The sun dipped toward the horizon, bathing the sky in a golden-orange glow.


    It cast long shadows across the dense forest, where leaves shimmered like molten gold in the fading light.


    But as the minutes passed, those warm hues dimmed, swallowed by the creeping tendrils of dusk.


    A gentle wind rustled through the trees, their branches swaying as if whispering secrets to the unseen.


    It carried the earthy scent of moss and damp wood, mingled with the distant chirping of unseen creatures.


    Asael stood still, his golden eyes reflecting the dying sunlight as he studied Morris carefully.


    The spirit’s translucent form flickered like a candle in the breeze, his tattoos pulsing faintly with an eerie glow—fragments of memory stirring in response to the weight of the past.


    Then, with a firm yet curious tone, Asael finally spoke.


    "Where did you find the Demon King? Can you tell me more about him?"


    Morris remained silent at first, his gaze distant.


    The glow of his markings wavered, shifting like ripples on water, before he exhaled—though it was not truly breath, merely the eerie motion of a spirit reliving its final days.


    "Well…" he murmured at last, his voice heavy with old wounds. "It wasn’t us who found him."


    His head tilted slightly, his expression darkening.


    "He was the one who approached us first."


    Asael tensed, his fingers curling slightly.


    Around him, the others leaned in, drawn by the weight of the spirit’s words.


    A long pause hung between them before Morris continued.


    "One day, he came to our village," Morris said, his voice quieter now, laced with something almost reverent.


    The wind shifted, its whisper turning colder.


    The trees groaned softly, their branches creaking as if they, too, remembered.


    "He asked us if we could kill him."


    Asael blinked, his brow furrowing. "What?" He leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean?"


    Morris exhaled, shaking his head. "I don’t know. It was a strange question—one we never understood. I asked him about it, but he never explained." His voice turned thoughtful. "Maybe Tores knows."


    Asael stared at him, searching for any hint of understanding in Morris’s eyes, but all he found was the same uncertainty.


    "Then what happened?" he pressed.


    Morris hesitated for a moment before continuing. "After some time… after he stayed with us, he told us he could restore our strength. That he could make us whole again."


    Asael narrowed his eyes. "And? What did he ask for?"


    Morris chuckled, but the sound was empty—hollow, like the echo of a man who had lost everything.


    "It was about a ritual. A ritual that would grant us power from the Abyss God."


    The moment those words left his lips, a heavy stillness settled over the group.


    The forest, once alive with distant sounds of birds and insects, fell eerily silent.


    Even the air felt heavier, pressing against their skin like an unspoken warning.


    "Abyss God…" Kenta murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.


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    Morris nodded slowly.


    "Yes. The elder child of the Supreme God. The ruler of destruction, death, and despair. The one who was sealed away by his own brother, Lucarux."


    His gaze darkened, as if staring into a past he wished he could forget.


    "Of course, we refused. Even in our desperation, we knew better than to meddle with forbidden power." His voice wavered slightly before he forced himself to go on. "The ritual required… souls."


    The weight of that single word sent a chill down Asael’s spine.


    Around him, the others shifted uneasily, their faces tense with quiet horror.


    "And yet," Morris murmured, his tone bitter, "it seems that after our deaths… Tores agreed to him."


    A slow, creeping dread coiled within Asael’s chest.


    The pieces were beginning to fall into place, like fragments of a shattered mirror reflecting a truth too terrible to face.


    The Demon King was a doppelganger—a creature that should never have possessed such overwhelming strength.


    But if he had been blessed by the Abyss God…


    Then everything made sense.


    No mere monster or mortal could wield a power once strong enough to threaten the gods themselves.


    Asael clenched his fists. "That explains his strength."


    Yet, something still didn’t fit.


    Doppelgangers were not violent creatures.


    Their nature was to blend, to survive by adapting, to exist unnoticed in the shadows of other lives.


    And yet—


    The Demon King they had faced was different.


    He did not simply fight—he raged.


    He destroyed with an intensity that went beyond mere survival.


    "But still," Morris murmured, as if sensing Asael’s thoughts, "one thing doesn''t make sense."


    The spirit’s glowing eyes lifted, filled with something close to sorrow.


    The last traces of sunlight slipped away, leaving only the dim illumination of his spectral form.


    Shadows stretched around them, clinging to the trees like silent watchers.


    "Doppelgangers are peaceful creatures," Morris whispered. "Yet… watching him fight, seeing the way he harbored such immense rage and hatred…"


    He trailed off, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he added in a low voice,


    "Something must have happened to him."


    The silence that followed was suffocating.


    Had the Demon King been betrayed? Tormented? Twisted into something monstrous?


    Had he once been a soul that sought peace—only to be broken by the cruelty of the world?


    Asael, however, remained unmoved.


    His golden eyes sharpened, cutting through the thick fog of uncertainty. Then, after a moment, he spoke.


