Deming tilted his head, regarding the faerie general with a cold stare as the general's breath hitched, sweat trickling down his forehead. Overwhelmed by fear, he could only meet the demon prince's sharp, menacing gaze with trembling eyes.

The demon's golden eyes now blazed fiery red, his crimson aura pulsating and radiating eerie energy as he clenched his fists. Time froze, and in an instant, a violent eruption shook the dungeon.

The unfortunate faeries near him vanished in a cloud of smoke, the painful screams of hundreds echoing throughout the dungeon. The air filled with a strong, smoky odor of burnt matches and materials for those who survived the attack.

The general, overwhelmed, succumbed to the ruthless assault. Drops of blood trickled from his trembling lips as he muttered in confusion and fear, "What... what is he?"

"Make sure you prepare well for my return," Deming declared with a cold grin as he ascended into the air. Fierce black flames erupted from his back, forming broad wings that crackled and burned. A swirling black smoke surrounded him as he departed, leaving behind a bone-chilling nightmare for the witnesses.

Muchen and his soldiers stormed into the dungeon, their eyes sweeping over the dusty area with heavy hearts, taking in the remains of their loved ones reduced to ashes. Shock and grief gripped them, their jaws dropping as they struggled to comprehend the loss. Frustration and sorrow tightened their fists, some suppressing tears at the sight of their once-living comrades, now gone.

"L-Lord Muchen," the general clung to life, his voice a weak whisper.

Muchen, paralyzed with fear, snapped back to reality and turned his attention to the fortunate survivors. His eyes fell on the injured man lying on the ground, who had spoken his name and recognized him. "Yize..."

"I... I failed in my duty." Yize's eyes narrowed in pain. Two of Muchen's soldiers knelt beside him, reaching out their arms to help him as he tried to get back on his feet.

Yet, before he could gather himself, Muchen's gaze froze him in place, like ice on a winter's day. He bowed his head in shame, bearing the silent disappointment of his lord.

In the middle of the wrecked dungeon, Muchen stood still for a moment, surveying the chaos. But then, his eyes narrowed, calculating, as an idea popped into his mind. It was a last-minute call, and he could not believe he did not think of this sooner. "Hope is but a fragile illusion... Once he returns to us, Feng Deming will beg for mercy before the end," he murmured, his smirk unfurling like a serpent coiling around its prey, venomous and inevitable.

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