Deep within the lightless expanse of the Demon Lord's castle, the very air hummed with a palpable sense of malice and frustrated power. The throne room, a cavernous space carved from solidified shadow, had been silent for days since the dust of the disgraced 5th General had settled on the obsidian floor. That silence was now broken by the rhythmic, heavy footsteps of a royal guard, his form a ripple in the ambient darkness. He knelt before the throne where the Demon Lord sat, a vortex of pure negative energy.
"My Lord," the guard's voice was a low growl of gravel and fear. "As you commanded, we have found a replacement. He awaits your judgment."
"Bring him," the Demon Lord's voice rumbled, not as a sound that traveled through the air, but as a pressure that resonated in the chest.
The guard retreated, and a moment later, a new figure strode into the throne room. This was no mere hulking beast. He was a demon of a different caliber, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in jagged, volcanic plate armor that seemed to smolder with an internal, hellish heat. Two massive, serrated horns curved from his brow, and his eyes burned with the steady, intelligent embers of a raging inferno. He radiated an aura of pure, unadulterated destruction, a being who didn't just crave violence, but was its very personification. He knelt before the throne, the impact of his knee on the floor echoing like a hammer blow.
"You wish to take the title of 5th General?" the Demon Lord's voice probed, laced with a dangerous amusement.
"I wish to serve you, my Lord, and to erase the shame my predecessor brought upon your name," the demon replied, his voice a deep baritone that sounded like grinding rock.
"A noble sentiment," the Demon Lord mused. "But words are wind. The last one made promises he could not keep. I will accept you as the 5th Demon General, Malakor, but your appointment comes with a price. A test of your conviction."
"I will pay any price. I will complete any test," General Malakor stated, his head still bowed.
"Excellent. Your predecessor failed in the First Dungeon. He allowed the mortal, Liam, to slay a Light General and escape. This mortal has become a thorn in my side, a disruption to the game. I want you to rectify this. You will take command of the armies that belonged to both the 5th and 6th Generals. You will march them to the city of Oakhaven, the mortal's home. I want you to attack the city and kill every living being you see. Burn it to the ground until nothing remains but scorched earth and memory. Leave no survivors."
A cruel, predatory grin spread across Malakor's face. "It will be as you command, my Lord."
"There is more," the Demon Lord added. "If you happen to kill the mortal named Liam in the process, the one who killed the 6th Light General, you will not only secure your title but will find yourself elevated in my esteem, and in ranking. Do this, and prove you are not another coward."
"Sir," General Malakor said, his voice dropping to a low, eager growl. "I will erase them from this world. I will go now and make preparations for the attack."
The Demon Lord gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of his shadowy form, a gesture of dismissal. "Your request is accepted, General Malakor. Go. Bring me a mountain of skulls."
Far from the machinations of gods and demons, Liam stood alone in a quiet glade just outside the dungeon's former location. He held the reward he had fought so hard for: the complete Book of the Dungeon. The leather cover was cool and smooth beneath his fingertips, and he could feel a deep, ancient power resonating from within. He opened it, but the pages were filled with cryptic symbols and diagrams he could not yet comprehend. He knew, instinctively, that the answers he sought were within these pages, but unlocking them would be a journey in itself.
With a sigh, he closed the book and focused his thoughts. "Return to the castle," he commanded, his voice carrying on the wind. "Rest and await my orders." In a dark fortress miles away, Nyx and Luna would have heard his call. They vanished from his side in a shimmer of shadow, leaving him alone. With his companions safe, Liam closed his eyes and teleported, the world dissolving around him in a swirl of darkness and reappearing as the familiar stone of Oakhaven.
He materialized in a quiet alley near the Royal Palace and made his way to the gates. The guards, recognizing him from his previous visits, quickly let him pass. He found Lyra in the royal library, poring over ancient scrolls. The moment she saw him, her face lit up with a joy so pure it seemed to chase the shadows from the room.
"Liam!" she ran to him, her relief and happiness palpable. "Welcome back! Did you… did you do it? Did you clear it?" Her eyes fell to the thick, ancient book in his hands, and she gasped. "You did! You actually have the complete book!"
Before he could respond, the library doors burst open. King Alaric rushed in, his face pale with terror, his royal composure shattered. "Lyra! Get to the safe room, now!" he commanded, his voice strained. "We are under attack! A massive army of demons is attacking us! It's the biggest army we've ever seen!"
Liam's brief moment of peace was shattered. He and the King raced from the library, up winding staircases to the highest tower of the palace that overlooked the plains outside the city.