    "Or," he said coldly, "he could have just wanted power and supremacy."


    Morris turned to him, his expression unreadable. The others shifted, glancing between them, uncertain.


    For a moment, nothing was said.


    Then—


    Morris let out a slow, knowing chuckle.


    "Well, it could be that as well."


    His voice was calm—not sharp, not mocking.


    Just steady, like someone who had seen too much to hold onto anger.


    His faint glow flickered, as though reflecting something ancient, something weary.


    "But you know, hero… everything has more than one perspective. And everyone has a story."


    His words lingered, settling over them like dust over forgotten ruins.


    No one replied.


    A breeze rustled through the treetops, soft yet insistent, as if the forest itself was bearing witness.


    Morris exhaled a soundless sigh, his ghostly form dimming for a moment.


    "Do you know why we were exiled from human lands?"


    Asael didn’t hesitate. His voice was firm, unwavering.


    "Because you performed dark rituals and sacrifices."


    A slow, almost knowing smile formed on Morris’s lips. It was neither amused nor bitter—just tired.


    "Nope."


    Asael frowned.


    Morris tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes unreadable, filled with something far deeper than mere resentment.


    "It was simply because we prayed to the Abyss."


    A cold chill swept through the group.


    "Our beliefs were different. That was our only crime."


    The forest fell silent. Even the insects had stopped their quiet chorus, as if nature itself recoiled from the weight of his words.


    "And the worst part?" His voice softened, losing its lightness entirely. "We didn’t go extinct. It was you humans who killed us."


    Asael felt his breath hitch, his chest tightening as the weight of the words sank in.


    The others stiffened.


    No one spoke.


    Even the wind had died down, as if refusing to interrupt this truth.


    Morris turned his gaze fully on Asael now, his glowing eyes unwavering, piercing through the veil of certainty Asael had always carried.


    "And as for what happened to Tores…"


    He hesitated.


    A flicker of something crossed his expression—something raw, something deeply buried yet never truly forgotten.


    "That, I would rather not speak of."


    The playfulness in his voice was gone.


    There was no teasing, no lingering amusement. Only a deep, aching sorrow that could not be masked.


    "But just so you know, hero…"


    He stepped forward, his ghostly form flickering like a candle struggling against the wind.


    "If you had been in his place… you would have chosen the same path."


    Asael felt his pulse quicken, something twisting painfully in his chest.


    "What do you mean? What happened to him?"


    Morris sighed, his gaze dropping slightly.


    "Sorry. But I can''t reveal that."


    Asael’s fists tightened. A quiet frustration bubbled inside him.


    "A spell has been cast on me."


    The words were spoken simply, yet they carried the weight of chains.


    A long silence stretched between them.


    Asael took a deep breath, forcing the tension in his body to ease, if only slightly.


    He exhaled sharply, his golden eyes dark with contemplation.


    "Haa… I understand that something terrible happened to your people."


    His gaze hardened.


    "But that doesn’t justify destroying everything in revenge."


    Morris raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, a flicker of amusement returned.


    Then, with a small smirk, he asked, "Well, then… why are you hunting monsters, hero?"


    Asael froze.


    The others shifted uncomfortably.


    No one answered.


    Morris let out a quiet, knowing chuckle.


    "Let me guess," he continued, "is it because monsters took something precious from you?"


    His voice darkened, taking on an almost hollow quality.


    "Just like humans took something precious from us?"


    Something tightened in Asael’s chest.


    A strange, nagging thought whispered in the back of his mind, clawing at the edges of everything he had been taught.


    Morris wasn’t done.


    His voice, still calm, cut through them like a well-honed blade.


    "Do you know why the barbarians started attacking the north?"


    Asael furrowed his brows, trying to recall the stories he had been told.


    "Wasn’t it because of resources?"


    Morris shook his head.


    "Nope."


    He turned his gaze upward, watching the darkening sky.


    The glow of his form pulsed faintly, like a dying ember.


    His voice, when he spoke again, was filled with quiet grief.


    "It was because humans first eliminated one of their tribes."


    The silence that followed was deafening.


    Morris lowered his head once more, his luminous eyes locking onto Asael’s.


    "There is no right or wrong, hero. Only different perspectives."


    The words echoed in Asael’s mind, unraveling something deep inside him.


    Memories surfaced.


    A scene he had buried, long ago.


    Movok.


    A Demon King General.


    His entire tribe, wiped from existence by human hands.


    His rage, his grief, his desperate thirst for vengeance…


    And now, Asael understood.


    Morris took another step forward, his form wavering as though the weight of his own words threatened to pull him apart.


    And with a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said,


    "To you, we are monsters."


    His glowing eyes burned—not with hatred, but with sorrow so vast, so unrelenting, it could never fade.


    "To us… you are the monsters."


    A gust of wind howled through the forest, bending the trees, scattering fallen leaves into the air like fleeting memories.


    Asael didn’t know how to respond.