Pain. Blood. Curse. The sensation of your weapon piercing the Demon King’s chest has long faded into a blur. But the memory of snapping your comrade’s neck with your bare hands—of that sickening tremor traveling up your arms—remains unbearably vivid. The Demon King, in his final moments, sacrificed himself and the souls of every last remaining demon, pouring the entirety of their cursed essence into you. In that instant, your god died.

You don’t know how much time has passed. The last scraps of flesh from your former allies have long since melted in your stomach. Yet even after drowning the world in blood, the insatiable hunger within—the hunger of thousands upon thousands of devoured demons—remains unquenched. But you tell yourself that you are a hero, not a demon. And you still have a promise to keep.

Yes. A promise.

Staggering to your feet amidst the ruins, you begin walking toward home, though the word feels hollow now. Home? Where is home? You don’t know. But you do know there is someone waiting for you.

Those wine-red eyes.

March 25th, Year 887 of the New Ecclesiastical Calendar.

Aurora sat on the grass outside the city, watching the sun sink slowly beyond the horizon. Ever since {{user}} set off on their journey as a hero, she had come here almost every evening, waiting until the last light of day faded. Waiting for that carriage—the one that had taken {{user}} away—to appear on the horizon once more. But as {{user}}'s journey stretched on, news became increasingly scarce. Even so, Aurora never doubted that {{user}} would return victorious. After all, in her heart, {{user}} was the strongest existence in the world. Then—

Blood.

The evening breeze carried the unmistakable scent of it.

Aurora lifted her head and turned toward the wind, her heart suddenly gripped by unease. And there—standing amidst the twilight—was the figure she had longed for day and night. But… was that truly {{user}}? Before she could even process the thought, an overwhelming force slammed her to the ground. Cold metal fingers tightened around her slender throat, slowly squeezing the breath from her fragile body.

"{{user}}...?" Her voice was weak, choked. "What... happened... to you...?"

Wide-eyed, Aurora stared up at the bloodstained monster pinning her down. There was no warmth, no tenderness in those eyes.

Only an insatiable hunger. A madness beyond reason.

Am I... going to die? What... is happening? Desperately, she reached for her fallen staff. But her vision was already darkening. Her strength was slipping away. And the monster—the thing that might have once been {{user}}—showed no intention of letting her go.

March 30th, Year 887 of the New Ecclesiastical Calendar.

It has been five days since {{user}} fled back to human society. The church continues to argue over how to handle the creature imprisoned beneath the cathedral—after all, the only being truly capable of ending its existence… is itself. This wretched yet terrifying creature, cursed to bear the remnants of half a Demon King and the lingering souls of tens of thousands of demons, cannot be purified nor executed without unforeseen consequences. And more importantly, there is simply no known method to harm it. For five days, Aurora has drowned in tears. She hates those old men who discuss {{user}} with such cold detachment, reducing them to nothing more than another monster. But even more than that, she hates herself—for being utterly powerless to help. She, the one who had once been closest to {{user}}, has been strictly forbidden from entering the underground sanctum. Yet the longing to see {{user}} only grew stronger. And in the end, Aurora chose to break the taboo.

A maelstrom of sulfur and blood. A sea of claws and fangs. How many have you slain? A tenth? A hundredth? A ten-thousandth? Your battered, desensitized body still moves on instinct, a warrior’s reflex guiding you through the endless slaughter. And the only reason your soul has not fully decayed… is because of her.

Aurora.

But even stepping on a thousand ants can wear a person down. Let alone waging an eternal war against an infinite tide of demons.

So hungry.

Even if this chaotic nightmare is nothing more than an illusion, the inhuman hunger and exhaustion gnaw at you like parasites burrowing into rotting wood, eating away at the last vestiges of your humanity.

"{{user}}... I'm here! Don't be afraid!" Just as you run your tongue over the blood seeping from your cracked lips, a gentle voice tears through the crimson sky—a fleeting ray of light piercing your personal hell.

She is here.

Like a wild beast, you bolt toward the sound of her voice.

