“Back!” Edlyn’s left hand pirouetted through the air like a silk fan; a rune streaked toward Pandora’s brow like a shard of moonlight.

Pandora lifted her palm, and demonic miasma billowed like stormclouds, walling the rune out as if by a black tide.

Her cloak snapped like a raven’s wing as she fell back fast, then she bellowed at Edlyn, a thunderclap in a canyon: “Bastard! That’s Demon Race secret art. Who taught you?!”

“Heh. Take a guess,” Edlyn smiled, eyes like needles under frost. “Guess right, I’ll tell you.”

“Keep preening,” Pandora snarled, eyes cold as iron. “If I catch you, I’ll bleed your royal bloodline dry and chain you as my slave for a hundred lifetimes.”

Edlyn’s mouth twitched, a cracked reed in the wind.

That bad habit—trash-talking when I can’t win—really… harms others and myself.

While Edlyn slipped past Pandora’s strikes like a swallow skimming rain, the second portal rippled like a pond touched by wind.

They both swept close, and startled someone stepping out, like deer meeting torchlight.

“Hey, hey! Assassins!” The cry popped like a firecracker.

A girl, four or five, stared at the surging energies in front of her, eyes wide like twin lakes.

Edlyn sighed, a pebble dropping in her throat. “Still the same line.”

Pandora frowned, question marks crowding like gnats. “And you are?”

Her gaze slid back to Edlyn, blade-cold. “Your little sister?”

“No.” Edlyn pressed her forehead as if it ached like winter. She suddenly knew what this trial wanted of her.

The girl’s eyes roamed the two like minnows testing the current; she pouted. “Who are you? Really assassins? My Demon Race already lost. You still won’t let me go? You even wear my face—what do you want?”

“Hah? You’re a human girl,” Pandora shot back, voice a volcano under snow. “What nonsense. Before I feel like killing you, go back where you came from.”

Edlyn’s lips tugged, a quiet hook; she said nothing, just stood aside, Ashir in hand like a sleeping blade.

“Hah? Who do you think you are? I’m the supreme lord of the Demon Race, the current Demon King. And you tell me to get lost?”

“You’re the Demon King? Then what am I?” Pandora’s smile was ice over a river. “Looks like you need a taste of pain.”

“Ha! I… I… mm.” The girl rubbed her eyes, mist rising after rain.

“Was it easy for me? I bled and schemed to unify the Demon Race, prepared for so long, and just as I was about to succeed—some bastard ruined it. Turned me into a human girl, shattered my army. Was it easy for me? Boo-hoo.” She sat down hard, wailing like a cat in winter.

Edlyn pinched the bridge of her nose, palm to brow like a shield. “…Shameful.”

Pandora’s face shifted, storm over mountains. “What do you mean? Who sent you to baffle me?! You think this will make me waver? My army is first under heaven. How can a little girl spout this?”

The girl was Edlyn—as a child, a seed wearing her future shell.

“Boo-hoo. I should ask who you are. Wearing my face—what are you trying to do? I’m powerless now. Kill or carve, do as you please. Boo-hoo.”

Edlyn sighed, breath a leaf falling. She stepped forward. “Allow me to cut in.”

Little Edlyn flared like a sparrow: “What are you going to say!”

Pandora tilted her head, blade-flat. “?”

Edlyn’s voice steadied, ink settling on paper. “I am also a Demon King.”

“Hah?”

“In your dreams.”

…

“It’s begun.” A tiger-headed, human-bodied brute breathed out, fog curling from his tusks; hesitation hung on him like damp.

A purple-haired little girl stayed aloof, a paper kite high in clear sky; she vaulted onto Orek’s back and laughed. “Uncle Tiger, how’s prep?”

Orek’s mouth curled, a scar biting his cheek. “Rest easy, ma’am. Our steps are drumbeats—they can’t be stopped.”

On the wall, Eli folded his arms like bars; before him knelt the orc who’d planted bombs and tried to flee, sweat beading like dew.

“Looks more tangled than I thought,” Eli said, head tilted, smile thin as a knife-edge.

Deep in the orc’s soul, a brand glowed—the emblem of the New Era Sect, a coal under ash.

“Old rivals. Long time no cross. How’ve you been?” Eli sighed, voice a wind through reeds, and strolled down the wall.

Orc and elf armies stood ready, banners like forests, spears like rain.

The fuse was lit; orc morale burned high, a bonfire in a night valley.

Though on paper it was a war of two races, aid glimmered from all sides like constellations in a wide sky.

So you could tell: the former Hero Alliance, now each race’s commander, had split into clear camps, rivers finding their banks.

Only the human race stayed two-faced, a coin flipped under cloudy light.

Humans held the most land, the widest crowd, the largest reach—fields like oceans, cities like hives.

Yet besides Holy Paris, no kingdom came to join the clash; only Holy Paris wandered between camps under the banner of the Holy Sanctuary, a merchant counting silver in stormlight.

Looks like they want war profits, skimming foam from waves.

Eli’s mouth slanted, mockery like vinegar. “Well, of course. Not just the Sanctuary—even the Hero’s dipping in.”

