"What the hell is that thing? Looks dangerous."

Rubbing his stinging, swollen left cheek, Yan Lingxuan scowled. He flexed his right hand, still savoring that wonderfully soft, plump sensation. *Heh.*

Yan Lingxuan and Princess Sherlock had separated midair, now facing the shadowy Demonborn looming nearby. Though Sherlock still seemed sulky, this wasn’t the time for anger.

The sun had fully set. Night fell, dimming the landscape—but their glowing eyes cut through the darkness.

The pitch-black figure turned. Its blood-red eyes radiated ill omen. Its unnaturally wide grin stretched across half its face, splitting the air with a shrill, grating laugh.

"That’s a Demonborn," Sherlock explained. "A Mage after Demonic Transformation. No longer human. No emotions. No memories. Just pure bloodlust and destruction."

Hearing this, Yan Lingxuan studied the creature closely. Through his Magic Sense, he felt its corrupted Magic Power—a rotten, repulsive aura, utterly unlike normal magic.

"It’s coming!"

Sherlock’s warning barely landed before the Demonborn *phased* through space, appearing inches from them.

Yan Lingxuan instantly armored up—silver plating encasing his body, thick and impenetrable. But Sherlock grabbed his arm, halting his charge. With a sweep of her hand, she unleashed a tornado, blocking the Demonborn’s path while yanking Yan backward.

"Magic Armor won’t stop it! Its demonic devouring phenomenon shatters defenses instantly. One touch infects living beings—turning them into *this*."

Sherlock’s voice trembled. Fear flickered in her eyes. Yan had never seen the proud princess like this—so vulnerable, so unlike her usual self.

*If only she’d looked this pitiful during that princess carry,* Yan thought bitterly, *I wouldn’t have gotten slapped.*

"What now?"

Before Sherlock could answer, the Demonborn tore through the tornado. Ten obsidian blades—forged from dark magic—sliced toward them.

They dodged left and right.

Yan shot back a hundred meters, glancing over his shoulder. Horror struck him—the Demonborn was already ten meters behind, closing fast.

Claws gleamed with black menace.

At the last second, Yan gathered magic. A Magic Bullet shot forth—

*Pop.*

It struck true but disintegrated instantly, its energy devoured. Yan felt the Demonborn grow *stronger*.

No time to react. The gap hadn’t widened. Danger pressed closer.

"Movement Domain!"

A 50-meter spherical Magic Array flared to life just as claws slashed at Yan. Moving at supersonic speed, he vanished—leaving the Demonborn grasping empty air.

"*Whew.* Scared the hell out of me."

Yan reappeared twenty meters behind the creature. Its speed was terrifying—nowhere near supersonic, but far beyond human reflexes. Escape was near impossible.

But within his Movement Domain? He was untouchable. Time to counterattack.

Then—his blood ran cold.

Inky black ooze seeped from the Demonborn, devouring the Magic Array on contact. The domain collapsed in seconds.

The creature grew stronger. Its deep-purple hair lengthened, defying gravity as it floated upward.

*Just like Lingyue when she defeated Bernie.*

Yan’s unease deepened, overlaying Lingyue’s transformed face onto this monster.

"Now you see why it’s so棘手," Sherlock said, landing beside him. She mistook his grim expression for fear. Understandable—the Demonborn *was* terrifying.

But Yan’s frown melted into his usual confident smirk as he turned to her.

"棘手, sure. But there’s always a way."

"Without anti-demon weapons, only natural-element magic works. Wind, fire, water, earth, lightning, gravity, repulsion—once magic becomes natural force, demonic devouring can’t touch it."

"Even if we run, it’s faster. We fight. But don’t lose hope—reinforcements arrive in fifteen minutes."

Sherlock dismissed the idea. Relying on others wasn’t her way. She needed to crush this Demonborn herself—to bury the fear haunting her past, to prove she wasn’t that weak girl anymore.

Demonborn arose from Demonic Transformation—not just Mages, but any lifeform. Animals became "Demonbeasts."

Magic and mind fed each other. Absorb too much magic, and biology twisted. Research suggested magic itself might be a lifeform: "electric wave bugs." Smaller than nanobots. Undetectable. Feeding on spirit until they consumed the host.

Demonic Transformation threatened humanity worse than nukes. Atlantis—the Mage nation—was also the epicenter of outbreaks. A quarantined zone. That’s why the UN isolated it.

"Pulse Thunder!"

Sherlock thrust out her palm. Plasma-charged lightning crackled there. Electrostatic attraction latched onto the Demonborn—guaranteeing a direct hit.

She hurled the orb. A hundred lightning bolts erupted, blindingly illuminating dark Honolulu.

Silence swallowed the thunder. Darkness returned.

The Demonborn lay charred, arms severed, steam rising from its body.

Sherlock gathered power again. *One more Pulse Thunder should finish it.* She advanced for the kill.

The Demonborn’s head snapped up. Eyes locked with Sherlock’s—

—and it *moved*.

Sherlock whirled. Too late. It was already behind her.

*Thud.*

The Demonborn flew backward, struck by an unseen force.

