The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning sulfur. The ground beneath him trembled, pulsing like the heartbeat of a sleeping god.

  How could this have happened, Dev thought.

  He staggered forward, his body a ruin of torn flesh and shattered bone.

  Then he saw it.

  The Tree.

  It stood alone amidst the carnage—towering, ancient. Its gnarled roots twisted into the irradiated earth. Its bark, dark as night, was streaked with veins of golden light that pulsed faintly, as if the Tree itself was still alive—still breathing. Its branches stretched toward the heavens, and from them hung leaves like emerald fire, whispering in a language older than Babel.

  This war had raged for years. Humanity had been backed into a corner ever since they failed to hold the Gates.

  Ever since they died.

  The Hellspawns took most of Africa first—easy pickings. Scattered villages that didn’t have a pot to piss in, and warring dictators who’d already done most of the work for them. The demons came by the thousands, ransacking, destroying, devouring.

  These demons weren’t mindless beasts. They were smart. They knew how to infiltrate. How to sow chaos. How to wage war.

  By the time they swept through the Middle East, humanity was too busy squabbling over power and greed to act. Governments sent Hunters into combat zones they weren’t equipped for. The Hunters went on strike, longing for the old days—when they were paid fortunes instead of being treated like disposable weapons.

  When the demons conquered most of Asia and began encroaching on Europe, humanity panicked. They went scorched-earth, nuking entire regions.

  Aside from the initial blasts, the radiation meant nothing to the demons.

  "It reminds us of home," they had laughed.

  It bought humanity time. But not enough.

  Europe was lost. Those who could fled to the Americas. Those who couldn’t? Either the radiation got them, or the demons did.

  South America was infiltrated by demon worshippers who slowly co-opted government positions and infrastructure, boxing in the rest of humanity.

  That left three final strongholds—Canada, the United States, and Australia.

  The Aussies had fucked off and fully isolated themselves from the rest of the world, basically becoming North Korea.

  No one knew if they were dead or alive. Taken by demons or not.

  The rest kept fighting.

  Every. Single. Day.

  Then came the intel from cultist territory—something the demons were searching for near the Euphrates and Tigris. Something that had them excited.

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  Whatever it was, it had the Hellions practically celebrating.

  That can’t be good.

  High Command launched Operation Eden.

  The mission was simple in theory—retrieve whatever the demons wanted. If retrieval failed, destroy it. Anything to shift the tide.

  The demons had been waiting. That was expected in enemy territory.

  But who was waiting—that wasn’t.

  The mission report said there were only supposed to be low to mid-ranking demons. There were even satellite images to back it up.

  We expected one of the Seventy-Two at worst. We were prepped for Baal, for God’s sake.

  Spears of shadow and rot had torn through Dev’s flesh. Clawed hands ripped his comrades apart, their screams already fading into memory.

  Now, he stood alone, lifeblood spilling onto cursed ground.

  So why the FUCK was a Fallen One waiting with an army of high-ranking demons?

  Was this always meant to be a trap?

  He fell to his knees, vision swimming. With the last of his strength, he lifted a trembling, blood-slicked hand and pressed it against the Tree. The bark was warm to the touch, as if trying to soothe his agony.

  A shadow moved through the carnage.

  Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony, stepped through the bodies of his dead legions—through the bodies of Dev’s squad. His hollow gaze locked onto Dev.

  Dev, battered and broken, lifted his head to meet the demon’s stare.

  “My, my, my,” Beelzebub mused, his voice thick like spoiled honey, dripping with mockery. “I didn’t think you humans had anyone of this caliber left—not after the first three who fought my king. Phwooo, now those guys... they were scary. Almost ended the Lightbringer before he even touched mortal soil.”

  “How does it feel to be so close to a goal and fail at the last second?” the Prince buzzed. “Seems to be a pattern with you humans. I believe your ilk calls it choking.”

  Dev spat blood at the demon’s feet, trying to rouse his mana—to summon his lightning.

  “Fuck. You. Fly face.”

  Beelzebub chuckled. “You're right. We should talk about you. God be damned, you really were cutting down my legion like a raging storm. Your body broke every time you moved, but you didn’t stop. Kept cutting, punching, cutting, punching—brrr.”

  “Literal chills,” the Prince shivered gleefully. “You humans have such wonderful expressions. Definitely stealing some—when you’re all dead.”

  Dev’s breath came ragged now. His body was shutting down. The cold was creeping in.

  “Get to the point. What do you want?”

  Beelzebub tilted his head, considering.

  Then he smirked.

  “But why let something so useful go to waste?”

  He crouched, black talons clicking against the blood-soaked ground.

  “I can fix you up,” he said, voice smooth, coaxing. “Give you strength. You have so much potential, Dev. Even in a world that was mana-starved little over two decades ago, you managed to take out half a legion of high-ranked demons. Ha! Imagine what you could do with true guidance.”

  Dev forced his eyes to stay open, his breath ragged.

  “Think of the things you could accomplish,” Beelzebub continued. “The power you could have. The armies you could lead.”

  He grinned—teeth too sharp, too jagged.

  “The wrath you oh-so-could unleash.”

  A hand extended toward Dev, wreathed in swirling demonic energy—crackling with something deeper than magic. Something that tapped into the rules of causality.

  Karma.

  “The Contract is set, Dev,” Beelzebub whispered. His voice was silk and shadow. “All you have to do is take my hand, and this will all just be an old nightmare.”

  The air thickened. The Tree pulsed behind him.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  Dev stared at the outstretched hand.

  Then, slowly, he raised his own.

  Beelzebub’s grin widened. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Dev’s hand inched closer.

  Closer.

  “This will be the beginning of a wonde—”

  Dev extended a single finger.

  “Go to Hell.”

  Beelzebub blinked. For the first time, his smile faltered.

  Then, his expression twisted with rage.

  “You hairless ape dare—”

  Dev let out a strained laugh as darkness crept at the edges of his vision. He had passed the point of hearing Beelzebub rage—of hearing anything at all.

  But before the void took him, he whispered a final wish in his mind.

  If only… I could go back. Fix it. Stop this from ever happening. Stop them from ever dying…

  The Tree pulsed.

  A voice—ancient and warm like a mother’s touch—echoed in his mind.

  For your sacrifice, my child…

  It felt as if the world itself was speaking to him.

  Anything.

  A blinding flash.

  A searing, white-hot pain as something—no, everything—pierced his soul, mixing, fusing, becoming one.

  Dev died.

  Then—silence.