Chapter 665 - 664- The Summoning of a Demon General

Chapter 665: Chapter 664- The Summoning of a Demon General

The bodies spiraled. Around and around and around — the rotation increasing, the speed building, the vortex pulling everything inward. The camp — the tents, the wagons, the supplies, the fires — was caught in the pull. The structures disintegrated. The canvas tore. The wood splintered. Everything that wasn’t alive was drawn into the vortex.

The remaining soldiers — the four thousand who were still alive, still on their knees — watched. Their faces were blank. Their eyes were empty. The terror had passed the point of expression. They were beyond screaming. Beyond crying. They were watching the end of the world and their faces were the faces of men who had accepted it.

The vortex compacted.

The ten thousand bodies — the whole, the pieces, the armored, the naked — compressed. Squeezed. Merged. The flesh deformed. The bones cracked. The armor melted. Everything — organic and inorganic, flesh and metal and cloth and leather — was compressed into a single mass. A sphere. A ball of compressed death, hovering above the central circle, spinning, glowing, the mana within it building to a crescendo.

The sacrifice.

Ten thousand men. Ten thousand lives. Ten thousand souls.

The demon circle — the one Mira had formed in the sky, the one that had been waiting, patient, hungry — accepted the offering.

BOOM—!!

The sound was not an explosion. It was a ’birth.’ The portal tore open — not in the sky, not on the ground, but in reality itself. A wound in the fabric of existence, the edges burning with violet lightning, the interior a void that breathed.

And from the void, a foot stepped through.

Then a leg. Then a body. Then a woman.

She was tall. Ash-grey hair — long, straight, falling past her waist like a curtain of silver smoke. Her skin was pale — demon-pale, the kind of white that glowed faintly in the dark. Her eyes were crimson. Slit-pupiled. The pupils contracted to pinpricks as she emerged from the portal and felt the air of the human realm for the first time in weeks.

She wore the same barely-there outfit. The strips of dark fabric that covered her nipples and barely contained the heavy swell of her breasts. The single strip that ran from her waist between her thighs.

The portal closed behind her. The violet light faded. The mana circles dispersed. The silence that followed was absolute — the silence of ten thousand dead men and four thousand living ones and one woman standing in a field of destruction.

Nora — one of the five heavenly demons, the Bloody Matriarch — stood in the human realm.

She felt it.

The power. The sacrifice. Ten thousand men — their life force, their mana, their essence — had been offered. The absolute sacrifice. The kind of offering that demons killed for, that wars were fought over, that civilizations rose and fell to produce.

And it was hers.

The power flooded her. Ten thousand men’s strength. Ten thousand souls. Ten thousand mana reserves, compressed, refined, absorbed into her bloodline. She could feel it — the surge, the expansion, the ’I-am-more-than-I-was’ rush of a demon who had just been fed a feast.

Her crimson eyes widened. Then narrowed. Then ’blazed.’

She was strong. Stronger than she had ever been. Stronger than the last time she had stood in this realm — stronger by the factor of ten thousand sacrifices. The power that the man — the bastard, the cock-bearing, lick-forcing, collar-wielding, humiliation-inflicting ’bastard’ — had used to dominate her was now within her reach.

She could take revenge.

She could find him. The man who had made her lick his cock. The man who had collared her. The man who had turned her into a joke — a laughingstock, a punchline, the heavenly demon who got on her knees for a human’s dick.

In the demon realm, the shame had spread. Everyone knew. The crow’s report had traveled — from beak to ear, from ear to mouth, from mouth to mouth — until every demon in every city and every fortress and every council chamber was whispering about Nora. About how she had been forced to her knees. About how she had licked a human’s cock. About how she had fled — ’unsummoned herself’ — to escape.

The whispers. The laughter. The looks.

She had been the Untouched Heavenly Demon. Three thousand years of purity. Three thousand years of being above desire, above physical need, above the messy, biological, ’beneath-me’ act of sex.

And a human had made her lick his cock.

Her fists clenched. Her crimson eyes burned. The power — the ten thousand sacrifices, the absolute offering — surged through her veins.

’I will find you,’ she thought. ’I will find you and I will tear you apart and I will—’

She looked at her master.

The woman who had summoned her.

The sacrifice had been made by a human woman. A naked human woman. Standing in a field of dead men, her green eyes burning with power that Nora recognized — the same power she had felt from the man. The same bloodline signatures. The same 100x-multiplied abilities.

But different. Stronger. More. As if the man had given everything he had taken and poured it into this woman.

Nora’s crimson eyes widened. The sheer intensity of the power radiating from the naked woman — the mana, the killing intent, the blood domain, the sword manifestations, the healing aura, the beast authority, the divine authority, the demon authority — all of it, all at once, all active, all hers.

The power near the Demon King.

Not equal. Not yet. But ’near.’ Close enough that Nora’s bloodline — her heavenly demon bloodline, one of the purest in existence — was telling her to be careful. To be wary. To ’kneel.’

Nora’s body reacted before her mind. Her legs buckled. Her knees hit the ground — the mud, the blood-soaked, death-soaked mud of the battlefield. Her hands found the ground. Her head bowed.

The demon hierarchy.

Not her hierarchy — not the authority she commanded over lesser demons. The reverse. The recognition of a power superior to her own. The blood-deep, instinctive, ’this-being-is-stronger-than-me’ response that every demon carried in their bones.

But this wasn’t a demon. This was a human woman. A naked, thick-bodied, milk-leaking, post-birth human woman standing in a field of corpses.

And she was stronger than a heavenly demon.

Nora looked up. Her crimson eyes met green ones. The recognition — the ’I-am-yours’ recognition that a demon gave to a superior — was in her gaze.

But also the rage. The burning, ’I-was-humiliated’ rage that had been simmering since the moment she had been forced to lick a cock.

"My master," Nora said. The words were formal. The demon tongue — the language of contracts and bindings. "How can this demoness serve you?"

The question was genuine. The contract was absolute — the summoning, the sacrifice, the offering. Nora was bound. The ten thousand souls had been traded for her service, and the contract was sealed in blood and mana and the fundamental laws of demonic existence.

But beneath the formality, the anger burned. Because the power she had gained — the ten thousand sacrifices — was enough. Enough to find him. Enough to fight him. Enough to make the bastard pay.

She smirked. The expression was involuntary — the heavenly demon’s pride surfacing through the submission. The ’yes-I-am-kneeling-but-I-am-also-planning’ smirk of a woman who had been given the tools for revenge.

’I will serve this woman,’ she thought. ’I will serve her, and I will use this power, and I will find him. And when I do—’