Demonism.
In the dimly lit grand hall, a terrified disciple ran in, gasping for breath.
"Leader! Bad news! That girl… the one who broke into the old leader's tomb—she's back again! She stole a bunch of Demon Spirit Devices!"
Bang!
Before he finished speaking, one of the massive blood tanks near the altar exploded, spraying dark red blood across the stone floor.
The foul, metallic stench thickened instantly. The air reeked of rot and death.
From within the blood tank, the leader of Demonism emerged.
Naked.
His entire body was wrapped in a horrifying blood-red aura, so thick it coiled into the faint shape of a blood dragon. Its fanged head rested over his chest, snarling—a perfect reflection of the fury burning inside him.
He was livid.
That damn tomb robber dared to return? Again?
"How about the ones I sent out?" he demanded, voice cold and low.
"They're… probably dead, Leader," the disciple stammered. "All of them."
"Fucking useless trash!"
"Leader… there's something else. A cultivator was with her. The ones guarding the tomb—they were wiped out by him!"
"…A cultivator?"
The leader's eyes narrowed. His aura darkened.
Then he scoffed, "He's got some balls. Let's see who this arrogant bastard really is."
The tomb wasn't just a grave. It was the treasure vault of Demonism—sacred.
The first robbery had already been a disgrace.
Now they had the gall to come back and loot it again?
This wasn't a theft—it was a blatant act of war.
And worse—a humiliation.
Murderous intent surged from his body like a storm. Even the scantily clad women lounging nearby trembled in fear. None dared approach him.
He snapped his eyes toward them and growled, "What are you waiting for? Bring me my clothes!"
"Y-yes, Leader…"
One of the women hesitated, then bravely stepped forward to help him into his robe.
But the next second—
"Aahhh!"
She shrieked as the sect leader grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air with one hand.
"Afraid of me?" he sneered.
"P-please… Leader, forgive me…"
"Humph. Then you can have her," he said coldly.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the woman at the disciple who'd delivered the report. She crashed into him like a ragdoll.
To the Demonism leader, these women weren't people. They were toys—less than pets. Once he was done playing with them, he either killed them or handed them off to others like trash.
He needed fresh prey.
And his eyes were already set on a new one.
"Cultivator, I'll make you regret being born into this world."
He turned to leave the hall, headed toward the tomb to confront the intruders.
But before he could take a step—
Thud. Thud.
Two corpses were flung through the grand entrance.
"Don't bother coming out," a calm voice echoed.
John walked in.
Behind him stood Angela, her expression glowing with excitement. Clearly, their little grave-robbing detour had been fruitful.
This was nothing like the Angela of the past.
Back when she followed Gianna Semel, she used to run at the first sign of danger—eyes shut tight, too scared to even scream.
But today?
Today, she had slaughtered her way through Demonism's guards, with John beside her.
She couldn't deny it—
It felt good.
Like she could finally breathe.
Like she had someone to rely on.
Her worldview was changing, slowly but surely.
As the pair stepped into the hall, the disciples surrounding them stiffened in fear, like prey staring at a predator. No one dared make a move.
This was a cultivator.
Only the leader stood a chance.
The Demonism leader narrowed his eyes as he took in the sight of John.
Then his gaze shifted—and froze—on Angela.
It was a reflex.
The moment he saw her, his expression changed.
He was a lecherous man, and by the descriptions his disciples had given, this girl was supposed to be "pretty."
But in person?
She wasn't just pretty—she was breathtaking.
The women he had once found attractive now seemed plain, boring, even annoying.
He had to have her.
Lust burned in his eyes. His stare lingered on her like a predator eyeing its next victim. He was already imagining what was under her clothes.
And the more he stared, the more he hated John.
If it weren't for this so-called cultivator, Angela would already be warming his bed.
"You bastard," the leader spat. "You dare charge into the sacred palace of Demonism just to play the hero for your woman?"
John's expression didn't change.
"If you touch my woman," he said coldly, "I'll do more than charge in—I'll dig up your tomb. Oh wait… I already did."
"FUCK YOU!"
The Demonism leader exploded with rage.
His aura surged, blood energy roaring from his body with such intensity that it ripped his robe to shreds.
"WHOA! This guy's not wearing anything!" Angela screamed, spinning around and covering her eyes. "Shameless!"
She clamped her hands over her face. "If I keep looking, I'm gonna get a stye!"