"Alright, I’ll keep my head down," Edlyn said, her voice drifting like a leaf through still air.

"You, don’t hand anyone a handle to yank," she added, then cut the call like snuffing a candle.

"Your Majesty, what about us?" Reni asked, her words tiptoeing like a cat at dusk.

Edlyn raised a brow like a drawn bow. "Why swat at gnats when the sky’s clear? You said believers of the Holy Court Church here are thin as mist."

"Then we’re fine," she said, grin flashing like steel in sunlight. "We barrel through like a boar through brush, and it’s done."

"Who can stop the iron cavalry of my Demon Race?" Her laugh rolled like drumbeats in a valley.

Reni hesitated, her pause wobbling like a lantern in wind. "Um. Your Majesty. Right now. It seems. We don’t have much iron cavalry."

"...Hiss..." Edlyn breathed in like cold air through teeth, the sound sliding like a blade on ice.

...

"Era, in this battle we lost one Black Demon," the robed girl said, eyes on the tally that crawled like ants across paper.

"Look, the field’s still littered with wreckage like broken shells—want me to mold a new one?"

"Died? How did it die?" Era frowned, her thoughts knotting like tangled twine.

"Looks like one soldier was a believer," the girl said, shrug shrugging like a sparrow’s wing.

"That old thing from centuries ago—what was it called again? Oh. The Holy Sanctuary."

"He held a blessed trinket, our Black Demon grabbed that spot, and it slumped into mud like rain-collapsed clay."

"Though the guy still died, like a candle guttering in wind."

Era nodded lightly, the motion small as a ripple in a bowl. "As expected, Black Demons have laughably low resistance to the divine."

"So, Era, do we recycle the scraps?" the robed girl asked, her tone skipping stones across a pond.

"No need," Era said, a slow shake like a willow in breeze. "We’ve got enough Black Demons for now."

"There are only two of us Fallen Angels, like twin crows on a bare branch, and too many Black Demons get unruly when the fighting thickens like fog."

"I planned to use these guys as disposables, like paper lamps in rain."

"My lord, are we cutting straight through Kait Osborne’s domain next?" the girl asked, pushing up her glasses like lifting a visor.

"No," Era said after a breath that stretched like dusk. "We wait for the Demonic Lord’s troops, like hunters waiting in reeds."

"This whole mess smells odd, like sweet fruit hiding rot, and the Demon Race can’t take a heavy blow right now."

"Better to be careful, like walking a cliff path in mist."

The girl nodded and stood aside, head tilted like a bird listening for rain.

Boredom brushed past like a stray breeze, and Era smiled. "Little one, what’s turning in that head of yours?"

"Frustration first, question later," the girl muttered, her mood sagging like wet cloth. "Most of the Demon Race don’t have sexes or the, uh, equipment."

"After the Demonic Lord’s defeat, some saw the flaw and evolved like seeds cracking in spring."

"But how did they reproduce back then?"

Era blinked, surprise flaring like a struck match, then stared at her oddly. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

"Because you said Black Demons are modeled on the best common demon warriors from back then," she said, words ticking like beads on a string.

"Yet they never reach even the baseline of the Demon Race, so I got curious like a cat pawing a curtain."

"Oh? Sharp little thing," Era said, a soft laugh rustling like reeds.

"Right? Your construction is already peak-of-peak, like a summit above the clouds," the girl sighed, breath fogging like winter glass.

"Black Demons almost replicate the Demon Race’s old body blueprint, and some special ones use materials pricey as jade, yet they still fall short of that wondrous species."

"The more I think, the more it feels off, like a song missing its last note."

"So I thought, maybe it’s tied to where the Demon Race was born," she said, her eyes brightening like twin stars as she watched Era.

Era drew a long drag, smoke curling like ink in water, then glanced at the sky as if weighing time like grain in a palm. "Alright, we’re idle anyway, so I’ll tell you a tale."

"Mhm!" she nodded, eagerness hopping like a sparrow on a sill.

"When this world was born, two gods came with it," Era said, voice low as a temple bell.

"That’s the Origin our Sacred Covenant speaks of, an age far away like mountains in haze."

"Aside from the Heaven we once lived in like swans on a clear lake, there’s another place—the cradle of the Demon Race."

Era tapped the ash from her pipe like frost shaken from a branch, packed in a mess of herbs like a hedgerow, and went on.

"It’s the one place Angels must never touch, like moths shunning a black flame—the Abyss."

She smiled, brittle as thin ice. "We Angels were crafted by our god, her Divinity fused with many things like threads woven into silk."

"And we Fallen Angels… we’re Angels marked by the Abyss, like snow stained by ink." A shadow crossed her gaze like a passing cloud.

"Forget it," she sighed, breath flattening like wind over sand. "Back to demons."

"The Demon Race’s body design is simple, like a clean blade, and very familiar to us," Era said, words steady as a drumbeat.

"In the depths of the Abyss, there’s said to be a river wide as a plain yet shallow as a puddle, flowing with more than mere water," her eyes dimmed and gleamed like coals.

"The river is strange—dead-still like a grave, yet brimming with life we can feel like warm currents under ice."

"It’s as if the river itself breathes, like a sleeper between worlds."

"And its end?" the girl cut in, curiosity bobbing like a cork.

"I don’t know," Era said, a small shake like a fallen petal drifting. "At least, it’s not for us to know."

