Outside the camp, the demons loomed like shadows stretched by nightmare.
Their forms towered over the humans, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement, grins sharp as razors. Though their strength wasn't overwhelming—only Level 3 and 4 of the Adept Rank—there was a savage arrogance in how they carried themselves.
They didn't need overwhelming power.
They had something worse—control.
And they knew it.
The Demon Envoy, taller than the others, stood in front of the group. His skin was like polished obsidian—black, reflective, almost unnatural in its stillness. Two long horns curved from his skull, and his blood-red eyes scanned the villagers like a merchant examining livestock.
Then he sneered.
"Good to see you're all still alive and behaving," he said, his voice slithering with mockery. "Today… we'll be taking five."
He paused, letting the word hang in the air.
"Preferably children."
A hush fell over the camp.
