Chapter 36:
Brought into my Unfinished Game World
The vision shifted once more, pulling them deeper into memories that someone had buried long ago.
The scene changed. The previous Demon Lord rode alone across an empty field, heading toward the distant silhouette of the Nocturnal Kingdom's capital. His massive armored form sat straight in the saddle, one hand holding the reins while the other rested on a sealed scroll tucked into his belt.
He had left his guards at the border. A gesture of trust, of peaceful intent.
The field stretched wide and quiet around him. Tall grass swayed in the breeze. Nothing moved except the gentle wind and his mount's steady pace forward.
Then the air shimmered.
Hundreds of soldiers materialized in a perfect circle around him. They had been there all along, hidden by a mass invisibility spell. Archers with drawn bows. Mages with charged spells crackling in their palms. Heavy infantry forming a wall of shields and spears.
The Demon Lord pulled his mount to a halt. His hand moved away from his sword, raising both palms in a gesture of peace.
— There has been a misunderstanding, he called out, his deep voice carrying across the silent field. I am here for diplomacy, not conflict. I carry a proposal from—
An arrow struck his shoulder.
The entire army began to chant in unison, their voices rising like a wave of hatred.
— Death to demons! Death to demons! Death to demons!
The Demon Lord looked into their eyes as they closed in. Rage. Fear. Disgust. Bloodlust. Not a single face showed doubt or hesitation. Whatever words he spoke would fall on deaf ears. Whatever gesture he made would be seen as deception.
His chest tightened with sorrow. Disappointment crashed over him like cold water. All his hopes for peace, his questioning of the hatred that drove their endless war, his desperate need to understand why they fought—none of it mattered. They would kill him here, and the cycle would continue.
But he could not die. Not yet. Not like this.
If he survived, he could try again. Find another way. Another kingdom. Another approach.
The Demon Lord drew his blade.
Spells erupted from every direction. Ice shards, fireballs, lightning bolts—all converging on his position at once. He raised his free hand and cast a barrier spell that absorbed the initial wave, but the shield cracked under the concentrated assault.
He urged his mount forward, aiming for a gap in the infantry line. The creature leaped, its powerful legs carrying them over the first row of shields. Soldiers scattered as the dire stag's hooves crashed down among them.
The Demon Lord struck with the flat of his blade, knocking weapons from hands and sending soldiers stumbling backward. He could have cut them down easily, but he held back. Non-lethal strikes. Disabling blows. He would not give them more reason to hate his kind.
An arrow pierced his mount's flank. The creature stumbled but kept running. Another arrow struck its neck. It collapsed mid-stride, throwing the Demon Lord forward into the grass.
He rolled and came up running, his armor weighing him down but his determination driving him forward. The shadow corridor lay to the east, past the edge of this field. If he could reach it, he could escape.
Mages coordinated their spells, creating walls of ice to block his path. He shattered through them with his blade, flames from his armor melting what remained. Infantry rushed to cut off his retreat, forming new lines faster than he could break through them.
He fought with precision and control. Every strike calculated to wound but not kill. Every spell designed to push back rather than destroy. His massive frame moved with practiced efficiency despite the growing number of injuries bleeding through gaps in his armor.
But exhaustion crept in. Too many opponents. Too many spells. Too many arrows finding their mark.
A mage behind the lines began chanting something different. The Demon Lord recognized the words—a binding spell, high level, requiring extended preparation. He turned to interrupt the casting, but three separate ice walls materialized between them.
By the time he broke through, the spell completed.
Chains of light erupted from the ground, wrapping around his legs and arms. They burned where they touched his skin, draining his strength with every passing second. He pulled against them, muscles straining, but more chains appeared to replace any he managed to break.
The Demon Lord fell to his knees as the binding spell tightened. His sword slipped from his grasp.
Soldiers closed in around him, weapons raised for the final blow.
A war horn echoed across the field.
The demon guards who had accompanied their lord to the border came charging over the hill. Twenty elite warriors, their armor gleaming, their weapons drawn. They had followed at a distance despite his orders to remain behind.
