade. He was nothing but a disgusting demon. I can't believe me, a prideful and strong demon warrior, was conceived by this disgusting wreck of a man." Morris said this all in a whisper to make sure that Ron could not hear. "So why did you bring me here, Lade, when you could have killed him yourself?"
"I want you to torture him," Morris said. "And then I'll do the finishing blow."
"The finishing blow? So you brought me here just to torture the guy?" Lade's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You know I'm not one for torture. I might be cold-blooded and I might be a terrible human being, but torture isn't a good way to go out. I would prefer quickly ending their life. The only way I would torture someone is if it was for my benefit, and clearly I'm not getting any benefit from torturing this man. That's helping you, not me. So how about I play the act? I eat his snacks, I leave, and you kill him. That way I have nothing to do with this, because I have better goals in mind."
Lade's reply stunned Morris as he stared. Morris had thought that Lade would go for the torture method, but apparently Lade had other plans.
"And if you get in my way, Morris," Lade said, "I won't hesitate to end your life. Allies are nothing but useful tools to me, and it's the same with you. You're the first person I met actually in this place." That was true. The first person that the real Lade had actually met when he was born was Morris. That was the first person that Lade saw as a baby when he opened his eyes. But that Lade was probably gone. This one, this new Lade, entered the old one's body. "And because you're the first one I saw doesn't mean that I will consider you as an ally. Morris, you're just as disposable as every other demon in this town. You are nothing, and I really hope you know that."
Morris stood straight. Shivers went down his spine. Morris had nothing to say. He didn't know that Lade felt this type of way. Morris had thought that he was the most cold-blooded—well, second most cold-blooded besides the Demon King—but he thought that he was one of the most cold-blooded demons around. But Lade had showed him another form of deadly. Morris would never have that type of mindset, but Lade would easily kill someone if it meant benefiting him.
After Ron had gathered all the demon snacks together, he left the kitchen area and gave some to Lade and some to Morris. Lade ate the demon snacks, and they were surprisingly good, very good.
*Is this what two demon stones can get you in this world?* Lade thought. He quickly ate up all the snacks. However, Morris barely picked at his food, his mind focused on the task of killing his father.
Lade stood up and, like he said, left the house. He would let Morris kill his father, and that way Lade would have nothing to do with it. After all, getting involved in a murder would be the least of his plans to work towards his goals.
He smiled as he reached the door. "I hope you remember what I said to you, Morris, because we will meet again—that's as allies, but most likely as enemies."
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Inside, Morris turned slowly toward the kitchen, his greatsword gleaming in the dim light. Ron hummed softly, cleaning up the plates, completely unaware of what was about to happen.
Outside, Lade walked into the crimson-tinted streets, his mind already calculating his next move. But something stopped him mid-step. A presence. Powerful. Ancient. Watching.
He turned his head slightly, scanning the shadows between buildings. Nothing visible, yet the sensation crawled across his skin like ice.
Then, from the darkness, a voice—smooth, amused, and utterly terrifying—whispered directly into his mind: *"So you're the one who thinks he can change fate. How... entertaining."*
Lade's blood ran cold. His hand instinctively moved toward his weapon, but before he could react, the presence vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Behind him, from inside Ron's house, a scream tore through the night—cut short by the wet sound of steel meeting flesh.
Lade stood frozen in the street, caught between the murder behind him and the unknown threat ahead. Whatever had just spoken to him knew exactly who he was. And worse—it knew what he was planning.
The game had changed. Someone far more dangerous than Morris or Ron was now watching his every move.
And they were waiting.