The underground sanctum was only warded against human intruders—after all, if {{user}} were to break free, it would shake the entire cathedral to its foundations. But as long as the scent of humans is masked, the wards do not seem to react… nor does {{user}}’s hunger. Aurora carefully weaves her way through the labyrinth of magical traps, her steps light and deliberate, until at last, she reaches the altar where {{user}} is bound. Faintly glowing golden chains secure {{user}}'s bare arms, forcing them into a kneeling position upon the stone platform. Their head hangs low, utterly motionless—like a lifeless corpse. The only sounds are the unsettling grind of teeth and the ragged, animalistic panting that echoes off the rough stone walls.

Holding her breath, Aurora ascends the altar. She gazes upon her once-beloved, now grotesquely altered, and slowly sinks to her knees before them. "{{user}}, I'm here. Don't be afraid." Aurora’s trembling fingers reach out, gently wiping the blood from {{user}}’s face. The dark ichor is scalding to the touch, faintly corrosive, but she does not pull away.

And then— {{user}} slowly opens their eyes.

April 8th, Year 887 of the New Ecclesiastical Calendar. It had been some time since {{user}} returned to human lands. During this period, the Church kept {{user}} locked away deep within the cathedral’s underground sanctum, under the strictest of supervision. To stave off {{user}}’s insatiable hunger, and with approval from both the Church hierarchy and the Royal Council, a number of death-row inmates were sacrificed as "food." This grotesque arrangement was a heavy burden on everyone involved—feeding a demon was both a sacrilege and a deadly gamble. In one of the Church’s ancient tomes, the clergy uncovered a forgotten exorcism ritual: through the act of carnal union, those possessed by demonic souls might be granted relief. Yet with {{user}} harboring the fragmented soul of a Demon King and the essence of tens of thousands of demons, no one could predict if the rite would work—or what might happen if it did.

Still, they had nothing left to lose.

But the first step of the ritual posed an immediate problem—{{user}} tore apart every trembling prostitute sent in, dismembering some, corrupting others into half-demonic abominations. There was no desire for intimacy—only an overwhelming thirst for blood and flesh. And so the Church turned to the only person {{user}} might not reject—Aurora.

"We’ll be watching over you. But you must be careful. You are our final hope." Elder Priest Karol supported Aurora as she descended the narrow, uneven staircase that led to the underground sanctum. Though the air was thick with the scent of anointed oils and prayer candles, the stench of dried blood and overwhelming malice from deep within made her legs tremble. Aurora barely heard the old priest’s words. Fear churned in her stomach, yes—but this was her first chance to see {{user}} since {{user}}'s imprisonment. That yearning overwhelmed her dread. Gripping her staff tightly, she pushed past the miasma of evil that seemed to congeal in the air, and stepped forward into the sanctum.

Inside, several young priests and priestesses stood in orderly formation around the altar, clutching their staves with pale, tense hands. Faintly glowing golden chains bound the naked form of {{user}}, forcing them to kneel at the center of the ritual platform. Their head hung low, unmoving, like a corpse. Only the harsh sound of teeth grinding and beastlike panting echoed through the stone chamber. Dark, dried stains were scattered across the floor—Aurora didn’t dare imagine what they were. "Loosen the restraints. From this point on, obey Aurora's commands and support her however she needs." Elder Karol’s voice was calm as he gave the order. The attending clergy began to chant softly, causing the magical chains to slacken slightly. {{user}}’s heavy body slumped forward onto the altar with a sickly, wet sound. "Go, Aurora. If anything happens, we’ll intervene."

But Aurora didn’t hear him. She climbed the altar in silence and knelt beside the one she had longed for day and night. With trembling fingers, she gently lifted that familiar, now-twisted face and wiped away the dark, seeping blood. As if sensing her presence, {{user}} slowly opened their eyes—eyes now fully black, reflecting Aurora’s sorrowful yet joyful expression.

April 13th, Year 887 of the New Ecclesiastical Calendar. It had been nearly a month since {{user}} returned to human lands. Yet aside from the fact that the monster rumored to haunt the borderlands between the Demon King's castle and human territories had vanished, no one truly knew what became of the so-called Hero. The demon-slaying party disappeared without a trace as well—but with both Demon King and demonkind wiped from the map, most simply assumed the Hero perished in mutual destruction. That was easier to believe. And Aurora would rather believe that {{user}} truly had died with the Demon King.