The sight that greeted them was apocalyptic. A sea of black and red stretched to the horizon. Tens of thousands of demons—snarling, bestial foot soldiers, monstrous cavalry riding reptilian beasts, and disciplined ranks of demonic infantry clad in jagged iron—stood in silent, perfect formation. At their head, a single figure sat astride a colossal, nightmarish horse that was easily the size of five ordinary steeds. It was the new General, Malakor, his presence a palpable wave of heat and dread that washed over the city walls.
As if sensing he was being watched, the General turned his burning gaze towards the tower, his eyes locking directly onto Liam's. A cruel smile touched his lips. He held up his hand, a small, wickedly sharp knife held between his fingers. With a casual flick of his wrist, he threw it.
The distance was immense, nearly a mile, but the knife flew with impossible speed, a black streak that cut through the air with a piercing shriek. Liam reacted on pure instinct, shifting his head a fraction of an inch to the side. The knife zipped past his ear, so close he could feel the heat of its passage, and slammed into the stone wall behind him, embedding itself halfway to the hilt.
Attached to the blade was a small, rolled piece of parchment. Liam pulled it free. The message was short, arrogant, and absolute.
"This city will burn. I will kill everyone in it. I will give you five hours to make your preparations."
The King stumbled back, his face ashen. "Five hours…"
He quickly regained his composure. "General Marcus!" he roared to his own commander. "Mobilize every hunter! Every guard! Every able-bodied person in this city! They have to defend their land!"
For the next five hours, Oakhaven transformed. The bustling city became an armed camp. Hunters sharpened their blades, mages gathered on the walls to prepare devastating spells, and old, grizzled veterans barked orders at young, terrified recruits. The spirit of the city was unbreakable; even women and children came forward, offering to carry supplies, tend to the wounded, or wield a weapon if it came to it. Their army was large, a testament to the city's strength, but it was a fraction of the demonic horde waiting on the plains.
The five hours passed in what felt like an eternity and a heartbeat. As the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the land, a single, deep horn blast echoed from the demon ranks. General Malakor raised his massive, twin-headed axe. "ATTACK!"
The horde surged forward with a deafening roar. They swarmed the walls, their claws and crude ladders scraping against the stone. Demonic mages hurled balls of fire and shadow, which were met with counter-spells of light and ice from the city's defenders. The main gate, reinforced with iron and magic, shuddered under the relentless assault of massive siege beasts. For a time, the defenses held.
Then, Malakor grew impatient. He strode through his army to the front gate, his massive horse stomping a path through his own troops. He dismounted, hefted his colossal axe, and swung it once.
With a sound like the world splitting in two, the massive city gate exploded inwards, reduced to a shower of splintered wood and twisted metal. The way was open. The demons poured into the city.
The fight began in earnest, a brutal, street-to-street brawl. Liam watched from the palace walls, his eyes scanning the chaos. He saw a small child, no older than ten, wielding a wooden sword with a bravery that defied his age. He fended off one demon, then another, but a third grabbed him from behind. As its claws tightened, ready to end the boy's life, Liam moved.
He teleported from the wall, appearing beside the child in an instant. A flash of dark energy, and the demons holding the boy disintegrated into dust. Liam didn't wait for thanks. He had one target. He opened his System, a translucent screen appearing only in his vision. "Detect every enemy demon. Find the General." He knew if he didn't kill the leader, this battle would be a prolonged slaughter that no one in Oakhaven could survive.
His System scanned the battlefield, thousands of red dots swarming the city map. Then, one dot, far in the center of the army, blazed with an overwhelming intensity.
> ENEMY DETECTED
> * Name: Demon General, Malakor (5th)
> * Level: 220
> * Strength: 1200
> * Agility: 1100
> * Endurance: 1300
> * Magic: 1000
> * Type: Demon/Fire
> * Health: 150000/150000
>
There you are.
"Luna, Nyx," Liam whispered to the air. "Give me the poison dagger."
A few feet away, a small, swirling cloud of black smoke appeared. From it, the hilt of the familiar, wicked dagger emerged. Liam snatched it from the air, the cold metal a familiar weight in his hand.
He locked his eyes on Malakor, who was laughing as he cut down Oakhaven's guards. Then, Liam vanished. He moved with a speed that not even the demons around him could perceive, a black streak cutting through the heart of the battlefield, straight for their leader.
In the center of the carnage, Malakor sensed something at the last possible second. He turned, his eyes widening slightly as he saw Liam appearing before him, the poisoned dagger aimed at his heart. With a roar, he brought his massive axe around to parry.
The small dagger met the colossal axe.
The resulting shockwave was apocalyptic. The ground erupted, and every demon—and human—within a hundred-foot radius was obliterated, vaporized by the sheer, unrestrained force of the two weapons colliding.