Yan Lingxuan stood with left hand flicked outward, right hand raised high—a blazing blue fireball glowing above it.

The Blazing Fireball tore through the night, piercing the Demonborn’s chest.

Its burning corpse plummeted to the street.

"That was close," Yan grinned.

Sherlock stared at him, bewildered.

"What was *that* spell?"

"Oh? The Blazing Fireball? Lingyue taught it to me recently."

"*Recently?*"

"Yeah. Why the shocked face?"

"N-nothing."

*Blazing Fireball.* A Valhalla Academy high-tier spell. One-shot kill potential. Its superheated plasma melted most defenses. Mastering it took Mages a month of grueling practice. Yan had been a Mage for *less* than a month. And that flick—he’d used an unknown spell to repel the Demonborn.

"As an experienced man, I recognize that look," Yan declared smoothly. "Alas, my excellence is a curse. A sinful man like me... Though you, Princess Sherlock—goddess of wisdom and beauty, with admirers at your pomegranate-red skirts—I too once fell for your charm. But those days are gone. To spare your heart, I must confess: I’m a sister-complex case. So please, don’t waste your affections on a sinner like—"

"I’m checking the corpse. Must ensure it’s dead."

Sherlock cut him off, already descending.

Above, trapped in a cramped Magic Array, Mond slammed his fist against the barrier. Ripples spread—but the wall held. His knuckles throbbed.

"*Damn it!* If only we could break free while they’re distracted..."

His eyes suddenly glowed crimson. Fangs sprouted. He looked eerily like the monsterized Raul. None noticed their own skin darkening.

*Gak... gak...*

The Demonborn’s corpse lay half-melted in a street crater, emerald flames still licking its form. It wasn’t dead—just barely conscious.

Figures emerged from alley shadows: Tutankhamun Society members. They’d hidden, watching the aerial battle. Now they approached the fallen monster.

"Is that Raul?" someone whispered.

They crowded around the twitching body.

"Go! They’re coming!"

Spotting Sherlock and Yan descending, they turned to flee—

—when a shadow lunged from behind, cocooning one member in a black egg.

His comrades attacked the Demonborn, trying to free him. But their magic only fed its demonic devouring phenomenon, accelerating its recovery.

"Run if you value your lives!" Sherlock’s voice cracked like a whip from above. She’d almost won—until these fools interfered.

The black egg burst.

A second Demonborn stood where their friend had been.

*Impossible. Transformation shouldn’t be this fast.*

Sherlock’s mind raced—but the new Demonborn was already lunging at the others.

A repulsion wave slammed into it mid-strike, hurling it aside.

Sherlock hovered above the street, eyes blazing electric blue. Crimson energy flared across her skin. Moonlight caught her fierce beauty, her aura of absolute power—a Valkyrie carved from night itself.

"Think I’d let you rampage?" Her voice was ice.

Just as the Tutankhamun Society members tried to flee, a magic array materialized overhead. Crushing gravity forced them to their knees. Another array flashed—lightning crackled, and eight precise thunderbolts struck the group, knocking all eight unconscious.

Sherlock shot Yan Lingxuan a glance. What was he playing at? They should be dealing with the two Demonborn first, not wasting time on these insignificant criminals.

"Must be the ‘BU3 reagent’ accelerating their Demonic Transformation..."

Yan had previously tasked Alice with finding ways to turn ordinary people into mages. Her investigation uncovered the BU3 reagent—a classified project by the U.S. Military’s Fifth Magic Research Institute. It granted magic power but carried a horrific side effect: inevitable Demonic Transformation. The reagent was sealed away, its existence known only through Alice’s hacked experimental data.

"They became mages via BU3 injections. Left unchecked, they’d turn into Demonborn anyway."

Sherlock didn’t know what BU3 was, but Yan’s explanation fit. *So that’s why the mage transformed so easily?*

No time for details. The two Demonborn demanded attention now.

Sherlock locked her Magic Sense onto them. She wouldn’t repeat her past naivety—the memory flashed, twisting her face with grief. Her fists clenched until knuckles flushed crimson, veins stark against pale skin.

*Never again.* She had to end this fast.

Demonborn regenerated terrifyingly fast. The near-dead one had already regrown its Blazing Fireball-charred flesh—but its new form was pure nightmare: pitch-black tissue, warped like irradiated waste.

Dodging a lunge, Sherlock repelled both monsters with a burst of force, keeping distance. Her furrowed brow betrayed the strain of fighting two alone. Yet she stubbornly refused help.

Yan sighed inwardly. *Just as Katherine warned—she’s too stubborn to share the burden.*

"I’ll hold the new Demonborn," he called, deliberately provoking. "Three minutes should be enough for you to finish the other one, Princess Sherlock."

As the repelled Demonborn staggered, Yan struck. Lightning coalesced above it—*flash*—a thunderbolt slammed down.

"Hmph. Do as you please."

Sherlock unleashed hellfire on her target. Repulsion shields deflected its claws; blue flames seared its flesh. She knew Demonborn well: emotionless, near-indestructible plagues. Destroying half its body meant nothing. Only shattering its Demonic Core would kill it.

