The first light of dawn painted the eastern sky in shades of blood red and burning orange. From the highest observation post in the central spire, the scout, a succubus named Aria with enhanced vision had been watching the horizon for hours.

Then she saw him.

A single figure, walking casually along the eastern road. No army. No banners. No dramatic entrance. Just one man, hands in his pockets, strolling toward the Fallen Spires like he was taking a morning walk.

But even from miles away, Aria could feel it. The pressure. The weight. The sheer presence of something that shouldn't exist.

Her hands trembled as she raised them, channeling magic into the signal spell Seraphine had taught her. Purple flames erupted from her palms, shooting into the sky in a column of light visible across the entire city.

The signal.

The Reaper had arrived.

Throughout the Fallen Spires, warriors who'd been at their posts all night snapped to full alertness. Mages checked their prepared spells. Archers tested their bowstrings. Everyone took their positions, hearts pounding, knowing that in minutes, the battle of their lives would begin.

In the war room, Seraphine stood from where she'd been studying maps one final time. Her mismatched eyes were hard, her corrupted wings spread wide, her entire demeanor shifted from the vulnerable woman of the previous days to the demon lord who'd ruled for three centuries.

"He's here," she said, her voice carrying through telepathic links to all her commanders. "All units to positions. Remember the plan. First wave engages and retreats, draw him into the kill zones. Second wave separates him from any support. Third wave creates the opening. And then..."

She didn't finish that sentence. Everyone knew what came after.

Satou stood on a balcony overlooking the eastern approach, Void Fang sheathed on his back, every muscle coiled with tension. Cassius stood beside him, silent and watchful.

"There," Cassius said, his vampire vision picking out the approaching figure. "Single target, walking openly. No visible weapons. Completely relaxed posture. Either he's supremely confident or supremely foolish."

"Given what we know about him," Satou replied grimly, "it's definitely the former."

As The Reaper got closer, more details became visible. He was tall, easily six feet, with an athletic build that suggested strength without bulk. His hair was dark, slightly messy, and his face was... ordinary. Not handsome or ugly, just average. The kind of face you'd forget five minutes after meeting him.

But his clothes were different. He wore what looked like modified adventurer's gear—practical pants, boots designed for mobility, a long coat that billowed slightly as he walked. The coat was dark gray with silver trim, and seemed to shimmer slightly in the morning light, as if woven with magic or made from material that didn't quite exist in normal reality.

On his hip was a sword—simple design, no ornate decorations, just functional steel. But even from a distance, Satou could sense something about that blade. It wasn't just a weapon. It was an extension of The Reaper himself, containing centuries of accumulated power.

And his aura…

Even before he reached the city gates, everyone could feel it. Not aggressive or hostile, but present. Undeniable. Like standing near the ocean and feeling the vastness of it, the way it put human concerns into perspective through sheer scale.

This was what three hundred years of invincibility looked like.

The Reaper reached the outer perimeter of the Fallen Spires and stopped, looking up at the massive collapsed spires with apparent interest.

"Huh," his voice carried across the distance with unnatural clarity. "Pretty cool architecture. Definitely more interesting than most demon lord territories I've seen. Using the ruins like that? Creative."

He seemed to be genuinely admiring the city's design, like a tourist appreciating a landmark rather than a warrior about to attack it.

Then he noticed the complete lack of people.

"Empty streets," The Reaper observed, his casual tone unchanged. "So you evacuated civilians. That's responsible. Most demon lords I've fought didn't bother. They just threw bodies at me until I got to the important stuff." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I wonder if that means you're smarter than the others, or just more afraid?"

Seraphine's voice echoed across the city, magically amplified. "Reaper. You're not welcome here. Leave now, and no blood needs to be spilled."

It was a formality—neither expected him to accept, but protocol demanded the offer be made.

The Reaper laughed. "Leave? But I just got here! And honestly, I'm kind of curious about this place. A demon lord who evacuates civilians and builds with the ruins of holy sites? That's different. I like different. Different means potentially interesting."

He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like someone warming up for exercise. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to send your warriors at me. I'm going to adapt to everything they throw at me and defeat them. Then you're going to either surrender or come fight me yourself. And then I'll win, claim this territory for the kingdom, and go back to sleep for another couple decades because this will probably be boring too."

His casual dismissal of their entire military force was more insulting than any threat could have been.

"Hope you guys will be able to entertain me," The Reaper said, his smile widening into something that was almost excited. "It's been a while since I've had a good fight. Or even a mediocre one. I'll take anything at this point."

Then, from every direction simultaneously, Seraphine's first wave attacked.

Two hundred warriors , succubi with flight capabilities, elite soldiers with enhanced speed, mages with prepared spells—all emerged from hiding spots and struck at once. The coordination was perfect, the timing flawless. Fire, ice, lightning, physical attacks, curses, binding spells—a dozen different attack types all converging on The Reaper from every angle.

It should have been overwhelming. No single person could defend against that many simultaneous attacks from that many directions.

The Reaper didn't defend.

He moved.

Not teleportation. Not super speed. Just... perfect efficiency of motion. His body flowed like water, each movement precisely calculated to avoid incoming attacks by the minimum distance necessary. A fireball passed so close to his face that it should have burned him, but he'd tilted his head exactly far enough that it missed by millimeters.

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