How to Make the Perfect Demon Lord

11 Years Ago

At the playground.

The chubby boy launched an uppercut, large, hard, and impossible for little Jamie to dodge.

Pwah!

It struck him square in the face, sending him flying backward like a sack of sand. Instantly, a deep bruise bloomed across his cheek.

Curling into himself, Jamie clamped his arms over his head, shielding his face as a storm of kicks rained down. Earlier, he'd tried to defend himself, had done everything in his power but there was nothing left to do. He was outnumbered, just like always.

Phu!

Phu!

They kicked him mercilessly, taking turns, trading blows with cruel precision. Two kids beating another—just standing there, proving how harsh life could be. Jamie didn't scream. Only soft murmurs of pain escaped his lips.

The girl he'd tried to save watched the whole time, her eyes brimming with tears. But her sorrow wasn't for herself—it drowned in the sight of him suffering.

After a few endless seconds of relentless assault, their legs finally gave out. They stood there, panting, as if trying to imagine how their victim must feel.

*Spit!!!*

The chubby boy spat on him. The situation was so dire, he might've even urinated on Jamie—if not for shame.

"That'll teach you not to mess with us!" the slim boy snarled, pride swelling in his chest. Their dominance on the playground was sealed; fear was their weapon, and everyone knew it.

Jamie lay motionless, silent as the unconscious, his body a canvas of bruises and swelling.

The chubby boy turned and leapt away, bounding out of the playground.

"Don't come back here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"And take that bitch with you!" he added, his threat heavy with promise.

...

The girl pushed herself up, moving slowly like an injured snail. Her body dragged across the ground as she inched closer to Jamie's still form. Tears streamed down her face, each drop precious as drinking water in a desert.

After a few strained efforts, she finally reached him.

"W-wake… up!" she whispered, forcing the words out as her hand brushed his leg.

"Wake… up!" she repeated, firmer this time.

"Grandma…" Jamie murmured, as if surfacing from sleep—a side effect of the brutal beating. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening with pain that throbbed through every nerve.

He saw only the sun at first. His hand rose, trembling, to catch the golden rays.

"The sky is so beautiful," he said softly.

Then—

"The little girl!"

His eyes widened with sudden realization. For a moment, he'd forgotten her—the one he'd tried to protect. He sat up abruptly, reaching forward with gentle hands, cradling her as if she were a two-day-old infant.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with concern and wonder. His eyes shone, his face soft with a smile—like a waiter hoping the meal pleased his guest.

"I'm… fine," she murmured so quietly that only Jamie, leaning close, could hear.

Gritting his teeth against the sting in his knees, Jamie rose to his feet.

"Don't worry," he said gently. "I'll carry you to my house."

The little stranger stared at him, stunned. She hadn't expected this—not after everything. He'd saved her from trouble, and now offered her shelter, warmth, love… things she'd long been without.

Painfully, he hoisted her onto his back. She didn't resist—her body limp, weightless as a sack. He crossed his arms behind him, forming a makeshift harness to keep her secure.

"Off we go!" he declared, forcing a smile despite the bruises that marred every inch of his arms.

And though his steps were slow and labored—his height seeming to shrink with every movement—what else could you expect? They were just children.

---

11 Years Later

Midworld Arena.

The crowd erupted. Friends gasped. Bets changed hands in an instant. A new player had entered the ring—his physique sculpted like a martial artist's: broad shoulders, long hair, perfect height. The kind of fighter you'd stake your fortune on.

In the VIP section, Captain Fiona of the Five Scorpions smiled brightly.

She recognized that face. And with it came absolute certainty—he'd complete any mission without fail.

"What… what is he doing here?!" Bray hissed, frozen in shock. He'd just told Jamie he was going to the bathroom—this wasn't part of the plan.

Beside him, Jamie stood rooted to the spot, his blood turning to ice. This was a worst-case scenario. Facing Alexander was bad enough—but now, another friend? Someone he never expected to see here… someone who drained him just by existing.

On the opposite side, Alexander's eyes flickered. A spark of wary attention lit his gaze. Even without the golden aura of magic, this presence felt more poisonous than calming.

"Surprise, surprise!" Greg said, stepping forward with eerie calm. His voice dripped with malice, and a dark aura radiated from him—utterly unlike the man Jamie once knew.

Bray saw it too. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. The entire arena fell silent, straining to hear every word.

"Wait…" Jamie thought, his mind reeling. "Something's wrong."

"I really like the terms of this game," Greg continued, his voice thick with bloodlust. "This is the perfect chance… to kill you."

Jamie strained to find doubt in those words—but their weight was undeniable. Greg meant it.

"Kill him?" Bray whispered, the memory of Alexander's suspicions about Greg crashing back into his mind.

Jamie stood paralyzed by emotion. The friend he'd trusted—just like Alexander—had betrayed him. Old wounds tore open anew.

"If it helps," Greg added, loud enough for everyone to hear, "killing you will do our clan a great favor."

"Now I get it," Jamie realized. All those conversations… he manipulated me into joining this game. It was his plan from the start.

He clenched his fists, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood—as if punishing himself for his blindness.

"Why didn't I see through him sooner?" he whispered.

"I'm always patient when I want something," Greg said, his smile twisting. "But with you? I had to move fast. I hate this appearance so much!"

[Deactivate Special Skill: Face Warp]