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It had been three days since the bridge between the worlds opened — an unnatural structure hovering in the skies, pulsing with dark energy. The world had held its breath in anxious anticipation. The initial silence was deceptive. Then came the storm.
Thunder split the heavens in deafening waves. Bolts of crimson lightning slashed across the sky as if the very fabric of reality were being torn apart. The clouds churned like boiling smoke, glowing red with otherworldly fire. Then, through the storm, he came.
Astaroth.
The sky seemed to bend to his will as his monstrous wings stretched wide, blotting out the sun. His descent was slow, regal, menacing. Surrounding him, an army of winged demons — the Flirt — emerged through the rift, their bodies glistening with obsidian armor, eyes glowing like molten lava.
With a voice that echoed across valleys and vibrated through the bones of all who heard it, Astaroth roared:
> "Hear me, O Earth! Rejoice, for your end is at hand. Let fear be your song and death your comfort!"
The Flirt surged forward, their movement unnaturally synchronized, as if magnetized by an unseen force — drawn toward one singular object: the Ring.
It had been hidden in the human world, passed down through generations, mistaken for myth. But Astaroth knew where it was. He could feel its pulse.
The Human Response
Stationed on the outskirts of the capital, the human military was already on high alert. Fighter jets circled the skies, while missile batteries pointed toward the bridge.
General Hawthorne stood on a command platform, binoculars raised, watching the oncoming threat.
"They're within range," he muttered, before shouting, "OPEN FIRE!"
Artillery roared from the ground. Rockets screamed into the air. The jets dived and rolled, engaging the Flirt with high-speed chases and bursts of gunfire. Explosions lit the sky, trailing smoke and fire. The battlefield became chaos incarnate.
"All fighters, move to intercept! 6 o'clock and 9 o'clock formations, flank the enemy and engage! Bring down anything that flies!" Hawthorne barked into the radio.
For a moment, humanity pushed back. The Flirt were falling. Demons screamed as they were torn apart by bullets and bombs.
But then, more arrived. Hundreds more.
From the rift in the sky, reinforcements poured like a river of nightmares.
Astaroth laughed, a thunderous sound that drowned even the sound of explosions.
> "You humans and your toys… Is this your magic? Quick and loud, but fragile. These are the warriors of the Sixth Circle of Hell. Do you really believe this is enough?"
In the command center, a woman's voice came through the intercom — calm, clear, and urgent.
"General, we need to bring down their leader. Do we have visual on Astaroth?" asked Mrs. Clara, head of arcane research.
"Yes ma'am, we have a clean visual," a fighter pilot confirmed.
Clara's voice sharpened. "According to ancient records, demons can only be slain through the heart. Not the chest — the heart. Get a clear shot and wait for the order."
"Copy that."
"Visual confirmed," said the pilot. "We're locked in and awaiting orders."
A beat passed.
Then General Hawthorne shouted, "FIRE!"
The bomb dropped — a massive payload designed specifically for anti-demonic warfare. It hit Astaroth square in the chest, engulfing him in a blazing inferno of white flame and seismic force. The battlefield went silent for a moment.
"Target neutralized?" Hawthorne asked.
"Sir… we have visual confirmation. The target's been destroyed!"
A cheer erupted from the command center. On the battlefield, soldiers roared in celebration. Civilians cried with relief.
But it was too soon.
From the crater, a deep laugh began to echo — dark, mocking, triumphant.
Smoke parted, and Astaroth rose again.
> "Oh, you poor, ignorant creatures… You really think it would be that easy?" he said, sneering. "My heart is not where yours lies."
He tapped the right side of his ribcage, mockingly.
> "I am ancient beyond your comprehension. You cannot kill what you do not understand."
The battle raged on for another three hours. Human forces fought bravely, but they were overwhelmed. One by one, they fell. The Flirt pressed forward, surrounding their target.
Finally, they secured the ring.
As the demons began retreating back to the bridge, Astaroth turned one last time.
> "You've only seen a glimpse of what awaits you. We will return, and with us shall come our king. After the Convergence… your world will kneel."
And with that, the bridge pulsed once more and snapped shut.
Aftermath
Silence descended over the battlefield. Smoke lingered in the air, and the scent of blood, fire, and loss was thick.
General Hawthorne stood among the wreckage, his uniform tattered, his eyes hollow. A medic patched up his arm as the President called in.
"What's the status, General?"
Hawthorne swallowed hard.
"Sir… 500 soldiers dead. We used 2,211 hand grenades, 45 million rounds of ammunition, 5,000 bombs. We lost 65 fighter jets. Civilians... 2,567 confirmed dead. Damages totaling over 200 million dollars."
There was a long pause on the line.
Then, the President spoke, his voice grave. "All that destruction… and they only came for the ring. What will happen when they come for war?"
A junior officer nearby whispered, "We're doomed…"
"No," the President said firmly. "We will wait. We will prepare. And when they come back — when they bring their king — we will be ready. We will meet them with fire and vengeance. An eye for an eye."
Elsewhere… in the Demon World
Dexter's eyes fluttered open. He was no longer in chains. The pain in his body was dull, not agonizing. His wounds had been wrapped in old, tattered cloth, smelling of sulfur and something… soothing. Volcanic ash?
He groaned as he sat up, confused.
"Where am I…?"
A voice spoke softly from the shadows, almost kind.
"You're safe now."
Dexter's head turned quickly. "Who are you?"
A figure stepped forward — tall, muscular, with one glowing eye and curved horns.
"My name is Tulopia. I rescued you."
Dexter blinked. "You're… a demon?"
Tulopia nodded slowly. "Half demon. Half cyclops. But not all of us serve the helllords."
Dexter's breathing slowed, but his heart still raced. Tulopia reached out a clawed hand in peace.
"You're not alone. And you're not finished yet."