CHAPTER 316: CHAPTER 315 - WHO’S THE PREY?

The heavy doors to the Marquise’s chamber slammed open, the sound cracking through the air like thunder.

Raven entered first, his cloak trailing shadows, the four boys stumbling close behind him.

They froze.

Because the moment they entered, they saw Marquise Colombore’s body slumping lifelessly against the marble floor, his eyes wide, chest torn open.

Raven and the boys stood still as blood pooled below the Marquise in a slow, widening circle.

Then, slowly, their eyes turned away from the Marquise.

Above him stood the figure responsible for whatever had happened—tall, lean, his horns curling backward like blades, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

In his palm pulsed a still-beating heart, twitching weakly between clawed fingers.

It was a demon, and from the power emanating from the guy, Raven could tell that it was a demon warlord.

The stench of sulfur and iron clung to him, every movement of his shoulders exuding effortless menace. His eyes, a molten gold, slid lazily toward the intruders.

"Oh," the warlord drawled, voice a rasp that scraped at their bones. "Some pests wandered in."

But then his gaze landed squarely on Raven, and his smile widened. He tilted his head, correcting himself. "No... not all of them are pests. I see, one of them is prey worth hunting."

His claws flexed, droplets of blood falling from them like raindrops.

He stepped away from the Marquise’s corpse, stretching as he muttered, "Might as well eliminate this guy."

He knew that Raven was someone who needed to be eliminated and that many had failed before.

But that didn’t mean he would run away fearfully.

He stared into Raven’s eyes, and looking at his calm expression, he grinned. "Pretty confident, aren’t you?"

Shaking his head, he continued. "Too bad for you that I already know what I need to be careful of when I face you. It’s your sword that slips out of nowhere."

He sneered, fangs flashing. "You’re nothing hard to deal with, especially to me, as I am one of the competent warlords of the demon realm. Tonight, you die."

Raven didn’t answer right away.

His crimson eyes swept over the demon, then shifted to the corpse of the Marquise. His gaze lingered before turning toward the boys behind him.

Benoit was frozen in place, staring at his father’s body.

His throat worked, his fists clenched, but under that demon’s killing intent, his body refused to move.

He wanted to scream, to throw himself forward—but his knees trembled like a child’s.

’Pathetic,’ that was all he could call himself as he felt his insides being clawed.

The others stood pale, trembling, their earlier bravado shattered.

It was Raven’s voice that cut through the silence. Low. Steady. Cold.

"This is what happens to those who try to reason with demons."

The boys’ eyes snapped to him.

"Look at him," Raven continued, nodding to the corpse. "Your father probably thought he could bargain."

As Benoit turned to him, he explained, "The demon likely offered him power, wealth, and influence—under their banner. But siding with demons means eternal slavery. No freedom. No will. When he refused, this—" he gestured at the lifeless body, "—was the result."

Benoit’s breath hitched, grief giving way to rage.

"There is no neutral ground in this world," Raven said, voice like iron. "Not with them. They will go to any lengths, kill anyone, to gain what they want. If you try to stand in between, you will be trampled. This," he pointed again, "is proof."

His crimson eyes burned into the boys. "So tell me—will you wait your turn to be slaughtered? Or will you decide?"

Something shifted in their eyes. A resolve, fragile but sharp, was beginning to form.

The demon, meanwhile, was tapping one clawed foot against the marble, amused.

"Are you quite finished?" He asked, his tone mocking, though impatient. He tilted his head, golden eyes glowing faintly. "Because I have work to complete. More nobles to silence. The rest of the neutral faction must fall tonight."

His grin widened. "The most competent warlord was given this honor. I won’t waste time."

Raven’s eyes narrowed. "So, the Marquise... is the only one you’ve killed tonight?"

The demon smirked and gave a slow nod. "For now."

"Good."

The warlord blinked at Raven’s faint smile, then narrowed his gaze as the young man turned back toward the boys.

"If you survive tonight," Raven asked, "what will you do?"

Benoit was the first to answer, his jaw tight, eyes burning with something fiercer than grief.

"I’ll get revenge." His voice didn’t shake.

The others hesitated, but one by one their thoughts hardened.

Droppy clenched his fists, remembering his father’s laugh at the dinner table, the man who taught him pride. ’If I live, I’ll prove I’m more than just a useless mutt.’

Scooby swallowed, his chest burning. ’I hated Raven. But demons? Demons want to leash us like dogs. I’ll never bow. I’d rather die fighting.’

