One of them paused.

"...Did you feel that?"

Too late.

Fenrir moved first.

It didn’t burst in.

It appeared.

Crossing the distance in a blur of white and red, its claws tearing through the first demon before sound could even follow.

CRACK!

The body collapsed instantly.

The second demon turned but there was a flash.

And it was gone.

Blood sprayed across the twisted roots as Damien stepped in.

His entry was not rushed or chaotic.

His presence unfolded—not explosively, but like something being revealed.

Heavy.

Cold.

Oppressive.

Every demon in the chamber froze for a fraction of a second.

Just enough.

Their eyes locked onto him.

Recognition came.

Then came something more primal... Fear.

"...Human—"

Too late.

Luton expanded.

Violently.

Its body surged outward, covering the ground like liquid silver, engulfing two demons instantly before they could even react.

They screamed and then vanished.

Devoured.

Fenrir tore through another, its jaws crushing bone as easily as air.

Damien moved last.

But fastest.

His body blurred forward, closing the distance in an instant as his fist drove into a demon’s chest.

CRACK!

The impact caved it in completely.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Every movement was clean.

Efficient.

Final.

The base—once a hidden stronghold—had become a slaughter ground in seconds.

And at the center of it Damien stood with that same faint smile.

The one that had scared them before they even understood why.

Because now they weren’t hunting him anymore.

They never were.

They had just led him home.

And he had come to erase it.

The base didn’t stand a chance.

What had once been a hidden stronghold—quietly pulsing with demonic essence and guarded by layers of instinct and discipline—was now unraveling from the inside out.

The first few seconds had been shock.

The next few were confusion.

Now it was panic.

A demon roared as it lunged toward Damien, claws slicing through the air with desperate force. It didn’t think. Didn’t coordinate. It reacted. Survival had taken over.

Damien didn’t dodge.

He stepped forward.

His hand shot out, catching the demon mid-strike by the wrist. The force of its attack cracked the ground beneath them—but it didn’t reach him.

For a fraction of a second, the demon’s eyes widened.

CRACK.

Damien’s other hand drove forward, punching straight through its chest. The impact didn’t just kill it—it folded its body inward, the shockwave rippling outward as he ripped his arm free without pause.

The corpse hadn’t even hit the ground before he moved again.

To his left, Fenrir tore through two demons in a blur of white and red, its movements sharp and efficient. This wasn’t a hunt. It wasn’t even a fight.

It was execution.

The wolf’s claws carved through flesh and bone with terrifying ease, its jaws snapping down on a demon’s neck before tossing the body aside like it weighed nothing.

Cerbe would have enjoyed this.

But Cerbe wasn’t here.

This was cleaner.

Faster.

More controlled.

Behind Damien, Luton expanded again.

The silver slime surged across the uneven ground, slipping between roots and over bodies, wrapping around a cluster of demons trying to retreat deeper into the base.

"Get it off—!"

"MOVE—!"

Too slow.

The slime pulsed.

The demons vanished.

No blood.

No remains.

Just... gone.

Stored.

Damien’s eyes flicked briefly toward it.

"Good."

Then forward again.

Always forward.

The interior of the base twisted deeper, branching into hollow chambers and root-carved corridors. Some demons tried to regroup, pulling back into tighter formations, their instincts screaming at them to organize, to resist but Damien didn’t let them.

He didn’t give them time.

Every time a group began to form, he broke it.

A demon raised its weapon, shouting something to the others, Damien was already there.

His knee slammed into its side, shattering ribs before his elbow crushed its skull in the same motion.

Another tried to escape through a narrow passage.

Fenrir intercepted.

A flash of white.

A spray of blood.

Nothing left.

The base echoed with dying sounds.

Roars turned to screams.

Commands turned to panic.

And above it all a quiet, steady rhythm.

Footsteps.

Damien’s measured, unhurried, and certain steps.

He moved deeper.

At the core of the base, a group of demons had finally managed to gather—six of them, stronger than the rest, their auras heavier, more stable. Not captains, but close.

Elite.

They stood their ground.

For a moment.

One stepped forward, its voice steady despite the chaos around them.

"You—"

It didn’t finish.

Damien appeared in front of it.

The demon barely reacted, its weapon lifting instinctively but it was too slow.

Damien’s hand closed around its throat, lifting it off the ground as if it weighed nothing.

Its legs kicked.

Its claws scraped against his arm.

Useless.

"You should’ve stayed hidden," Damien said quietly.

Then he squeezed.

CRACK.

The body went limp.

He tossed it aside.

The others attacked at once.

This time, together.

Better.

Coordinated.

One struck high, another low, a third circled from behind while the others prepared ranged attacks...

For a fraction of a second, it looked like a real fight.

Then Fenrir entered.

The wolf slammed into the formation from the side, scattering them instantly. One demon was crushed beneath its weight, bones snapping on impact, while another was thrown violently into a root wall.

The formation broke.

That was enough.

Damien moved through them.

Not fighting.

Ending.

A strike to the throat.

A crush to the skull.

A step.

A turn.

Another body falling.

Within seconds only one remained.

It stumbled back, breathing heavily, its eyes wide with something it couldn’t suppress anymore.

Fear.

"...What are you?" it whispered.

Damien tilted his head slightly.

Then he disappeared.

The demon blinked.

Too late.

A hand pierced through its back, emerging from its chest.

Silence.

Then the body dropped.

The chamber was still.

For the first time since the attack began, there was no one left to fight.

Damien stood at the center of the base.

Uninjured.

Unbothered.

Unchallenged.

Fenrir walked up beside him, blood dripping from its jaws.

Luton reformed nearby, its body slightly larger now, faintly shimmering from everything it had absorbed.

Damien exhaled slowly.

"...That’s one."

Not a victory.

Not even close.

Just progress.

He turned, scanning the remains of the base.

Destroyed.

Completely.

No survivors.

No witnesses.

Exactly as intended.

But then, Damien paused.

His eyes shifted upward slightly.

Far beyond the base.

Far beyond the forest.

His senses stretched outward.

And there, there was movement.

Fast.

Returning.

A familiar group of presences.

The ones that had left earlier.

The strike force.

And the Captain leading them.

They had felt it.

Not the fight itself.

But the aftermath.

The sudden disappearance of their base’s presence.

The silence.

The void.

They were coming back.

Quickly.

Damien’s expression didn’t change.

But his eyes sharpened slightly.

"...Good timing."

Fenrir growled softly.

It felt it too.

The approaching threat.

Stronger than what they had just faced.

Not just numbers.

Quality.

A real fight.

Damien rolled his shoulders once.

Loosening.

Preparing.

"Looks like we don’t have to go looking for them," he said quietly.

Luton pulsed beside him.

Fenrir lowered its stance.

The forest outside remained dark.

Still.

But not for long.

Because now the hunters were returning.

And this time they would find exactly what they had been searching for, waiting for them.