Ryan froze in shock.
A demon stood before him—its skin pallid like old ash, red eyes glowing with fevered sorrow, tears cutting molten lines down its cracked cheeks. Its mouth hung open, unleashing a wail so raw and broken, it sounded less like a cry and more like a violin string snapping mid-symphony. The sound cleaved the air, unnatural and haunting.
The sight was terrifying—
Not just for what it was, but for the grief it carried.
Then the demon looked at him.
Its gaze, hollow and ancient, fell upon the knife trembling in Ryan's hand—and without a word, it collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been severed.
Ryan hadn't come to fight. He didn't even want to.
From all he had heard, the legendary demon was said to be an avatar of ruin, a walking apocalypse. And yet… if this broken, sobbing thing was really that demon…
His thoughts shattered.
Crack!
The demon's spine twisted with a sickening, wet snap—like bones breaking under the weight of something not physical, but emotional. The ground quivered. The air turned electric.
And then the fight began.
Bang!
The creature lunged—
a blur of wrath and anguish. Ryan barely raised his knife in time. The impact was brutal: a blunt shockwave of muscle and fury that sent him hurtling backwards.
He crashed through one wall, then another, the debris flying like shrapnel, until his body came to a halt inside someone's kitchen. Broken plates, dust, and wooden splinters filled the air, and the smell of cooked lentils mingled with smoke and plaster.
Ryan winced.
These were innocent people's homes.
He didn't want this.
Clenching his jaw, he reached inward—
deep past his fear, past his doubt.
His veins pulsed with golden light, surging like a second heartbeat. Energy magnified through every limb, a roar of power flooding his senses. He launched forward in a radiant blur and struck the demon mid-charge.
The blow landed.
The demon stumbled, snarling—its fangs bared like broken glass.
Then, with an inhuman screech, it leapt high into the air—
and the battle left the ground.
Above, the night sky ignited.
Explosions lit the darkness, blue and gold fire arcing like furious comets. The demon's tears had stopped. Now there was only the brutal rhythm of battle: the clash of wills, the scream of wind, the distant sound of glass breaking.
Below, windows creaked open.
Timid faces—children, elders—peeked out from behind curtains and cracks.
They saw it.
A boy of light. A demon of shadow. Locked in the sky.
Ryan still tried to speak.
In between strikes and parries, he shouted—voice hoarse, desperate.
But the demon didn't answer.
Then—
A clean slash.
His blade tore into the demon's arm. Not deep, but enough. Thick, purple blood spilled like ink onto the air. The demon shrieked—a sound that sent birds flying from their roosts—and fled into the darkness.
Ryan followed.
He didn't know why.
Only that he had to.
The chase led them past the crumbling southern edge of the city, where the buildings gave way to the scarred remains of ancient ruins. Stone arches lay broken, vines curling like forgotten memories through the rubble.
The demon landed amidst the wreckage, backlit by moonlight.
It turned to face him, eyes burning.
"You can try to kill me," it said, voice like gravel and smoke, "but you can't."
Ryan hesitated. He hadn't expected words.
Not like that.
"I'm not here to kill you," he said, catching his breath. "You attacked me first."
The demon's shoulders sagged slightly, as though it carried an invisible weight.
"The people come here to mourn," it said, "but when they see me, they try to erase me. To strike me down like I'm a nightmare they can kill. I've tasted betrayal more than you've seen people. They can't destroy me… but every strike, every scream, every flame—"
Its voice cracked.
"—they stay. They stay inside me.
Ryan slowly reached into his pocket. He pulled out a healing potion and held it out.
The demon stared at it, confused. Then it took the vial, sniffed it, and drank.
The cut on its arm faded. The skin sealed.
"This doesn't mean I trust you," the demon said, voice still low.
"I'm not asking you to," Ryan replied. "I just want to talk."
"Then don't waste your breath," the demon growled.
Suddenly, Maya appeared beside Ryan. Her eyes went wide when she saw the demon. She gasped and took a step back. Ryan gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
The demon stared at them both… then vanished into thin air.
Ryan looked around.
Gone.
He stood there, stunned. Demons were real. Even gods were real. That meant…
The story the beggar told was true.
And if the demon had returned, revenge would follow.
Everything was coming together. There was no time to waste.
People had to leave the city—now.
But Ryan?
He wouldn't run.
He'd stay. He'd watch.
He wanted to see how this weak, broken demon could bring ruin to a city that had once feared him.
Because right now… the demon wasn't strong enough for revenge.
Not yet.
It was still midnight when Ryan and Maya returned. They collapsed onto their beds, exhausted. The room was quiet. The city, less so—whispers of fear floated on the wind.
By morning, the sun was already high. Ryan rose slowly, washed up, and sat to eat a quiet breakfast.
Maya was already gone.
As he ate, he heard murmurs outside. Excited voices, hushed conversations.
They were talking about a "Hero of Light."
A boy. Glowing gold. Fighting a demon in the sky.
Ryan's heart dropped.
