“I will not lose. Impossible! Hero, I… refuse!” The handsome man knelt on one knee, scars striping him like claw marks on bark, ragged as a torn banner.

Hero Birand stood before him, wiping the Demon King’s blood from the Holy Sword with his sleeve, his smile cool as winter light. “Demon King, all’s fair in war. However you spin it, this round is mine.”

He eyed the horn sheared half off the Demon King’s brow and whistled. “Don’t think a straight fight is the only way I take you down. These traps were just to spare my side.”

The Demon King—young blood of the Demon Race—squinted, a thorned sneer. “Shameless.”

Birand lifted his gaze to the cloud-swept sky, a thought crossing like a migrating bird. Then he spoke from the chest. “From where I stand, your Demon Race isn’t exactly wrong. We all fight to live; our ground is just different. I’m human, summoned as the Hero. Drawing on you is a last-resort blade.”

He looked back, smile like sun through mist. “Personally? I respect you. Your Demon Race is run with real order.”

“I need no approval,” the Demon King scoffed, disdain sharp as frost. “Your coalition is a swarm of ants. We stood shoulder to shoulder with the Celestial God. You ants can’t compare.”

Birand chuckled, a breeze flicking embers. “Then you got gnawed by ants, huh? Tell me, Lord Pandora, how about sanding that temper? With a face prettier than most women—if your personality were just a bit…”

Pandora’s look said he’d rip him apart. Birand shrugged, leaves shaken loose. “Right. Winners and losers. You’re not in a good mood.”

“Shameless Hero.”

Birand’s smile thinned. “Enough. Any last words?”

The Hero raised his blade, each step falling like drumbeats toward Pandora.

Pandora tried to stand. Pain flared like hot wire; severed tendons refused. He could only watch the Hero close in, hatred and unwilling heat pooling like stormwater.

“Hero, I will not die!” His voice was iron striking stone. “Wait and see. I’ll take my revenge. I’ll make you kneel under my feet!”

Birand nodded, easy as a cat stretching. “Alright. I’ll wait.” He lifted the Holy Sword high, light trembling like a dawn star.

Pandora fixed on his face, a flicker sparking under ash. He burned the last of his lifeblood for a word-curse, and laughed through it. “Hero. I curse you. I curse you to become a woman, to serve me loyally for generations. Lowly Hero, I’ll make you the finest slave of my Demon Race!”

If the Hero struck now, no matter his skill, the curse would bite. Even if it failed, he’d stagger between man and shade.

The Demon King’s smile was a blade under velvet. Come, Hero—meet your fate.

Birand—our traveler between worlds—heard the kindergarten-level taunt and couldn’t help laughing, a ripple across calm water. “Back in my old world? I wouldn’t bother answering a grade-schooler like you. But I’m in a great mood, so here’s my reply.”

He leaned in; Pandora’s brow tightened like a drawn bow.

Birand’s grin brightened. He invoked a word-curse in the Celestial God’s name and breathed at Pandora’s face. “Reflect.”

Pandora froze, blank as if he’d just eaten crap. “What! You—you—you! I—You—Uwah!”

Not far away, the Abyss watched, a deep current stirring. Yes—why should my son turn into a woman while this brat walks free?

The Abyss lowered his head, thoughts pooling like ink. His mouth curved, meaning veiled as moonlight.

Ah. I’m suddenly eager to see it.

The Abyss looked toward Birand. “In my name as the Abyss, apex of this world, I decree: Hero Birand’s word-curse is null.”

He lifted both hands toward Birand. An indescribable force burst from him like a volcano undersea and wrapped Birand’s body just as the sword was about to fall.

Birand’s hair spiked, a forest in sudden wind. “Damn! At a time like this, Demon King, you still have a backhand?!”

Pandora choked on rage, blood surging like a blocked river. Then a power he knew to the bone flooded him, warm as homefire.

Father?

Then I—must win.

He seized the Hero’s split-second daze, fist clenched like iron fruit, and drove his hand through Birand’s chest.

“Wha—!” Birand’s breath shattered like glass.

Pandora grinned, eyes bright with starlight. He struck a pose he thought dashing, then pulled his arm free.

Whoosh!

Blood fountained from Birand’s chest, hot rain across stone.

“Ngh!” Birand bit down hard. The Holy Sword flared, a wall of noon, and knocked Pandora back for a heartbeat.

In that breath, Birand lashed a thought into script and sent it racing to his men like a hawk let loose.

The Holy Sword’s light fell—and Pandora devoured it, night swallowing a torch.

Birand couldn’t dodge. Pandora closed like a thunderclap and slammed a fist into his gut. Darkness took him.

Not far off, Demon Generals threw up their hands, voices a tide. “Oh! His Majesty won!”

“…Withdraw.” Pandora’s thrill sparked like fireworks, but reason cooled it. Even with victory, the Hero’s army would crush his battered ranks.

He ordered retreat at once, pulling back with his confidants and remnants like shadows slipping from dawn.

The Abyss nodded. This piece felt perfect, the last brushstroke on a painting.

He waved again. Thick demonic miasma welled up, a black sea blocking the Hero coalition’s pursuit.

“Damn it!” The Hero’s generals, pressed by the storm, halted their chase.

The Abyss, having spent too much power, was sent back—to the future. A future nothing like this one.

The Demon King hauled Birand one-handed and rushed off the field, pride a banner snapping in wind.

He glanced at his long-time foe, already plotting tortures like knives laid out on a table.

Suddenly, a gray light wrapped Birand’s body, ash-silver and soft as fog.

Pandora blinked. The light ebbed like tide leaving shore.

What remained was a girl, swimming in the Hero’s oversized clothes, limp as a willow branch in his arms.

Pandora stared. “…”