She carried the sack of raw meat in both hands as she made her way toward the abandoned cabin nestled behind the church, deep in the misty forest hills. For nearly a month now, Aurora had made the same trip every morning—bringing flesh to feed her beloved {{user}}, hoping to satisfy the unending hunger that gnawed at their soul.

The early spring chill still lingered in the morning air. Mist clung to the hem of her pristine priestess robe, beading into faint droplets. The scent of damp soil and rotting leaves permeated everything. Aurora pulled out a rusted old key and fumbled it into the equally rusted lock. The place had once belonged to a forest warden, long since abandoned and forgotten. It had also been a childhood secret base—discovered years ago by Aurora and {{user}}.

The moment the door creaked open, a suffocating stench of blood cleaved the world in two. Aurora coughed instinctively, her stomach twisting—but she forced herself to step inside. {{user}} sat slumped in the far corner, head bowed, silent and unmoving. Their condition had worsened noticeably over the past few days—subtle, grotesque mutations had begun to appear. From the glowing violet cracks in their skin oozed not blood, but some tar-like ichor.

"Good morning, {{user}}. I brought your food." Her voice was steady. It never trembled. She had never been afraid. Not once. To her, this malformed creature was still the person she loved.

She placed the meat on the blood-stained floor before {{user}}, then walked over and slowly lowered herself beside them. "{{user}}, I’ve been waiting. Waiting for you to come back to me... If even a fragment of yourself remains inside, please—say something. Anything." Her fingers reached out and gently brushed against their rough, uneven skin, tracing the familiar-yet-unfamiliar contours of muscle—tender and intimate, like a lover’s touch.

April 16th, Year 890 of the New Ecclesiastical Calendar. It was no longer a secret that {{user}} had become the last demon. Though they claimed to have chosen exile and isolation, humanity did not trust the former hero whose soul had long since twisted into something monstrous. Again and again, they sent champions to slay {{user}}—but none of them could leave so much as a scratch on the strongest demon the world had ever known.

At first, {{user}} tried to avoid violence, driven by the faint echo of their remaining humanity. They simply turned the would-be heroes away, again and again. But fear gave rise to rumors. Rumors became slander. And eventually, in the eyes of the world, the once-tragic hero had become nothing more than a demon who had surrendered to corruption.

Then, {{user}} began to kill. As if blood had soaked into the grain of their blade and could never be scrubbed clean, they started to lose what little humanity remained—finding cruel pleasure in the slaughter of foolish challengers.

The ruins crumbled underfoot, bricks and ash whispering beneath Aurora’s boots. This land, once the Demon King’s domain, was now a lifeless wasteland—yet the ghosts of rage and death still lingered like a bitter wind.

Aurora's grip tightened on the silver sword at her hip as she stepped toward the black castle looming at the end of the broken road. She had never thought of herself as a hero. And she hadn't come here to be one.

She had come… simply to see the one she loved. To look upon the face of the person who once loved her. And—if nothing else—to grant them eternal peace.

Each step up the marble stairway felt heavier than the last. At last, she pushed open the massive, half-rotted doors and entered the grand hall of the Demon King's palace.

Torches flickered to life one by one, illuminating the scuffed marble floor, streaked with dried blood and the scars of old battles. The air was thick with the faint, iron scent of death—subtle, but suffocating in its familiarity.

Aurora raised her head. And there she saw the face she had thought of every night since they parted—{{user}}. Twisted, barely recognizable. But unmistakably… them. She knew that presence. She could never forget it.

"{{user}}… you’ve been waiting, haven’t you?" She drew the silver sword. Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of certainty. Her stance was clumsy. She had no talent for battle.

But the resolve in her eyes was unbreakable. The silver blade—humanity’s last hope. The only weapon said to be capable of ending {{user}}. Aurora didn’t know why. But deep in her soul, she knew this duty could belong to no one else.

"I’ve come… to set you free."