— Do not kill them! the Demon Lord shouted, his voice hoarse but commanding even as the chains burned into his flesh. Incapacitate only! That is an order!
The demon warriors hesitated mid-charge. Their weapons lowered slightly as they processed the command. Several exchanged glances, clearly conflicted between their battle instincts and their lord's directive.
Then they roared and resumed their assault, adjusting their tactics on the move.
The demons tore through the human formation with brutal efficiency. Shields shattered under heavy strikes. Mages fell unconscious from precisely placed blows. Within minutes, the ambush force lay scattered across the field, wounded but alive.
The warriors rushed to their fallen lord. The binding chains still burned around his limbs, and blood seeped from dozens of wounds through the gaps in his armor. His breathing came in shallow gasps.
— My lord! one of the warriors called out, kneeling beside him.
The Demon Lord's eyes flickered, struggling to remain conscious.
— Get him to the castle, the lead warrior commanded. Move!
They lifted their lord as gently as his massive frame allowed and carried him toward the nearest shadow corridor. His armor scraped against the ground where they could not fully support his weight, leaving a trail through the grass.
The castle's healing chambers filled with frantic activity. Healers chanted restoration spells while physicians worked to remove arrows and close wounds. The Demon Lord lay on a stone table, his massive form barely fitting on its surface.
His wife stood beside him, her hands gripping his as the healers moved around them with growing desperation.
— We have done everything we can, the head healer said quietly, stepping back from the table. The binding spell sealed his natural high regeneration. Wounds he should have survived are now fatal without that ability. I am sorry.
The Demon Lord's chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths. His eyes opened slightly, finding his wife's face.
She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her forehead against his.
— You are not leaving me, she whispered. Not like this.
She straightened and turned to face the assembled warriors and healers, her eyes blazing with resolve.
— We march to the Horizon Canvas. Now.
The demons exchanged uncertain glances. The Canvas lay far beyond their borders, in territory they barely understood.
But their king was dying. Desperation overrode caution.
They lifted the Demon Lord once more and began the long journey to the edge of their world.
The white glow of the Horizon Canvas filled their vision as they reached the final approach. The Demon Lord had clung to life throughout the entire trek, his breathing growing weaker with each passing hour.
His wife walked beside the stretcher that carried him, her hand never leaving his.
They stopped at the very edge where reality began to dissolve into nothingness. The void stretched before them, infinite and unknowable.
The queen knelt beside her husband. His eyes were closed now, his chest barely moving.
— I will find you again, she said softly, touching his face one final time.
Then she stood, lifted his body with strength born from pure will, and threw him into the void.
She moved toward the edge herself, ready to follow.
A hand grabbed her arm. The leader of the elite guard pulled her back with firm insistence, then pushed her several steps away from the cliff.
— No! she shouted, struggling as her servants rushed forward to hold her.
But the guard captain raised his other hand in a commanding gesture. The rest of his corps stepped forward, forming a line at the edge of the Canvas.
They did not speak. One by one, they stepped off the edge and fell into the white void.
Their silhouettes began to glow as they descended. The light grew brighter and brighter until their forms disintegrated completely, breaking apart into streams of luminous essence.
The essence swirled together with threads of raw data and lines of code that materialized from nowhere. The chaotic elements twisted and merged, forming patterns that hurt to look at directly.
Then everything condensed into a single point. An egg-shaped structure formed in the air, its surface pulsing with unstable energy.
Cracks appeared across the shell. Light leaked through the fractures.
The egg shattered.
An infant figure rose from the broken pieces, floating in the void where reality ended and impossibility began.
The vision faded, leaving the group standing once more in the desert near the Horizon Canvas. The Demon Lord lowered her hand from the dissipating anomaly, her crimson eyes distant with old grief.
— That was the first time an enhanced demon was born, she said quietly. But it was also my husband's first reincarnation.
Bolg Nir stared at her, his red eyes wide.
— What do you mean by "first"?
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