He hadn't meant for this. He hadn't wanted attention. And now… they thought he was a hero.
He pushed his plate away. He couldn't use his golden light again—not unless he wanted to become the "Hero of Hill City."
He stepped outside, unsure what to do.
Just then, Maya walked in.
"Do you know what's going on?" she asked.
"I know," Ryan said softly. "A hero has been born."
"I'm not talking about that," Maya said. "Hero of Light, your city's in danger."
"What do you mean?"
She pointed outside. "The fog. Red fog. Thick and strange. It surrounds the city's edge. Anyone who tries to leave… comes back. Only a few make it out."
Ryan opened a window. A deep red mist circled the city like a silent curse. It stopped just short of the center, but it loomed heavy at the borders.
The beggar's warning echoed in Ryan's mind: "To reach the Black Auction, you must leave Hill City."
Now it made sense.
Ryan turned to Maya. "We need more information. I know you're staying… because of the demon."
Maya looked at him, her eyes serious. "Do you really want to be the Hero of Light?"
Ryan scoffed. "Who told you that? I just want to see what the demon does. Right now, he's too weak to do anything."
Maya's voice dropped. "I heard… he's going after the Crown of the City."
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "The crown?"
She looked disappointed. "You don't know the legend?"
She sat down, her voice quiet but firm.
"Long ago, an angel came to this city. People treated him like a god. He blessed them. The city thrived—power, wealth, peace.
"But when it was time to leave, someone stole his crown—the source of all blessings. The angel searched but couldn't find it. He faded away… powerless.
"Some say he ascended. Others say he died.
"The crown only accepts someone pure of heart. Not just anyone can wear it.
"When a greedy man tried… lightning struck him down.
"No human ever passed its test. Each one carried too much darkness."
Ryan listened quietly.
"And now," Maya said, "they believe the demon will take the crown. Not to destroy—but to get revenge."
Ryan frowned. "But if he wants revenge, then he's not pure. The crown wouldn't accept him."
Maya shook her head. "You don't get it. He is pure. Not in the way people think. His heart is clean—not of kindness, but of purpose. He doesn't want power for greed. He wants justice."
Ryan fell silent. Maybe… maybe the crown would accept him.
And if it did—
How powerful would he become?
How powerful was the angel before him?
So many questions lingered in Ryan's mind. And only one way to find the answers.
He had to stay
Ryan couldn't stop thinking about the crown.
If the Angel had come, and if the people had managed to slow him down, then the crown must be hidden in a place even the Angel couldn't imagine. Somewhere unreachable. Somewhere lost to time. After all, the Angel was still powerful. He could search anywhere his feet had touched. And according to the old tale, he had searched the whole city. Yet… the crown remained unfound.
That didn't sit right with Ryan.
If the crown really existed, it had to be in a place no one could reach easily—not even the demon who'd been in the city for years. How could that be? It didn't make sense. Something was off. Ryan knew there had to be more to this story.
He glanced over at Maya, who looked asleep, though her breathing told him she was still awake. He gently told her to watch over the room while he stepped outside to dig deeper into the legend.
The night air was cool, the streets dimly lit with flickering lanterns that swung in the wind. A thin mist crept along the ground, brushing against his boots as he moved. Shadows stretched across broken walls and closed-down shops. The city felt like it was holding its breath.
Ryan wandered through the streets, looking for something—anything—that could lead him to an old library or forgotten bookstore. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, who still remembered the full story. He knew the version people whispered was missing pieces.
He asked a few townsfolk about the crown, but most just shook their heads and walked away, scared or confused. A little farther on, he spotted an old man sitting silently in front of a dusty bookstore, his eyes locked on Ryan with an odd sharpness.
Ryan sighed and sat beside him. "Do you know anything about the legend of the light hero?"
The old man chuckled softly. "The light hero? That name hasn't been spoken with truth for years. People only talk about the demon now—about how he'll take revenge and burn the city down. But they forget the light hero's trophies. His truth. His test."
The man's voice grew low and steady. "If the light hero was meant to give the crown to the demon, to help him fulfill his revenge, then maybe… that's the only way things were ever meant to end. If not, the demon will remain trapped here forever."
Ryan frowned. "Why would the light hero ever help a demon?"
The old man looked into his eyes. "Because the light hero does what's right, even if it means going against everyone. Even if the whole world stands in darkness, the one with a golden heart will always walk toward the light. That's what makes him the light hero."
Ryan didn't know why, but something told him this man was different. He felt like answers lived behind those eyes.
He asked again, "Where is the crown?"
The old man let out a long sigh. "Buried. Deep. But don't chase it, young man. You'll vanish like the others who tried."
Ryan left with more questions than answers. The sky had darkened, and the red fog had started to settle again. It crept through the streets like blood flowing through veins. No one who walked into it came back the same. Some didn't return at all.
Back in the room, Ryan sat quietly, trying to make sense of everything. It was all a mess. The crown. The fog. The demon. The silence. It was like the city itself was hiding secrets in every brick and whispering wind.
