Round Thirteen: The Devil’s Plan

Yet the bloody battle did not cease.
The Metal Man stepped onto the battlefield once again, standing at the forefront as usual, tearing apart his enemies with ease and stuffing them into his body as he always did.
But now his tastes were much more refined.
What kind of demon was this? It seemed quite elite. The Metal Man set his sights on Melganis, who stood not far away, seemingly untouchable—a tall demon with blood-red skin and sharp horns.
The Burning Corps he led was one of the elite forces sent by the demons to the battlefield. Each member, like him, had blood-red skin and flaming horns. Wielding spears wreathed in flames, they moved through the enemy ranks, their eyes glowing with fire, casting flickering light in the shadows of the steel fortresses.
“This heart should last a long time,” the Metal Man thought, pushing aside the foolish youth who dared swing a sword at him.
Melganis’s flaming spear pierced thirteen men—his favorite number—turning them to ash under the scorching heat. He swung his spear to shake off the debris but accidentally slashed several enemies fighting nearby into pieces, without feeling the need to apologize.
Destruction followed wherever he went; he was accustomed to it and even found it amusing. He remembered the elf who had turned to ashes beneath him not long ago—the intense pleasure he had felt from her body convulsing under sudden agony was a rare delight.
He felt a hint of regret.
Suddenly, he noticed someone not far away.
The person seemed to be calling to him. Curious, he decided to investigate.
No one could stop him.
The Metal Man tried to tear apart a soldier with blood-red skin—whose muscles were surprisingly tough. It took him a great deal of effort, while the soldier’s flaming spear futilely stabbed at him, only managing to tear his tattered robes completely.
The hot heart beat stubbornly in his cold hands. Without hesitation, he stuffed it into his chest. The heat baked the rotting flesh within, emitting an unbearable stench—even the notorious War Demons avoided it. The smell was as if one were in hell, with the hollow in his chest serving as its entrance.
Not bad.
The warmth spreading across his chest pleased him greatly. Satisfied, he raised his head and used his arms to tear apart the blood-red soldier struggling above him. The hot blood washed over his body, infusing the rusted flesh with warmth, giving it a faintly new hue—though barely noticeable.
The Succubus stood at the back of the group, watching the bloody battle with relish. Somehow, today she was no longer satisfied with watching from the city walls—her desire for flesh was unbridled in this land of blood. Whatever the others thought, their faces showed frenzied bloodlust, and this madness excited her inexplicably, making her believe they were fighting for her.
She felt a bit hot around her.

A tall figure was approaching her. She turned her head to find the source of the heat.
Melganis had accumulated thirteen more corpses on his spear. He violently released intense heat to evaporate his trophies, obsessively insisting on the number thirteen each time. Now, he found this graceful figure even more alluring than the elves who had once captivated him.
The succubus instinctively sensed the danger and screamed, trying to flee.
But fleeing, like fighting, wasn’t her strength—and her only “weapon” was the very cause of her predicament.
Melganis grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. She trembled violently, yet she seemed to excite him like a aphrodisiac, nearly driving him mad. He tried to control himself; he couldn’t ruin such a unique “toy” in such an unsuitable environment.
The battlefield no longer held his interest. All he wanted now was to return to his rocky house in the devil’s camp. That damned camp, which he usually complained about for being too close to the battlefield and its foul smell ruining his mood, now seemed incredibly distant.
Until he saw his soldiers torn to pieces, with the killer bathed in blood—exactly the same blood as that flowing in his own veins.
He threw the succubus aside, letting her body, which he had carefully cherished just a second ago, crash heavily onto the blood-soaked ground. Veins bulged in his arm as he gripped his spear, filled with rage.
The metal man’s steps slowed. His target was moving away, heading toward his goal, while he was blocked by other red soldiers. It seemed those self-proclaimed stronglings were betting on who could defeat this almost immortal warrior of the demon camp and hang his steel head on a blazing spear as a memorial to a fierce battle.
If there’s an obstacle in your way, would you go around it or move it aside?
As the metal man saw his target returning after seemingly leaving, he felt even more certain that killing the obstacles first was the right decision.
“You shouldn’t be so brutal with women,” the metal man said, extending the tongue of the Great Abyssal Snake with a wave of his hand, aiming straight at the owner of the blazing horns.
“You’ll regret harming my men,” the Blazing Spear and the wildly burning horns charged forward together, facing the blood-soaked metal man spewing chain blades.
The weapons entangled, exerting fierce force at the same time. Neither side was destroyed as the other had expected under their overwhelming strength. The scene seemed frozen, while everything around them rushed forward at high speed.
The spear, like a torch, was even more sturdy than imagined. The metal man added more force to his chain blades. To be honest, compared to the Blazing Spear, his chain blades seemed utterly weak—though that wasn’t the case. Cracks appeared on the spear, but it still didn’t break.
They continued to struggle. Surprisingly, the metal man wasn’t at a disadvantage. Melganis was twice his size. With a sudden surge of force, the metal man grew impatient.
The chain blades only pulled back Melganis’s Blazing Spear, while Melganis himself rushed forward, along with flaming iron fists and deadly, sharp horns.

Lacking Melganis’s magic, the spear’s strength plummeted. The metal man swung his wrist a few times, coiling it into a sphere, and with the pull of the chain-blades, the scorching iron ball slammed toward Melganis like a meteor hammer.

The explosive punch, carrying unimaginable force, nearly shattered the iron ball into dust, causing the metal man to lose a portion of his chain-blades as well. Yet he managed to catch it, though with more difficulty than expected.

A sharp point pressed against his chest, piercing into the hollow that resembled an entrance to hell. The metal man stumbled backward, seemingly losing all sensation again, blood flowing from the hollow like that of a dying man.

Melganis seemed determined not to let him go so easily. He wanted to completely destroy the metal man—not because of his subordinates’ deaths, but because he believed his dignity had been trampled by the metal man, something he could neither tolerate nor forgive.

His flame-filled eyes revealed a demonic nature, nearly insane.

The metal man remained lying on the ground, motionless.

A low humming sound arose from the devil’s camp, as if calling for them. Upon hearing it, the Flame Corps stopped killing and began slowly retreating from the battlefield—except for Melganis.

Furious enough to ignore everything around him, he continued. The humming sound lasted for a while before suddenly stopping.

It was then that Melganis seemed to wake up as if from a dream. He gazed in awe at the distance behind him, listening.

In the end, he reluctantly dropped the metal man he had held high, spat a torrent of flames at him, then turned to retreat with his troops. He couldn’t deviate from his plan.

The illusionary demon rose to its feet, staring in shock at the fallen metal man. Had he been killed?

Obviously not. The damage inflicted by Melganis wasn’t as severe as it seemed. Shortly after he left, the metal man in the flames stood up again, as if reborn.