1 Chapter 1 - The Hilltop

The battlefield was littered with the corpses of thousands of mortals, witches and demons. Heads and limbs dismembered from their bodies while some, having gone mad, cupped their exposed internal organs, desperately trying to put it back in their bodies. The occasional groans of the dying could be heard while the sound of horns blew from afar which signalled the retreat of the witches.

"AAARGH!!!"

"ROOOAAAARR!!!"

Among the dead and dying, near the top of the hill, a battle was taking place. A demon the size of an ox, with one horn missing held a black mace covered with flesh and blood. Based on the mad grin on its face, it certainly took pleasure from the state its opponent was in. On the opposite side was a slim girl, around 20-years of age, cuts and bruises covered her arms and legs, while her breast plate was smashed open, revealing a chainmail and some cloth inside. She had a grim expression but still held fast to her sword.

The Demon upon hearing the horn from the witch's camp sneered and raised its mace to crush the witch. The witch dodged and even managed to try and cut the right leg ligament of the Demon to give her enough time to retreat. However, the Demon, having predicted the attack lifted its right leg and kicked the witch on her exposed chest, leaving her gasping for air.

The witch after being motionless for a second due to the impact and the lack of breath, lifted her head and stared at the approaching Demon. Her face was filled with hatred. She struggled to get up but then a spiked mace struck her belly, throwing her five meters away. Luckily, she was able to catch a glimpse of the incoming attack and shield herself with her sword, which saved her life, but the blow still destroyed both the sword and the remaining armor.

The Demon having been in control for almost the entire duration of the battle, laughed at the girl. The laugh was frighteningly deep mixed with an eerie pitch, which was unnatural to the common world.

Seeing as the outcome was almost certain death if she stayed still, she used her last amount of strength to stand up and face the Demon.

With her ragged breath, she focused on her last reserves of magic, condensing it for a last push. While she stood motionless, the Demon having sensed the accumulation of magic, dropped its heavy mace and dashed towards her. With its arrogant behavior, it was trying to savor the feeling of ripping the flesh of the witch in half with its own two hands before she could escape. However, before the sharp claws reached an inch from the witch, curved lips suddenly sprouted from the solemn face of the witch. She then disappeared, leaving only the Demon with its bloodshot eyes. The Demon, having lost its prey, tried desperately to claw at the surrounding area in an attempt to find the witch's body. However, no flesh made contact. After looking around and feeling as if its prey has escaped, it let out a rage-filled roar.

"NGRAAAAAAAOOO-"

But before it could finish its blood-curdling scream, it suddenly felt a cold touch on the back of its neck. After the odd sensation, its voice instantly disappeared while the taste of its black blood leached into its mouth. Seeing as something was amiss, its eyes looked towards its throat and saw the most astonishing thing. The source of the once dreadful roar was now gone and was replaced by a bloody hole the size of an apple. Red mist slowly seeped out of the hole and dissipated into the surrounding air. The Demon turned its head to see what had caused the hole, but what it saw made its eyes bulge with both confusion and fear. The witch that it thought had escaped was standing behind it, but that was not the reason that the Demon had a despairing look. The reason was not because it had underestimated the enemy, but rather it was due to how the witch looked at the shocked and frightened Demon. Seeing the dumbfounded look on the Demon, the witch could not help but have a unique expression on her face - mad euphoria.

The Demon fell to the ground with a shocked expression plastered onto its corpse. The witch, still filled with pleasure, tilted her head to the sky, and muttered the number thirteen before collapsing backwards. A bloody ball of meat fell from her left hand.

With peace returning to the hilltop, the crows resumed its feast on the flesh of the dead while the wind continued its prayers for the dying.