She raised a hand. The snarling Demonborn vanished into an inferno. Her fingers slowly closed—the azure flames roared hotter.

"Not as fierce as Senior Katherine’s flames," she murmured, "but this will reduce you to ash."

Fire was physics and chemistry—a dance of fuel and oxygen. Mix combustible metals with pure oxygen? You got flames hot enough to erase nightmares.

The Demonborn’s regrowing arms turned to cinders. It was cornered.

*Tough as nails,* Yan thought, impressed. But his own fight demanded focus.

The thunderbolt had barely singed his Demonborn. As the lightning faded, it charged.

Yan had its pattern down: terrifying speed, demonic devouring—but no real tactics. Just a mindless beast. Dodge its attacks, and it was helpless.

*Simple in theory. Deadly if you slip up.*

Without his mobility field, he was outpaced. Seconds later, the Demonborn was on him.

"Not as strong as Lingyue’s Thousandfold Gravity," Yan muttered, "but try a hundred times your weight."

Magic power coiled around him, his eyes blazing. He raised his right hand—the Demonborn face-planted into concrete, skull buried deep.

"Looks painful. But I won’t pity you!"

Yan thrust both palms forward. Two hundred times gravity pinned the struggling Demonborn flat. Sweat poured down his face. His vision swam, heat boiling his thoughts—he gritted his teeth against the agony.

Ninety seconds later, Sherlock reduced her Demonborn to charcoal. A fingernail-sized crystal glowed in the ashes: a Demonic Core. Jet-black, gem-bright, faceted like a diamond.

Metal shards swirled around Sherlock. She forged a massive hammer and shattered the core. The fragments dissolved into stardust, vanishing into the night.

"One down. One left."

She turned. The second Demonborn was crushed into a crater under Yan’s gravity field. He stood trembling, drenched in sweat. *He actually held it...* Sherlock felt a flicker of surprise.

*Maybe after this mission, I’ll thank him. Royal dignity demands it.*

Azure flames gathered in her palms again. Burn the body, find the core—same as before.

A shadow shot toward her—faster than wind.

Her Magic Sense screamed warning, but she couldn’t dodge. As her body locked up, someone slammed into her, shoving her aside.

Sherlock hit the ground, pinned by Yan. She immediately spotted the attacker.

"A third Demonborn!"

Even Sherlock couldn’t hide her shock.

"Heh. Looks like we’re in deep trouble," Yan rasped, still sprawled over her, oddly reluctant to move.

"Get off me now, or this princess *will* repay your kindness with a knee!"

She was already repaying it—jerking her knee up, kicking him away.

But Yan didn’t spring back up. Sherlock noticed blood staining her uniform. *I’m not hurt...?*

"Eh..."

Yan groaned on the ground. Then she saw it: four deep gashes across his back, blood pooling beneath him, his face ghostly pale.

*He took that hit for me. That deep... he’ll die without treatment—*

"Run. Now."

Yan staggered upright, movements unsteady as a drunkard’s. Magic staunched the bleeding, but his condition was dire. No time for healing.

The gravity-pinched Demonborn broke free, fangs bared.

Two shadows lunged. Yan coughed blood into his palm, then unleashed Air Explosives—*boom, boom*—halting both Demonborn. Dizziness crashed over him. He swallowed hard, forcing bile down his throat.

"You won’t die here!"

Sherlock caught his swaying form. Her slender arms lifted him effortlessly.

*A princess carry?* Yan almost smiled. *Pity I’m half-dead.* Numbness crept through him, but he saw the unshed tears in her eyes.

She soared a thousand meters up. Two Demonborn chased below. Then three. Four. Five.

*Is heaven forcing us to taste despair?*

"It’s over," Yan whispered. The closest Demonborn was thirty meters away—closing fast.

"No way out?" Sherlock’s voice was hollow. Yan smiled faintly.

She stared at his bloodless face. *How can he smile?*

"Drop me. You might still escape."

"I said I won’t let you die here." Her words were steel. Her furrowed brow held a fierce, heartbreaking resolve.

*Just a stubborn princess?*

Cradled against her, Yan whispered hoarsely:

"If we survive this... could we..."

"If we survive," Sherlock snapped, hating his deathbed tone—it didn’t suit his usual grin, "ask anything. Even if you want me as your girlfriend. Your bride. This princess agrees."

"Good. *Anything*," Yan breathed, a triumphant smirk breaking through his pain. "You promised, Princess."

Before Sherlock could react, a colossal wave of Magic Power surged toward them from ahead.

"Our fight’s over," Yan murmured. "Reinforcements have arrived."

The Demonborn were steps from grabbing them—then Thousandfold Gravity slammed them earthward. The impact shook the ground like an explosion.

A silver-haired figure landed before them, pleated skirt fluttering in the night wind. Magic light haloed her like a goddess descended.

"Brother! Are you alright?" Bai Lingyue’s voice trembled with worry.

"Yeah... barely alive," Yan croaked.

"Leave it to me now. You’re safe."

Lingyue’s gaze swept downward, icy fury in her eyes. Simple words. Unshakable power. Valhalla Academy’s top student. The Valkyries’ ace.