The girl nodded, helplessness drooping like a droplet from a leaf.

"The Demon Race is born from that river’s cycle," Era said, voice flowing like a low stream.

"When the demonic aura thickens to a peak like thunderheads piling, a towering tree of pure energy erupts from the surface, spearing upward like a spear of spring."

"Its roots bite the riverbed like iron hooks, steady and deep."

"Each leaf on that giant tree is a demon, a green coin spun by the current."

"The branches then unravel like smoke and pour back as water, returning to the river’s body," she went on, the cadence slow as tides.

"Newborn demons carry Divinity from that river, like cups filled from the source."

"Later demons are refined by Supreme Demon Rulers who returned to the Abyss, like artisans firing clay in a kiln."

"So they don’t quite reproduce offspring," she said, mouth quirking like a bent reed. "They manufacture them."

"Why do you know all this so well, my lord?" the girl asked, suspicion peeking like a fox from brush.

Era gave a wry smile, thin as a crescent moon. "I once served in the Demonic Lord’s personal guard, and I was taken into the Abyss like a pilgrim into a shrine."

"The Demon Race’s chancellor bragged their history like a peacock in bloom, and I wrote it all on my heart like ink on silk."

"Oh…"

"As for those Supreme Demon Rulers we see, they’re very special," Era said, voice brightening like morning. "Want to know why they rule the others?"

The girl blinked, duty tugging like a thread. She almost said no—she only loved builds and materials—but Era’s rhythm rolled like rain, so she nodded. "I… do."

"Supreme Demon Rulers also come from that river, but not as leaves," Era said, words crisp as frost.

"Ah? Don’t tell me they crawl straight out of the water," the girl asked, doubt fluttering like a moth.

"You guessed it," Era smiled, nodding like a bobbing buoy. "They walk out of the water itself."

"Er… heh…" the girl chuckled, sweat-pricked like dew on grass.

"Their birth is uncanny," Era said, eyes distant as a far shore. "You’ll see a strange vapor of pure life and mana, like foxfire over marsh."

"It devours the branches and twigs of ordinary demons that haven’t sunk back, like fog swallowing silhouettes."

"Then it cocoons, a husk like a silk pod, and finally becomes what we call a Supreme Demon Ruler."

"Then how is the Demonic Lord different from them?" the girl asked, curiosity rising like smoke.

"The Demonic Lord is… very, very special," Era said, reverence pooling like dark tea. "You know Supreme Demon Rulers vary, right?"

"The strong ones are the Seven Deadly Sins demons, peaks like black mountains."

"Their devouring has limits and timing, sandglass and tide, and that decides how much Divinity they draw from the river," she added, finger tapping like rain.

"In other words, think of this—the Demonic Lord is like the river’s avatar, a mirror made of storm," Era said, gaze deep as a well.

"When he stepped out, he almost drained the river’s demonic essence dry, like a drought leaving cracked earth."

"Uh…" the girl breathed, mind spinning like a windmill.

Era watched her, thoughts scattered like leaves in a gust. Could the Demonic Lord’s birth be that simple? She didn’t know; it was only a guess tossed like a pebble.

The true answer likely lies only with that long river buried in the Abyss, silent as a buried dragon.

And perhaps the river’s body and source is a monster that stands equal to its creator, a shadow staring at the sun.

What does it think? Who could know—its mind drifts like deep water under night.

"After that, the Demon Race was confined in the Abyss, a pit of darkness and omen like a starless sea," Era said, breath low as a flute.

"They obeyed the commands of each clan’s Supreme Demon Ruler, warring without end like storms beating cliffs."

"It lasted who knows how long, until the Demonic Lord’s awakening split the dark like dawn."

"He unified the chaotic Demon Race with ease, like a hand closing around scattered sand," Era said, eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.

"With towering talent, a bloodline pure as winter snow, and power above all demons like a crown over peaks."

The girl sighed, exasperation rising like steam. "Here we go again."

"Then the Demon King led the Demon Race’s armies up a colossal sky-ladder he forged with his own hands, a spine climbing the clouds," Era said, smile tipping like a reed.

"The demons made landfall like a storm hitting shore, and for some reason the Abyss closed like a shut gate."

"Alright then, we wait for the Demon Race to arrive," the girl said, settling in like a cat curling on a sill.

"Eh? Aren’t you going to tell how the Demonic Lord, all bold and brilliant, won over the eight outer clans to conquer the world?" she asked, tilting her head like a curious finch.

Her mind wandered, stringing deeds to the image of that pint-sized lord who looked younger than her, a face made to sell cute like a fox cub.

She pictured a white-haired, mismatched-eyed powerhouse standing atop countless demon generals like a star on a mountain, and letting out a single, soft meow.

At once her expression wobbled, composure melting like sugar in tea; thinking it through, that was… kind of great.

She didn’t care for the overbearing tyrant type; the current little lord made her heart warm like sunlight on snow.

"Lilith, are you asking for a beating?" Era laughed, voice playful as wind-chimes. "I only praised the Demonic Lord a few times in front of you."

"What’s with that face?"

"Nope…" Lilith rolled her eyes, the motion lazy as a drifting cloud.

More than a few, she groused inside, her thought biting like pepper. Even during you-know-what, you’re chanting how amazing the Demonic Lord is, you perv.

Of course, Lilith wouldn’t dare say that aloud; otherwise, the next second Era would pluck every feather from her wings like stripping a goose.