Courage trembled, but his trembling was not fear—it was rage trying to break through weak limbs. ’I was always the coward... but if I live through this, I’ll bite back. I swear it.’

They all nodded, jaws clenched. They didn’t like Raven, but siding with demons? Never.

As Raven looked at them, for the first time, he saw humans instead of mutts. He saw their true forms.

The warlord, on the other hand, laughed. "Do you actually think any of you will survive?"

His claws glistened in the dim light, still dripping with the Marquise’s blood. "I am the most competent warlord of the realm. No one escapes me. Not even you, Raven. Avoid your sword, and you are nothing."

His grin sharpened as he added, "I even know of your little trick—your dragonification. Limited. Costly. A candle that burns itself out. You’ll lose in the end."

Raven tilted his head, unfazed, crimson eyes steady. His lips curved in a razor-thin smile.

"The ones who boast most about their competence," he said softly, "are usually the ones hiding their incompetence."

The warlord’s golden eyes flashed murderously. His claws flexed, muscles tensing like coiled steel.

The air itself seemed to shiver as the chamber brimmed with killing intent.

The warlord’s muscles coiled—and then he was gone, a blur of shadows and gold as he lunged forward with enough speed to tear the marble floor apart in his wake.

The boys gasped. Benoit’s heart stopped. They barely even saw the movement.

But Raven didn’t flinch.

His right hand lifted slowly, calmly, as if he’d known all along where the strike was coming from.

Black-red dragon scales crawled across his skin, gleaming with a sinister light. And in the next heartbeat—crack!—his palm closed around the demon’s skull.

The warlord’s charge stopped dead.

Gasps echoed in the chamber, the four boys frozen in disbelief.

Raven’s crimson eyes locked onto the warlord’s, calm and sharp as a blade. His voice was quiet, but it carried like thunder.

"What was that about—avoiding my sword and you would win?"

The demon’s molten eyes widened.

For the first time, a flicker of instinct—pure, primal fear—twisted through him. His body screamed to run, to break free. He obeyed.

With a sickening rip, the demon tore himself from Raven’s grip, leaving half his face behind.

Flesh tore like wet parchment, his left cheek peeling away in Raven’s hand. Blood splattered. Bone glistened.

But before the boys could even comprehend the horror, the demon’s features knitted back together, regenerating with grotesque speed.

Raven opened his fist.

The torn skin crumbled into nothingness, devoured by a strange red flame that hissed across his palm before fading.

The warlord’s grin faltered. His instincts sharpened into alarm.

’The intel was wrong. This isn’t the same Raven we studied.’

He staggered a step back, a growl rumbling through his chest. "Tch... I’ll retreat for now. But I swear, boy—I will kill you later."

Then—he vanished.

The boys gasped again, their eyes darting wildly.

"He’s gone—?!" Scooby stammered.

But Raven only smiled. His crimson eyes shifted, burning brighter until they shimmered gold. His presence thickened, like the weight of a storm pressing on the lungs.

He didn’t even glance at the others. He simply stepped forward, and in a blink, he vanished from their sight.

The next instant, he was by the window.

Arm outstretched. Fingers curled.

A guttural gagging sound filled the room.

The air rippled—and then the warlord appeared, suspended midair, his throat crushed in Raven’s scaled grip. His eyes bulged with shock, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

Raven’s voice was quiet, cold as a blade against flesh.

"No matter how invisible you go, there’s no way your soul disappears. And besides..." His eyes slid toward the chamber door. "Other than the gate I was standing at, there’s only one escape from this room."

The demon thrashed, claws swiping, magic flaring—but nothing broke free.

Raven’s hand tightened. Black flames erupted, engulfing the warlord completely.

The demon didn’t even have time to scream.

In less than a second, his body turned to ash. The black fire devoured flesh, bone, and even the regeneration that had once seemed unstoppable. The air filled with the scent of burning sulfur before it vanished, leaving only motes of drifting cinder.

The room went silent.

Raven stood there, arm still extended, his golden eyes glowing faintly before dimming back to crimson. He exhaled once, quietly, and lowered his hand.

Behind him, the boys stood frozen—staring at him not with hatred now, not with disdain, but with something else entirely.

Awe.

Benoit’s fists trembled, but not from weakness anymore. His jaw set. His eyes burned like steel. The image of Raven, gripping the warlord as if he were nothing, would never leave him.

For the first time, Benoit believed Raven’s words.

There was no neutral ground.

Above all, Raven... was no ordinary man.