Devils from the Nine Hells!

"The aura of the Nine Hells..."

Caesar mused for a moment before he identified the characteristic scent within the lineage of dragons.

A high-ranking Knight of the Holy Light had unwittingly entered into a binding pact with a formidable entity from the nine layers of Hell, a covenant he might not have even been aware of. It appeared that an intriguing series of events had unfolded, the machinations of which likely belonged to an Archdevil...

It was crucial to understand that Hell and the Abyss were entirely separate. The Abyss was chaotic and evil, devoid of order. Hell, however, governed by the orderly but malevolent Archdevils, was a sinful paradise hailed as the ultimate plane of order and wickedness. Constructed of nine layers, it was home to various devils and a playground for some evil deities. Known as Baator Hell, it was one among countless outer planes of the primary material world.

For the devils, leading astray a Knight who wielded sacred light was a favorite pastime. Unlike the demon lords of the Abyss, the denizens of Hell took great delight in crafting intricate deceits.

At that moment, the once-resplendent Knight had utterly succumbed to madness, abandoning all the grace and sanctity that defined a Paladin, resembling a barbarian enshrouded in a berserk frenzy.

However, as Zephyr succumbed to fear under Caesar's draconic breath, the fate of their legion was sealed. Deprived of the Knight's restraint, the magnificent Red Dragon had used powerful shaping magic to shatter the casters' defenses. The few remaining wizards were powerless to maintain the expansive anti-flight spell, left to watch helplessly as Caesar soared to the heavens, rendering their tactical advantage useless.

Without flight, the Knight was doomed to the earth, a mere groundling.

Sometimes, a single misstep was all it took to turn the tides of battle.

Zephyr's unquenched rage now turned upon the encroaching Jackalmen and Gnolls, swiftly slaughtering over a dozen in a matter of moments.

But Caesar remained indifferent.

He refused to risk his own well-being over such minions. A Knight on the brink could be a deadly adversary, even for mature dragons who would wisely avoid direct confrontation.

Yet the skies belonged to the dragon.

With mighty beats of his wings, Caesar circled the battlefield aloft, casting Western Ring fire-shaping magic at will, wreaking far more havoc than the Knight had ever managed.

In a one-on-one clash, he'd be no match for the Paladin.

But amongst this melee?

The Knight wasn't even fit to polish his scales!

With just one swoop, the embattled Griffin Knights crumbled, the mere presence of draconic might causing their mounts to shudder uncontrollably, often throwing their riders to the ground in panic.

The rout spread like a tidal wave.

A Red Dragon unleashed was akin to a mobile fortress of draconic power, and his fiery spells descended upon each Supernatural Soldier from on high.

As time trudged on, the sun ascended to its zenith, and the day aged.

The legion, once over three thousand strong, now lay decimated.

None had escaped the Red Dragon's talons, not even the mid-ranking mages, who succumb to his magical resistance and were slain one by one.

Zephyr's lieutenants, six elite warriors of the Sixth-Ring, had fallen to Sylvana's school of enchantment, manipulated by her mind-altering spells and torn apart by the Ferocious White Tiger.

Now...

All that remained was the beleaguered Knight, his crimson cloak tattered, his armor caked with blood and decay, a portrait of gruesome valor.

Yet, the surrounding creatures were replete with terror, hesitant to approach.

This Eighth-Rank Knight, with his limited means, had nonetheless reached the pinnacle of close combat, worthy of one who had battled high dragons.

After hours of conflict, the monstrous host suffered greatly, though little came from the humans; it was the casters who had dealt significant losses.

Most casualties were not from direct combat, but under the Knight's enchanted blade, which claimed the lives of many Jackalmen and Gnolls, nearly exterminating entire tribes.

Cyrion, chieftain of the Jackalmen, showed no mercy for his kin, relentless in his orders to engage them in a tiresome battle against the Knight.

Jackalmen, despite their short lifespan, matured at an alarmingly rapid pace, reaching adulthood within years, forming the main fodder of the monstrous army.

One day, under the Red Dragon's domain, they'd flourish, unconcerned about food, their numbers an eventuality.

The Gnolls suffered greater losses, yet bred even faster, multiplying prodigiously.

Creatures of all kinds, from Gnolls to Lizardfolk, were said to have been crafted by a great Dragon God specifically to serve dragonkind, worshipping their draconic masters above their own deities.

Though feeble, their reproductive prowess rendered them indispensable servants to the dragons.

Now, all monstrous beings coalesced into a ring, encircling the Knight. 

Appearing at his limit, tattered and near death, his assailants remained wary, and Caesar, ever cautious, refused to draw near.

In preparation for a cataclysmic breath, one that would extinguish the valiant human's existence, the world shifted abruptly.

Gone was the Knight, the monstrous horde, Sylvana, even the Ferocious White Tiger... The scenic visage of the Karl Mountains vanished as if a mirage faded from sight.

A lascivious realm appeared in its stead.

Scores of bewitching women emerged before the Red Dragon, writhing their ample hips, flaunting their seductive figures, draping their enchanting smiles upon Caesar's magnificent Form...