As the Demon Lord and his companions strode through the desolate battlefield, silence clung to the air like a heavy shroud. The scarred landscape stretched endlessly around them, its ground marred by the echoes of countless violent clashes. Smoke rose from shattered earth, curling toward the blood-hued sky, and the stench of death lingered like an unwelcome guest. The Demon Lord walked with regal poise, his mismatched eyes scanning the devastation. Beneath his calm and menacing exterior, however, a storm brewed. A strange cocktail of emotions stirred within him—a flicker of sorrow for the lost, twisted by the relentless anticipation of slaying his first god. Yet, his expression betrayed none of this. He remained the unyielding figure of authority.

  By contrast, Greed trudged through the thick mud with visible disgust, her golden irises narrowed in distaste. Her every movement carried her revulsion, her delicate features contorting as she muttered under her breath. Insight, on the other hand, moved with an eerie stillness, her raven-black hair flowing around her like a shadowy veil. Her crimson eyes remained emotionless, and her gait was so perfectly controlled that, were she not walking, she could have been mistaken for a lifeless doll.

  Greed eventually broke the silence, her voice tinged with frustration. "Lord, must we trudge through this filth when you could fly us to our destination in mere moments?"

  The Demon Lord slowed his stride, his lips curving faintly into a rare, enigmatic smile. "I could," he replied, his tone carrying an edge of curiosity, "but do you not feel a sense of nostalgia walking amongst the living again? For we were all living once before, whether we remember it or not."

  Greed frowned, choosing her words carefully. "Respectfully, Lord, all I feel is repulsion. I apologize if that disappoints you."

  The Demon Lord answered, his voice as even as ever. "No, you are free to feel as you do. But you are right—the sooner we arrive, the better." He paused, turning his gaze to Insight. "But first, Insight, tell me—what are your thoughts on this new world?"

  Insight blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. The Demon Lord rarely spoke so openly, let alone invited opinions. Her voice was soft and measured as she replied, "Lord, this new world fills me with overwhelming sadness."

  "I see," the Demon Lord murmured.

  "But," Insight continued, her crimson eyes glinting faintly, "I also feel a strange sense of hope—hope inspired by those warriors who were ready to risk their lives for their comrades, knowing full well it was a suicide mission."

  The Demon Lord tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Hope? What a strange emotion for a demon to possess. It is one I have neither experienced nor heard spoken of among our kind."

  With that, he ascended effortlessly into the air, his companions levitating behind him as they sped toward the angelic encampment. The battlefield below became a blur as they traveled, the winds rushing past them carrying both the faint echoes of war and the stench of decay.

  When they arrived, the encampment was unlike anything they had seen. The skies above were an unnatural tapestry of darkness, glittering with alien stars and illuminated by a glowing, full moon that cast the area in an ethereal light. The camp was populated by figures clad in luminescent violet robes, their crescent-marked foreheads gleaming like beacons. Each figure wielded staffs adorned with pearly orbs, and their glowing white eyes exuded an unsettling serenity. There were only two dozen of them, but their power rippled faintly in the air, a testament to their divine connection.

  Insight’s piercing gaze assessed them instantly. “Lord,” she said, her voice as calm as ever, “they follow a being named the God of Dreams. The symbols on their foreheads mark them as his chosen, bestowing them with divine power. Shall we clear them away? They are far too weak to concern you.”

  The Demon Lord gave an imperceptible nod. “Very well. Do as you see fit.”

  The three of them descended, landing in unison at the perimeter of the camp—or rather, the fortress. At its center loomed a manor of impossible beauty, its structure seemingly composed of the cosmos itself, with swirling galaxies and glimmering stars woven into its walls. Encircling the fortress was a barrier of vibrant purple flames, flickering with divine energy.

  The Followers of Dreams did not stand idle. As one, they raised their staffs and unleashed a torrent of magic—a dazzling display of divine and arcane energy that tore through the air toward the intruders.

  Greed reacted swiftly, her golden shield materializing in an instant, deflecting the volleys of magic with a resounding hum. “Filthy magic,” she hissed, her disdain apparent.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Insight, meanwhile, vanished into a murder of demonic crows, her form dissipating into the night like a shadowy storm. The murder shot through the air at breakneck speed, their obsidian wings leaving streaks of darkness in their wake. Each crow targeted the crescent marks on the foreheads of the followers, their razor-sharp talons piercing the divine symbols with precision. When the Followers fell, their bodies left no trace, only shadows seared into the earth where they once stood.

  The battle was over within moments. Greed and Insight knelt before their master, their voices unison as they declared, “It is done, Lord.”

