So, my Lord, what's our plan now, with dust still settling like snow?

Angelo rubbed the jaw Edlyn’s petal‑light punch had tapped, like smoothing a bruise beneath frost.

Edlyn raised a hand and massaged a brow that throbbed like a war drum, eyes sweeping the yet‑unhatched Demon Race cocoons like a dim forest of eggs.

Angelo, tell me the numbers for our Demon Race, the grains of sand we still hold.

Angelo stood straight as a spear planted in snow; she searched her mind like raking coals for embers of memory.

She turned with a storm‑gray face and kneeled.

Your Majesty, we are at fault, she said, words dropping like stones into a still pond.

Edlyn arched a brow, shoulders lifting like tired wings.

Just tell me the truth. I know. When the war collapsed, I felt the ground go hollow like a sinkhole.

Otherwise, how did the human age bloom like spring in a burned field?

How else would I have to stand in their shadow, like a tree in winter?

Especially the Hero—his name like a bright blade drawn under sunrise.

She had braced for this, armor set beneath rain.

Even if the Demon Race was wiped like leaves in a wildfire, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Edlyn lifted her head; Angelo’s face was earnest, like a blade held steady under rain.

Angelo sighed, a slow wind through ruins; she knew it—ever since our fall, surprises dried up like a desert well.

Our total survivors are less than a tenth of our peak, Angelo said, voice like ash over embers.

Purity rose—magic clear as glacier ice—but numbers fell like a cliff.

Inside the cocoons, only we Supreme Demon Rulers can show ourselves by bloodline, like torches in fog.

The others’ power purity sits at one level, flat as a still lake.

It means, for now, apart from the Supreme Demon Rulers, we can’t tell which cocoon holds which tribe’s blood, like seeds hidden in husks.

And as for high commanders—besides me, none survived; the Hero’s guard marked them for death like hunters choosing stags.

Edlyn lifted her face, fatigue pooling like dusk.

Then why are you still alive? Her words cut like sleet.

Angelo froze, a deer hearing thunder; she stole a glance at Edlyn, heart drumming like rain on drums.

Did the Demonic Lord suspect betrayal? The thought rose like cold smoke, and she bowed lower, reverent as grass before wind.

Your Majesty, please hear my reason, Angelo said, words kneeling like pilgrims.

When I was about to die under the Hero’s Holy Sword, the Abyss’s radiance covered me first, like moonlight over surf.

Then I entered a deathlike state, a winter sleep, and my soul was pulled here by the Abyss, like a tide dragging driftwood.

I truly hold no rebel’s heart, she said, vow firm as stone.

Edlyn was silent, like a mountain under snow.

It seemed the Abyss wasn’t well either, a lantern flickering in storm.

It only saved Angelo, a lone high officer—a single spark cupped against a gale.

Go on. Since when am I that small‑minded? Edlyn frowned, a crease like a blade mark.

Just now, something was spreading inside, a slow ivy creeping through stone.

Edlyn clenched her teeth, staring at her Succubus wings like dark silk unfurling.

Is that it?

Emotion swelled like a flood; was she losing control again?

Head bowed, Angelo missed her lord’s state; she kept speaking, voice low as night water.

As it stands—because of you—one third of the Supreme Demon Rulers close to your blood now carry half Succubus blood, like wine mixed with honey.

Edlyn blinked, the strange throb forgotten, shock cracking like ice.

You’re saying—?!

Yes. It looks like the top tier isn’t purely Supreme Demon Rulers anymore, like a crown set with new gems, Angelo said, words like pebbles dropping into a well.

Or there are no pure ones left; the others were affected too, like trees touched by the same frost.

The Supreme Fiends revived together have all become women, a field of lilies under a black sun.

That shouldn’t make all of them female! Are Succubi only women?!

Edlyn slapped the armrest and sprang from the throne like a startled hawk, fury sparking.

Uh... this also seems to be because of you... Angelo said, helpless as a reed in wind.

Edlyn rolled her eyes, a storm spinning.

So our Demon Race came back just to balance the world’s sexes? Damn it.

Your Majesty, don’t be too bleak, Angelo soothed, voice like warm tea.

Maybe the other cocoons won’t hatch into female bodies.

...Sigh. Edlyn let out a breath, a gray cloud leaving her chest.

Face pale as ash, she dropped back onto the throne like a falling leaf.

She landed on her tail; a little scritch whispered like a cat’s claw, and she bolted upright, spine a straight spear.

Uh... Your Majesty, what happened? Angelo asked, brows lifting like wings.

Wu wu wu—fake, all fake, everything’s fake! I don’t buy it! Edlyn snapped, grief and denial surging like a broken dam.

...

Emmm... why didn’t anyone tell me getting lost in the universe is dangerous?

Eli rubbed his chin, eyes on the void like a moonless sea.

His body had finished rebuilding, star‑light stitched like scales, yet nothing around gave a reference—only a black ocean without buoys.

He’d gathered every stellar spark and poured his soul in like molten iron.

Then he blacked out, drifting through the vast universe like a leaf in endless night.

Until he woke, breath steady as a quiet tide.

He stretched out a hand and gently clenched; space in his palm wrinkled like wet paper.

He squeezed tighter, a strange force grinding it down like millstones.

The whole pocket of space collapsed into a blue substance like crushed sapphire.

Then it exploded—boom—like a newborn nova, blasting Eli far away like a gust.

He wasn’t hurt, not a scratch, calm as a stone in a stream.

Eli blinked, lashes flicking like moth wings.

So... I’m crazy strong now, right? Like a mountain waking.

I should at least go fifty‑fifty with that guy, yeah? Like two storms meeting.