EP - 6 - STRENGTH AND PITY (part 1)

(past time) (FLASHBACK) Snow blanketed the quiet valley, and inside a small wooden house, warmth and laughter danced in the air. A simple demon—broad-shouldered, gentle-eyed—sat with his family at the dinner table. His wife served steaming bowls of stew while their two children chattered excitedly.

“Father, when will Uncle get here?” the elder child asked, eyes glowing with anticipation.

The man smiled. “Be patient, Yuki. He’ll arrive soon.”

The younger one bounced in his seat. “He promised stories, remember? About the royal wolf he defeated!”

The father chuckled softly, “He’ll have new ones too, I’m sure.”

Outside, far from the hearth’s warmth, a man moved through the storm.

He was barefoot, his muscular form wrapped in nothing but thin cloth. Snow clung to his skin but melted before it could freeze. Each step was steady, determined. His breath was calm despite the howling wind.

Then, without warning, he broke into a sprint. “I’m coming, my boy!” he shouted, grinning. “Be ready for the stories!”

The storm could not slow him. Not tonight.

Back at the house, a knock echoed through the room.

The father rose, voice booming with warmth. “Brother! You’re here!” He opened the door, expecting a hug, a smile—anything.

But no one stood there.

Just footsteps in the snow.

He stepped forward, confused—and then it struck.

A brutal kick landed at his side. He was hurled back into the house.

Knights stormed through the entrance. Metal clashed against wood. A soldier sneered, eyes full of hatred.

“Yes! These filthy demons will do. Let’s kill them, take their food and shelter. Hahaha!”

The father lunged for his children but was quickly restrained. The kids screamed. A female knight grabbed the mother and tied her arms behind her back.

Another knight, draped in red-feathered armor, examined the home with a cruel smirk. “This place is barely worth burning… but I don’t like leaving traces.”

They sat and devoured the family’s food while laughter and boots stomped across the broken home.

The father, bound and bleeding, shouted, “Please! Not my family!” His cries were met with cold silence—and the crack of a metal pot smashing across his head.

As they stood to burn the house down, a sudden, sharp crack shattered the air.

A soldier's helmet split open from a punch so powerful it bent the man’s neck unnaturally. Blood sprayed the walls. Panic swept through the remaining knights.

And then they saw him—the man who had walked barefoot through the snow.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t speak.

He killed.

Brutally.

Without mercy.

One by one, the knights fell. The female knight fought fiercely but was swiftly overpowered. The red-feathered leader tried to run. He didn’t make it to the door.

And yet, the worst was still to come.

Through the blizzard, a new figure appeared. A long coat of mist trailing behind him, glowing with arcane symbols. His eyes were sharp, his posture absolute.

The Mist Hero.

Behind him stood an elite unit of kingdom soldiers—each one trained beyond human limits.

“There’s the threat,” he said calmly. “You. One of you—go.”

A martial arts master stepped forward. He was a Muay Thai expert with a blade sharp enough to split bone.

Strength was powerful, yes—but wild. Untrained.

He fought like a beast. His opponent fought like a master.

In moments, the snowy man was overwhelmed—kicked, slammed, and slashed. He fell to the ground, coughing blood, his vision blurring.

But then—

CRACK!

The Mist Hero's shield shattered. A punch had landed—fast, brutal, pure.

His jaw twisted unnaturally. A single tooth fell to the ground.

Standing before him was someone new—a demon boy, no more than seventeen.

The hero blinked.

“He’s the one the Majesty warned me about…? So young. So dangerous.”

The boy summoned a wooden sword.

And slashed.

Even with wood, the Mist Hero’s neck bled.

“I’m the one you fear, aren’t I?” the boy said coldly. “Then send your elite soldiers. I’ll still be standing.”

The hero hesitated—then gestured. Ten thousand elite soldiers surged forward.

The boy moved like water through fire. He bled. He bruised. But he survived.

Ten thousand bodies lay in the snow. The boy fell to one knee, spitting blood.

“Come to me… coward.”

The Mist Hero staggered back, trembling. He began chanting—teleportation magic, the only escape.

That’s when Joy appeared.

Elegant. Radiant. Dangerous.

His eyes glowed purple, filled with quiet rage.

“Well done,” he said. “Happy, wasn’t it?”

The Mist Hero’s eyes widened. “That boy… is your comrade?”

He chanted faster. His hands shook.

Flashback— The king stood with his hand on the Mist Hero’s shoulder. “Take 45,000 soldiers.” “No need. I’ll finish this myself,” the Mist Hero had said, smirking.

Now, he vanished in a swirl of light—his pride shattered.

Back at the battlefield, the snowy man—barely alive—lay on the ground surrounded by corpses.

Joy knelt beside him.

“You have raw power,” he said softly. “But no technique. No direction. Serve my master… for eternity. I’ll give you what you need.”

The man’s fingers twitched. He didn’t hesitate.

“…Yes.”

Joy grinned.

Then he looked up—toward the divine realm—and shouted into the sky:

“HEY! God of Healing. God of Death. If this demon dies—I’ll bring war to your door.”

In the divine palace, the two gods laughed.

“He’s bluffing. A mere demon waging war on gods?”

Their laughter stopped suddenly.

The God of Healing screamed.

He looked at his hand—blood pouring from words that had carved themselves into his skin.

“ARE YOU SURE?”

Back on the battlefield, the demon rose—fully healed.

He looked at Joy.

“When do we begin?”

Joy smiled.

“Now. You are no longer a man… You are Strength.”

Time passed.

We see Strength punching through a mountain. Training with Happy—one hand tied behind his back. Joy watching silently from the shadows. Strength mastering martial arts, growing faster, calmer, wiser.

In a distant home, a mother tells the tale to her child by firelight:

“...And that is how the Demon of Strength was born—not from rage, but from love… and pain.”

Far in the distance, a tall figure stood on a hill, watching.

Silent.

Strong.

The wind moved around him.

But he did not move.