Later that night, after dinner, Maya walked out of the washroom in only her underclothes. Ryan, caught off guard, looked away quickly.
He said, with a teasing smile, "You look as beautiful as a lover, as fine as a poem in the moonlight."
Maya blushed and darted under the blanket, her face glowing pink.
As the quiet returned, Ryan kept thinking. "I'm lost," he admitted to her. "I don't know where the crown is. I don't even know if I should be the light hero. Everything feels wrong."
Maya, her voice soft, said, "Maybe it's hidden in one of the oldest buildings. Or maybe it's somewhere people stopped looking."
Ryan nodded. Maybe she was right.
By early morning, a pale gray mist clung to the streets as Ryan and Maya set out, boots crunching softly against shattered glass and brittle gravel. The ruins of the city loomed around them like the skeletal remains of forgotten giants. Crumbled buildings, choked in ivy and shadow, leaned wearily on one another. Shattered wood jutted out like broken ribs. The air smelled of mold and rust, tinged with the metallic scent of time.
But one building still stood.
It rose like a monument to defiance: the oldest structure in the city, its black stone walls slick with moss, etched in worn carvings that pulsed faintly in the dim light, like the memory of a heartbeat. Thick vines curled around its frame, clinging as if trying to drag it down into the earth.
Inside, they found a path that led downward. The basement exhaled a breath of cold, ancient air—damp, dense, and reeking of earth and mildew. Dust motes danced in the narrow shafts of sunlight that filtered through cracks above, and the silence was so deep it hummed in their ears.
Ryan glanced around warily but didn't step far. "There's nothing here," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
But Maya frowned. "I think we should search more carefully. If the crown's truly hidden, wouldn't it be in a place no one dares to look?"
She turned back toward the stairs—but Ryan's expression changed. He stepped back slowly, hand hovering near his side.
His voice dropped, ice curling around each word. "I think it's time to stop pretending, Demon. You're not Maya."
She froze.
A shiver passed through her body like a crack of thunder splitting calm skies. Her figure rippled and twisted, skin peeling into blackened, leathery patches, arms elongating, muscles coiling beneath like coiled serpents. Her clothes dissolved into shadows. Horns burst from her skull, curling like thorns from the bones of regret. Her eyes burned a sullen crimson, glowing like embers smothered by ash.
Ryan's voice echoed, haunted and sharp:
"Fool. Maya does not disappear early in the morning. She is always there for me. Always polite. Always formal. She is a knight with pride. A woman of honor—my guardian."
The demon bared her fangs. "You're smarter than I thought," she snarled, voice like gravel dragged across metal. "Give me the crown from below—or Maya dies."
Ryan's face was steel.
"I don't care," he said, with the cold finality of a drawn sword. "You can't keep this city trapped in fog forever. When it fades, I'll leave—and find someone else to fight beside me. You're not my only option."
The demon screeched, rage tearing from her throat like a storm breaking through a rotted roof. "I'll kill her! Then I'll kill you!"
Ryan didn't flinch.
"You couldn't even harm a child," he spat. "A real demon would've left a trail of corpses. But you? You're just noise. All roar, no fangs."
***The fact that you can defeat Maya tells that you can easily destroy the city till now but you didn't because your goal was to never destroy the city you were after the crown from the start that is the very reason you are here and you have no desire to hurt the people of this city****
The demon's body trembled—then sank. His fury collapsed like a crumbling tower. He sat, shoulders hunched, shadow swallowing him whole, his form barely more than a blotch of grief against the stone.
Ryan stepped forward, slower now. His voice gentled.
He demon asked "What do you want?"
The demon looked up. His eyes—no longer glowing—were empty caverns of sorrow. "What do you want from me?"
Ryan's eyes softened. A whisper of something warmer entered his voice. "Samuel. Swear yourself to me."
The demon—Samuel—stared at him. As the name passed Ryan's lips, his breath caught. The very air seemed to pause, thick with reverence and disbelief.
Ryan's smile widened. "I know."
Samuel's mouth parted in shock. "How… how do you know who I am?"
Ryan's tone was calm. Deep. Almost kind.
"I know the whole story. You called me here. You fed the legends. You let fear take root. You wanted me to find you. But you're not a demon, Samuel. You're a fallen angel, aren't you?"
Samuel was motionless, as if the truth itself had turned him to stone.
"A demon doesn't carry a heart like yours," Ryan said, voice echoing like truth in a cathedral. "You're an angel who fell. You lost your wings, your grace. You were cursed to remain here—trapped in this city with the crown you can't even touch. The cries at midnight, the fog, the fear—they were all fragments of your punishment."
Samuel's voice was faint. Shaken.
"Even if you figured that out… how do you know my name?"
Ryan took a breath, the light catching the dust in the air around him like floating stars.
"I went to the old church," he said gently. "Your name was in the records. You were a priest. You served for years. And when the end came, you were the only one who didn't die.
Samuel. The fallen angel with a holy heart. Still alive. Still mourning. Still watching."