  The Demon Lord’s expression darkened. “Is it?” he said, his tone laced with displeasure.

  His companions exchanged confused glances, and then a voice, unfamiliar and sharp, pierced the silence. “Impressive.”

  Turning to face the source, they saw a young man emerge from the celestial manor. Unlike the others, his forehead bore the mark of a full moon, radiating an ominous glow. His black leather and silver armor gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and a pearly spear rested effortlessly in his hand. His white eyes streamed with a shadowy essence, his expression one of eerie indifference.

  “Lord,” Greed snarled, “it seems the God of Dreams has arrived.”

  Insight shook her head subtly. The Demon Lord, his voice cold with annoyance, corrected them. “He is no god.”

  The unknown man stepped forward from the celestial manor, his presence commanding yet disturbingly calm. His voice was smooth and unhurried as he spoke, each word resonating with quiet arrogance. “Indeed, I am not the God of Dreams. I am his champion—his strongest warrior. You may call me Harvest. My god sows the seeds, and I harvest them for his benefit. Everything I do is for him, and today he wishes for me to dispose of the vulgar energy that you displayed on the battlefield.”

  Harvest raised his luminous eyes, their white glow trailing shadowy tendrils, fixing his gaze upon the Demon Lord with a disdain so potent it could have carved through stone. “He told me to deliver this message to you: ‘You disgust him, and he sentences you to death for ruining his entertainment.’ So kindly lay your neck beneath my blade. I have no desire to linger here longer than necessary—I yearn to return to the world of dreams.”

  The venom in his words was palpable, but his delivery remained eerily indifferent, as though sentencing the Demon Lord to death was no more than a mundane task.

  “INSOLENCE!” Greed roared, her voice thundering through the night like a cannon. With a flick of her clawed hand, she conjured a spike of pure gold and hurled it toward Harvest’s head. The projectile gleamed brilliantly, its edges razor-sharp, but Harvest deflected it with a casual twist of his pearly spear, the motion so effortless it seemed mockingly dismissive.

  Insight responded next, dissolving into her form of demonic crows—a thousand shadows swirling into the night sky like a dark tempest. The air grew heavy and oppressive as the murder streaked toward Harvest with deadly precision, their razor-sharp talons aimed directly for his glowing eyes.

  Simultaneously, Greed summoned twin battleaxes forged entirely of gold, their surfaces shimmering with divine intensity. She gripped them tightly, their massive weight inconsequential in her monstrous hands. Without hesitation, she charged at Harvest, her movements a blur of strength and ferocity as she swung the axes with titanic force.

  The battle began in a storm of motion. Harvest parried each of Greed’s swings, his spear dancing in his hands like liquid light, maintaining perfect distance from her brutal strikes. He moved with grace, his maneuvers so fluid that they seemed almost rehearsed. At the same time, he spun and darted through the hailstorm of Insight’s crows, evading their relentless attacks with uncanny agility.

  But even the most flawless defense is not without its cracks. One of Insight’s crows slipped through Harvest’s guard, its talons slicing a shallow wound across his back. The strike, though minor, disrupted his focus. Seizing the moment, Greed brought her axes down with devastating force, their golden edges carving into his flesh. Insight’s crows followed, their talons piercing through his back in quick succession.

  Yet, there was no blood. From the wounds emerged a radiant glow, a light so pure and blinding that it seemed otherworldly. The brilliance grew, illuminating the battlefield with an intensity that drowned out the stars above. It was as though Harvest’s very essence was made of celestial fire, a fragment of creation itself.

  Insight and Greed halted their assault, retreating several paces as the radiant light spilled forth. Harvest screamed—a sound that resonated with both pain and power—and the glow erupted in an explosion that sent shockwaves across the camp. Dust and debris billowed through the air, obscuring all vision as the ground trembled beneath the impact.

  When the dust finally settled, the Demon Lord and his companions beheld a sight unlike anything they had encountered. Where Harvest once stood was now a titanic figure, his form seemingly crafted from the vast reaches of space itself. His body shimmered with galaxies and constellations, his edges blurred as though he existed in multiple dimensions at once.

  Two masks adorned his massive face. The first, a pristine white mask, radiated brilliance like the sun, its glowing eyes fixed unwaveringly on the Demon Lord. The second, a pitch-black mask, absorbed all light that dared approach it. Its closed eyes hinted at a power darker and more destructive than even the first.

  The Demon Lord’s expression remained unreadable, his companions tense and ready for whatever came next. Insight and Greed exchanged glances, their confidence shaken but their loyalty steadfast. They had witnessed the Champion of the God of Dreams transform, unleashing his full power in preparation for the confrontation to come.