The hall was drowned in silence.

  Lucas could feel the weight of dozens of eyes locked onto him, their faces frozen between horror and uncertainty.

  The blood of the guard he had just killed still stained the golden marble floor. His twisted corpse lay lifeless, a heap of shattered flesh and metal.

  Lucas breathed heavily, his fingers tingling with the black energy pulsing within him—hot and insatiable.

  "Continue."

  The voice whispered again. Clearer this time. More present.

  The soldiers hesitated. Some stepped back, others swallowed hard, but none attacked immediately.

  They were afraid.

  Lucas wasn’t sure what he felt. Fear? Rage? Something inside him screamed to stop, to find a way out. But there was another part… a part that savored this moment.

  "They took everything from you."

  Lucas closed his eyes for a second. He didn’t want this.

  But then he heard it.

  The sharp ring of metal.

  The whisper of a blade cutting through the air.

  His body reacted before his mind.

  He turned, and his hand closed around the incoming sword. The steel bit into his flesh, but he felt no pain. His eyes met those of the soldier who had attacked him—wide, confused, mortal.

  Lucas twisted the blade with a sharp pull.

  The soldier’s wrist snapped. He screamed, but before he could retreat, Lucas grabbed his face with his other hand.

  The black energy pulsed.

  The man’s eyes rolled back, and within seconds, his skull imploded inward, collapsing like a crushed eggshell. Warm blood splattered across Lucas’s face, and something inside him opened.

  The hesitation disappeared.

  The hall erupted into screams.

  The soldiers charged—but it was too late. Lucas moved before them, his body a blur of shadow and violence.

  He wasn’t fighting.

  He was destroying.

  The first fell when Lucas tore off his leg with a single swipe, leaving him writhing on the ground in agony.

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  The second tried to stab him with a spear, but Lucas grabbed the shaft, snapped it in half, and drove the broken end into the man’s throat, feeling the hot blood gush over his hand.

  He was unstoppable.

  "More."

  He lunged forward, and chaos swallowed the castle.

  The nobles ran—but there was no escape.

  Lucas raised his hand and let the black energy flow. It slithered through the air like a living entity before striking the massive wooden doors.

  They exploded into a thousand pieces, the shrapnel piercing the bodies of those trying to flee.

  The screams of panic became music.

  "Continue."

  The surviving soldiers tried to regroup. An archer drew his bowstring, aiming directly at Lucas’s chest.

  He fired.

  Lucas raised his hand, and the arrow halted in midair, hovering inches from his skin.

  With a mere thought, the wooden shaft twisted back toward its origin, piercing through the archer’s eye and bursting out the back of his skull.

  Blood splattered across the remaining soldiers.

  They trembled.

  Lucas smiled.

  "Cowards." His voice was low, almost a growl.

  He surged forward.

  This time, it was a massacre.

  His fingers pierced flesh like sharpened blades.

  He tore off arms and heads, crushed chests with his fists, split bodies open as if they were made of paper.

  With each kill, he felt stronger. More alive. More complete.

  The voice inside him was no longer a whisper.

  "Kill. Devour. Become what they fear."

  Lucas laughed.

  His gaze fell upon the throne.

  The king was still there.

  He had not run.

  He had watched.

  Lucas walked toward him, his feet leaving crimson trails on the ruined marble.

  The monarch remained seated, his white robes now stained with dust and blood. His eyes held only understanding.

  "So, it’s true." His voice was soft, almost resigned.

  Lucas stopped before him.

  "You knew." His voice was no longer the voice of a mere man. It was deeper. Darker. Monstrous.

  The king smiled faintly.

  "We did not summon a hero." He looked over the ruined hall, at the bodies scattered like discarded puppets. "We summoned ruin."

  Lucas did not hesitate.

  He grabbed the king by the throat and lifted him into the air.

  The monarch did not struggle.

  That enraged Lucas.

  He wanted this old man to beg.

  He wanted him to fear.

  Power roared inside him, and in a single brutal motion, he ripped the king’s arms from his body.

  Blood gushed in torrents.

  The monarch screamed.

  That was good.

  Lucas gritted his teeth. "Before I kill you…"

  He dragged the king outside the castle.

  He wanted him to see.

  With a single gesture, the horizon ignited into flames.

  The villages surrounding the castle burned. The earth cracked. The sky itself seemed to darken beneath his presence.

  The last thing the king saw was his world falling apart.

  Lucas turned to him.

  The old man’s breath was weak. His eyes, fogged with pain, met Lucas’s.

  He smiled faintly.

  "You… are… the Demon King…"

  Lucas drove his hand into the king’s chest.

  The monarch choked. Coughing blood.

  Lucas smiled.

  Then, he crushed his heart.

  The body collapsed. Lifeless. Without a kingdom. Without anything.

  Lucas stood there, staring at the destruction.

  His breath heavy. His chest rising and falling.

  Silence fell.

  And then, he felt it.

  His fingers brushed against his wrist.

  Clara’s bracelet was still there.

  The darkness roared inside him, hungry, demanding more.

  But he held it back.

  For a moment.

  Just long enough to remember why he was here.

  He looked up at the darkened sky.

  "I will come back, Clara. Even if I have to destroy everything to do it."

  And in the depths of silence, the shadows smiled.