“How is it?” Elavis’s voice drifted from behind, cool as spring water.

Eli tossed the immobilized orc before her—a sack under a willow. “Your Majesty, they’re already on our doorstep. We can start moving.”

Elavis smiled, dawn easing over snow. “Then, Mr. Eli, what do you plan to do first?”

“Let them camp outside like flies. Everyone’s furious, right?” Eli paused, eyes a compass. “You fight best in dense green. But the Elven City is a bare plain. So, what’s your play?”

Elavis kept her smile, chess pieces hidden under sleeves.

“Alright, you’ve got a backhand,” Eli said, shrugging like a reed. “Your Elf Race excels at reshaping battlefields, no? The stage is yours.”

“In jungle fights, orcs aren’t worse than elves,” he added, a rain note in a hymn. “Keep low brush to a minimum.”

“For now, we push their encampment back at least six hundred meters—a stone’s throw times a thousand.”

“Good. It’s yours,” Elavis said, pleased as a cat in sun.

“Oh? Going hands-off?” Eli spread his hands, helpless as smoke.

“Of course.” Elavis smiled, moon over water. “I’ll brief Yor. Work it out with him.” She tapped her scepter, and vanished like mist.

Eli shrugged, then bowed, a willow bowing to wind. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

…

“In your dreams.”

Edlyn paused, a fishbone caught, then sighed. “You still haven’t figured out what’s going on?”

“And you call yourselves Demon Race supremes—what an IQ,” she added, a feather dipped in salt.

Pandora gave her a withering look, a knife across a cutting board. “You’re the last one who gets to talk.”

“Tsk. You want a fight?” Edlyn’s eyes flashed, lightning under cloud.

“Afraid of you?” Pandora’s mouth knifed into a cold grin, frost on steel.

“You two! What is happening?” Little Edlyn stood dazed, a fawn in snowfall.

Edlyn cleared her throat, a drum tap before the march—ready to explain—

The remaining six portals flared together, lotus lamps igniting one by one.

Under three pairs of eyes, six different versions stepped out, a carousel of fates.

From the first door, Pandora emerged, eyes winter-deep, watching with glacier calm.

From the second, Pandora staggered out blood-soaked, one horn shattered like a broken crescent.

From the third, a girl trudged in, bundled thick, cold clinging to her like hoarfrost.

From the fourth, a girl appeared, face troubled; power flickered around her at the Sacred Rank, hair black as ink.

From the fifth, a girl in a little dress skipped in, bright smile like sunshine; she spoke first, sparks flying: “What’s with you all? Where’s that stinking Hero?”

From the sixth, a woman in a half-mask stepped out, hiding the upper face; her air was effortless, like wind over a lake. She waved at the stunned Edlyn. “Yo~ Hey there~”

Edlyn stowed Ashir, eyes sharp as awls. “Janus… why are you here? Weren’t you—”

“Yup. I’m from the future,” Janus said, smiling, and slipped off the mask like shedding a petal.

“Now, all of you, tell me what’s going on,” the first Pandora murmured, a cold smile like a knife in snow.

A crushing power fell over them, storm pressing the forest flat.

This was Pandora just before the final battle with the Hero, a blade honed to the last hair.

Edlyn swallowed, throat a dry reed, and glanced at her selves from every time—each bitter as wormwood. Only Janus watched him, amused, a cat on a wall.

Edlyn sighed, a lantern dimming. Sure enough, I’m still too weak compared to later.

Janus crooked a finger at Pandora, casual as rain. “Yo, Your Majesty the Demon King. Want answers? Fight me. Beat me, and I’ll explain.”

“Oh?” Pandora’s voice went flat, iron under silk. “Woman, you’re strong. Under my pressure, only the Hero kept his face steady. You’re the second.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t hurt them,” Janus said, her index finger drawing a small arc, a moon slice.

She whisked the others away to a safe spot nearby, as if by a gentle tide.

Edlyn’s eyes sparkled, stars waking at dusk. So I get that amazing later, huh?

“Hehehehe,” she chuckled, mischief bubbling like a kettle.

Pandora, fresh from unifying the Demon Race, looked at Edlyn like at a pile of bricks. “How can there be an idiot like you.”

Edlyn’s face darkened, cloud rolling over sun. “What, you want to fight too?”

“Gladly. I’ve a belly full of fire!” Pandora snapped, thunder tight in her palms.

They clapped palms once—shockwaves popped like drumbeats—and both were flung back like leaves in gale.

The other five traded looks, stones skipping across silent water.

Over there, Janus and Pandora fought like children playing with storms.

Pandora flung demonic miasma, black rivers spearing forward; Janus flicked a finger, and the miasma unwound into plain energy, vanishing like fog at noon.

They traded blows, joy sparking like fireflies in summer.

“This is too fun,” Janus said, laughing sweetly, windbells chiming. “I haven’t played like this in ages.”

Pandora’s face stayed hard; he took Janus’s strike head-on, a cliff meeting waves, and sneered, ice cracking. “Madwoman.”